[i]‘Looks like the jig is up, Luke.’[/i]

Those were the thoughts of Freshman Lucas Ross as he stared apathetically out the window of his Algebra classroom. He thought briefly of his foster parents and how disappointed they would be that he’d likely be missing Chili night. He remembered Amaretta painstakingly peeling countless beans from the fresh food market she often dragged him to on Sundays after church. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but her sad face bothered him more than his impending incarceration.

[i][b]‘That’s obvious. Being locked up is exactly where you belong.’[/b][/i]

There were those harsh words echoing in his mind as they always seemed wont to do. He hated how they sounded so much like [i]him[/i]. He much preferred the gentle tones of Theo, the kind man who encouraged him to open up and feel. Those reassurances that he was not, in fact, a Freak almost made him believe it. Almost, but not quite.

A series of soft beeps sounding from his wrist brought his eyes down to a dully glowing screen. There, he found an old touch-screen that displayed a swirling blue mist that, to most, would seem a simple animation. He knew better.

“I know, I’ll miss them too.”

Another round of beeps sounded out, this time giving off the distinct impression of an inquiry. Lucas rolled his eyes before glancing back at the window. The suited agents were closing up most points of exit from the grounds.

“Not exactly an option now, is it? I wouldn’t make it half a step out the door.” His voice was heavy with defeat.

[i]‘They’re finally going to get you, robot boy.’[/i]

Beeping, this time furious and indignant, drowned out the sinister words feeding his doubts. The diatribe was so fierce that Lucas began to sweat under his collar. He lifted his free hand as if to ward off an advancing predator while simultaneously moving his watch away from him, though he quickly stopped when the beeps became even more erratic. He finally spoke up to try and put an end to the madness.

“Okay, okay, I won’t just give up. That being said...” He eyed the various, very clearly armed, agents with a critical eye, “... I may be open to ideas on how not to do that.”

With deft movements he emptied his bag of all non-essentials - text books, ream of paper, the annoyingly cumbersome student handbook - and set about leaving the, now empty, classroom. The halls were eerily silent save for the soft beeping of his little companion. He wondered briefly if he shouldn’t just find a bolt hole and hide, but he knew that his name in the roster would arouse suspicion due to his absence in the gymnasium. His musings were halted when he heard an odd sound, something like metal being broken by a sharp impact, and he crept close enough to the nearest corner to spy a nearby door just swinging shut.

‘Isn’t that the upper year English classroom?’ He thought back to orientation when the tour guide, a boisterous alumni named Appleby, had waxed poetic about his years wandering these halls.

With clumsy stealth he made his way over to the room in question and pressed an ear to the solid wood, catching just the last few words of a startled question.