Futur Kidz the beginings

CYLANCE TYBEN
Diary entry
Day 1, Busted!
         I scraped my knee on the pavement and my palms chafe against the street road. Okay, not the most graceful get away, but I pull myself up off the moist pavement and keep going. It’s dark out and with the blue lights flashing, my breath fogging before me I keep running. And not a little middle-school jog either, I’m in full sprint down the highway. I leap over wire fence number one and catch myself with my feet and forefingers, my knee just barley brushing up against my chest, agile. The sirens fill the air in an ear piercing scream that bounces off the alley walls and echoes throughout the city. I pump my arms, my sneakers slapping the wet cement like webbed feet in a river. My breathing becomes strained and uneven as I constantly struggle against the cold, against my fatigue. I’m running probably faster than I ever have for my team back home, pumping through the blue lights that cloud my peripheral view.
         The alley ends all too quickly and I slam into another fence with wire building its impenetrable shield. Ching! I grab the wire, wrapping my fingers into the free flowing holes. If only I were smaller, smarter, stronger. I feel a cold sweat trickle down my neck. I shut my eyes tight and try to imagine this scene away, then again only to prepare myself. My cafes are killing me. I’ve been running for so long, so fast.
         The blue lights are behind me now, the sirens in my head clouding my every thought with fear. I climb, shoving my sneaker into one of the holes and pulling myself up. I’m halfway up, halfway to freedom from these brutal boarder police when… “Freeze!” I hear and the voice sends shivers down my back. The angry, inhuman voice breaks the night air. Silence.
         My heart races but don’t think for a second I’m going to comply. I swing my leg over the top of the fence and I’m ready to do the same with the other when I hear a high-pitched pop! I freeze up like an icicle and before I know it, my body to drops, like a rag-doll to the pavement. A surge of heat-if only for a moment rushes though my body through my shoulder. I grind my teeth in pain, my side flattened on the hard ground, and for a split second I see the blur of lights and the dark leather boots gathered in pairs 2…4…6…8… of them. I roll over to my back and try to move, I try to scramble away but as soon as I do pain grips at my shoulder again and forces me still. I hear the loading of sharp-shooter lasers ticking up power and a boot stops before me. I feel a large hand grab me and another and everything blurs in the night. I can’t hold on any longer. Everything goes black.
LATER>>>
         I wake in the login office. Or maybe wake isn’t a great word for it. I’m yanked into consciousnesss by one of the security officials in a wide glossy-floored room with a table in front of the back wall facing the entrance. I'm standing. A man wearing a black military-like suit with silver shoulder pads and a silver badge looks apathetically up at me, electro- feather in hand and his cold blue eyes staring. His face is long and square like a horse, his nose wide and his eyes tiny beads under bushy gray brows. My eyelids feel like they’re being weighed down by a sack of potatoes as I try to focus in on my surroundings. I sway a little and two strong sturdy arms hold me up. I didn’t notice the two guards with their arms interlocked in mine before… weird. My legs feel like jell-o and I glance down at my feet just to make sure they’re still attached they’re so numb. Everything’s intact but my pants are soaked in mud and my shirt too.
         “Name!” horse face snaps, as if he’d been waiting for me to say it for hours.
         I frown a little because, even though I’m fluent in English, I’m just not used to just anyone speaking it. “I’m ughhhhh Cylance… Tyben,” I slur. Just remembering my name takes brain power. That’s when you know you’ve been out cold for a while. He writes it on touch screen embedded in his desk and almost immediately a recite spits out of a small slit in the table. He spelled it wrong. He spelled it ‘Silence Tie-been’ I take the recite when the guards let go of me and glare down at him. I want to slap him right now but first I’d like to know where I am, who these people are maybe. “What’s this?” I say.
         “That’s your number,” he says in a cold monotone “memorize it. Wherever you go in this physicality you’ll need it.” I take my eyes off his to glance down at the recite again and that’s when I notice the nine-digit number written beneath my misspelled name. “200395265,” I whisper. I notice something else too. “INN children's and registered itinerant Inmate. November 14th 2115.” I think my heart stops. INN inmate! I heard about these places, and trust me, they’re no place you want to be. And don’t be fooled by the nice university-like exterior or the innocent homey hotel name. INNs are serious lock downs.
         As it turns out the first thing they do to you at an INN is search you heat to toe. They do a bunch of bull-crap tests to make sure I’m not an android or a spy or a clone of a spy. I guess they just couldn’t believe I was sneaking over the border with my mom, who does exist and my little bro. They take my clothes (which I’m not too sad to see go since they were on the verge of giving my hypothermia anyway) and I change into a purple shirt two sizes too big and purple pants. They tag me by activating my birth-chip, the one located deep in my wrist and they read me the standard American rules. “All rights of speech, action and will are hereby ours, the HCPs (homeless and child police) and will remain so until the inmate has proven his or himself (I’m CLEARLY a girl!) innocent of all stated charges and has an authorized personnel competent and capable of housing said inmate…” I stand there my head cocked to the side showing them my best I-don’t-give-a-freak-just-shut-up-and-let-me-go look the whole time. They finish their rant and cuff me.
1:32am.
         Wanna know how I know what time it is. I asked!-in English. The guy didn’t suspect a thing either, because my English is perfect-okay, very, very, very close to perfect. Anyway I’ve already made a point of trying to say and ask as little as possible. I already figured out that they didn’t have my birth chip in their system and they’re all confused to why. It’s ‘cause I wasn’t BORN HERE dummies! I just look like a teenage black girl with curly black hair and oval eyes, nothing foreign there right. Anyway they just think its some kind of fluke or something for now, and I’m happy to keep it that way. It’s not like I’m going to speak up and say “oh hey, you guys did get the right girl because I was sneaking over the boarder and hey, by the way, there’s a whole group of people too.”
         The headmaster takes me by the arm and leads me to my dorm. The hallways are narrow with doors every few yards, and keypads hanging next to the doors. My wrists lay cuffed in front of me and my ankles chained a foot apart……………………

SALEN AND TERRAIN
         Salen let the subtle sway of the Sky train lull him into a half-hearted slumber. He wanted to sleep very badly, but he needed to listen for their stop. Removing his winter jacket had done little, if any good, in aiding I him as the cold of the winter train didn’t bother him any more, so Salen decided to amuse himself. He stared out at the black city sky and counted the Sky crafts that zoomed by like multi-colored shooting stars. Seven… eight… nine… Salen counted to himself as he held his Terrain’s sleeping head on his shoulder. His head dipped and Salen yanked himself upright again.
         His kid-brother was as exhausted as Salen was-understandably. Terrain was only nine, six years younger than himself. His short black hair was wavy and his skin a smooth chocolate, while Salen’s himself was more of a light caramel, and his eyes a kind of brown that appeared jade in the sun. It had been a long day. The two traveled over 600miles (at 90mph took 6hrs), almost a seven hour trip from train to train, from their hometown of Windthroe, Washington to the city. They hadn’t planned to runaway. It just sort of happened. It was a last resort to a complicated history. Salen stared blankly out of the Sky train window as the black skies broke into a jungle of cement buildings glowing with the golden lights. He couldn’t stop thinking of his father and how he’d gotten to this point. He couldn’t stop thinking of his father, and that dreadful autumn night. It had been two years previous, and yet he could still feel the bitter cold of the poppy fields, and the low rumble of his fathers hovercraft at his feet. Salen had been holding Terrain’s hand, his cheeks half frozen as he watched their father from outside, in the cold. Salen’s throat grew sore and he blinked away the sting in his eyes as he though about it. He’d grown so much since then. Then he was only twelve, a squirt. Now, he was going on sixteen, he could take care of himself. No, he wouldn’t think about it anymore. He needed to be strong-for Terrain… for both of them.
         Salen sighed and pulled his backpack closer to his side. The hard metal seats of the Sky train that of a 21st century subways-now eerily vacant cement tunnels crawling with thieves, the homeless, Sellers and Rusties. That’s what they were now, Rusties; homeless, helpless, orphaned.
         Salen glanced up and down the Sky train aisle. There were few riding so late, very few people had someplace to be at two am. A black-suited male read over his holographic presentation, a briefcase sitting at his feet. Salen stared down the opposite direction where a fully-coated woman stared vacantly at her boots, her arms folded under her chest in an effort to keep warm. Her hair was frizzy and an un-natural shade of neon crimson. She looked young to Salen, a few years older then him-18 maybe. She met Salen’s eyes as if she had felt him staring and Salen turned almost immediately. An elderly man sat across from her as well, a few feet away, his grey beard tangled and curly. He whistled to himself to the rhythmic sway of the Sky train. Salen assumed he was a little absent minded and paid him no mind.
         And then there was the guard. A pail, square-faced fellow with narrow brown eyes and a forever frowning face. He was clothed in a metallic gray uniform with too many pockets and contraptions and weapons and contraptions to count. His grey helmet came with a glossy eye covering that cut straight beneath his eyes. Salen hated those-it made police seem so faceless and blank, like robots. The guard had noticed Salen and Terrain had bordered the train long ago, with a limited pass, but neither boy had yet departed. It was illegal for minors to travel past 9 pm alone. He turned to Salen with suspicion, the metal on his boots clanging as he shifted potions by his post, EXIT DOOR #2. Salen sat back in his seat and tried to make his shoulders look slightly bigger. Hopefully if he was very casual, he wouldn’t notice. No luck. Another, slimmer, guard approached the first and whispered something to him, then quickly returned to his post, out sight into a class A cart. The first guard nodded and came walking with a haste towards Salen and Terrain.
         Salen gripped his backpack, hoping the man would pass, but to no avail. “Zug passieren gefällt.” The guard ordered in German. Salen stared at him with widened eyes, as his he hadn’t understood a word. But in actuality, he had. The man had asked for his train ticket. Salen nudged Terrain awake and the young child sat up hazily around the train through blood-shot eyes. Salen felt his jean pockets for the fake ticket. The truth was he didn’t have one. Salen’s heart pounded. What would the man do? Would he arrest them? Could he tell they were Rusties? The man waited impatiently. Then an idea sparked into Salen’s head.
         “Ohmigod!” he gasped, pointing to the man’s post “rouge android!” the guard turned and readied his gun and Salen grabbed Terrain’s hand. They raced down the narrow aisle and through the class C door. The train was just pulling up to the station in the sky. Perfect timing. By the time the train stopped, Salen and Terrain had already sneaked off with a small family group and disappeared through on of the stations many elevators. The guard sneered out through the Sky train windows, fooled by a couple of measly kids.

MAGI
ENTRY 1 THE HOME

Magnolia Dubois
3:29pm 11/06/2129
Unknown address

         Our craft makes a steady landing in the driveway of a tall slim town home. Staring out the backseat window, I get a sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach. Maybe it’s just hunger, maybe not. My seat belt holds me in place even after the craft engine cuts. I stroke MeeMee, my furry stuffed android panda-at least I think that’s his name. I haven’t been able to remember much since we left the hospital, three hours ago, and came here. His left ear is burned. I don’t know how that happened.
         The home is pretty on the outside and today is pretty too. A curved white pavement leads to the brick stairs of the brick building, and there are flowers of every color streaming alongside it. The grass is neat, but the neighbor’s yards are very close. A flower pot hangs in the first floor window where I can see the automatic blinds are shut, and the front door is a bluish shade of green. I can feel the sun beating down on me through the window, it’s so beautiful outside, and the sky is filled with the kind of clouds that look like piles of march mellows melted together.
         “Magnolia,” the social worker turns in her seat back at me and I’m expecting her to say something cruel like, ‘get out of the car, why are you being such a baby? What are you waiting for? We haven’t got all century!” but she doesn’t. “You ready?” she smiles, her face warm and welcoming. Her eyes are just two black narrow slits and her hair short and black cut at an angle across her pail face. The sickly feeling subsides for the moment and I nod. I unbuckle myself and hop out the craft with my book bag and MeeMee.
         My headache is coming back; I can feel it as Mrs. Jinx takes my hand and leads me to the front step. It would help if I knew why I was here and where here was. I asked Mrs. Jinx several times on the way here where my parents were and where we were going. She ignored the question several times. Now that we’re here I just want to stay in the craft. The door opens and an older woman greets us. She’s plump with rose cheeks that rise high when she smiles and bleached blond hair intertwined with stings of white. She wraps her arms around me, laughing she’s so happy, and squeezes me tight. The sweat smell of cinnamon and strawberries perfume fills my nose. I let her hug me, but I don’t hug back because I don’t remember her. Maybe I should’ve been nice and pretended like I do, but I don’t.
         The woman, Mrs. Mable (a name that I think suits her perfect because Mable sounds like maple, and she reminds me of the woman on the maple syrup bottles) shows us to the kitchen. I take a seat at the glass dining table and set my purple bag by my feet, and hug MeeMee tight. The kitchen is nice. It’s clean and the floors are so glossy I can see my shoes in them. The counter-tops are shaped like an ‘L’ on the left wall, where the refrigerator is and an island separates them from a C shaped bar area that rises like stairs above the lower leveled counters that hold the sink and dishwasher. High stools rest under the bar and even further to the right is what looks like a reading area. The floor is hard-wood there also but the center of the room has an animal-skin rug. A lamp hovers above a lay-out chair and a couch faces a coffee table with a smart-book reader on it.
         “Sooo, ” Mrs. Mable sings in a high pitch as she carries in a plate of something sweat “what do you think?”. She’s followed Mrs. Jinx who looks awfully calm in her black turtleneck, business pants, and heels compared to her. Mrs. Mable sets down the plate, which is full of golden brown squares with chunks of peanut halves inside. Peanut brittle! I suck in a quick breath and a smile crosses my face as I’m sure my face brightens a lot. I reach for one because peanut brittle’s my favorite! I used to eat them almost everyday after school when mom would make them. I bite into a warm one and it tastes like heaven. “Ummm,” I say. Mrs. Mable chuckles loudly, her shoulders bouncing and she says “that’s all she’s said all day.”
         “You like those?” she says and I nod. “Yeah, my Chef 9383’s a pretty good baker.” I nod again and take another bite. I think the sick feeling was hunger. Mrs. Jinx taps on Mrs. Mable’s shoulder and signals for her to follow her out of the kitchen. They pardon themselves and leave to chat. I wonder if they’re talking about mom and dad. Maybe they’re saying they’ll be here soon to get me. Surely they wouldn’t just leave me with this stranger. She’s kind, but she’s still a stranger. And then I start to think. What if she’d not a stranger? What if she’d my grandmother, my Nanna? She must be. I mean, her eyes are blue like mine, and her silly laugh, like mom’s and she makes (or her android makes) peanut brittle! She could be.
          I give up trying to listen to their conversation shortly after trying, and turn my attention towards my book bag. Strange. I don’t remember packing it at all. I don’t remember mom and dad saying we were going on any trip. The officers that came to check me out of the hospital with Mrs. Jinx just sort of… handed it to me, and I took it because it was mine and I didn’t want them stealing it. I guess I figured there was just school stuff in it. I didn’t ask why they had it even though it’s the weekend-Friday-all I was worried about was mom and dad and getting my questions answered. I’d been checked out early because… because… well I don’t know why. I glance down at my inner forearm; a long red cut runs across it. I must have broken it. That would explain the amnicia ameicia amnesia, the forgetfulness. I wonder why I never got a cast if it was broken.
         Anyway, now I have time to look through the bag. I grab my bag off the floor and set it on the table and unzip it. As soon as I do a foul charcoal smell comes from inside and I wave the putrid air away with my hand. Why did it stink so badly? I search the contents of my bag. The things in there are mine, but why would I pack such a weird combination of junk. I start to pull out the unusually tethered things when Mrs. Mable and Mrs. Jinx return, talking. Mrs. Jinks is smiling and holding a peace of paper in her hands as if ready for business. I quickly zip my bag up and throw it over my back and whirl around beside my chair.
         “Oh, don’t get up,” She says “I just wanted you to know I’m leaving now, Magi.” She said this as if it were perfectly alright, as if it was okay that mom and dad hadn’t arrived yet and I would be here alone with a stranger or Nanna, I don’t know which it is. I sneak a glance over to Mrs. Mable who’s standing like an innocent plumb by the kitchen doorway, watching from a distance. Mrs. Jinks steps closer to me “but I want you to know if anything goes wrong,” she takes my hands and looks me in the eyes “you can just contact me on any voicer, alright. Just ask for Mrs. Allina Jinx 0-3r.” Her voice makes me feel a little safer but not at all less confused. I nod and she hugs me and whispers in my ear to be strong. Be strong for what? I think I can handle a few days here-that must be why I pack, right, to stay here? I think I can get along with Mrs. Mable for that long.
         Mrs. Jinx turns to leave but before she can go Mrs. Mable stops her. “Um!” she says rather loudly, and then whispers “you did tell her, right? She does know that-”
“-Her memory will arrive in time, Mrs. Mable,” Mrs. Jinx nods back. But this doesn’t seem to please Mrs. Mable. She looks worried, like mom did before the doctor gave me my shots-except worse. I pretended not to hear and slipped another peanut brittle chunk from the plate, yumm.
         “How long will it take…?”
         “In time,” Mrs. Jinx sounded cold. And with that, she left. High-heeled footsteps fading until the door opens and closes shut. The room grows silent. Now… it’s just me and Mrs. Mable.

NYLO
CHAPTER ONE, ME AGAIST THE WORLD

         Gage got me in the jaw, and he got me good. I thought I'd lost a tooth or something but I checked, all there. It’s still a little sore but hey, I’m a Vinez, we were built for this kind of damage. That’s not to say I didn’t clock him back so hard he left a dent in the living-room wall. I rub my knuckles with my free hand. They’re freezing. It’s like, twenty degrees, outside. I exhale and my breath fogs as heat leaves my body. Oh yeah, it’s cold.
         I’m walking to my friend Grey’s house. That’s right, walking. You’re probably thinking, but Nylo, where’s your Hover-board? Your glider? Your Hover-cycle? Well blame Gage. He trashed all of them-all of them because of our stupid fight.
We’re always fighting, me and Gage. He’s my brother, my older brother and he’ll never let me forget it. He shares the spot with five others, but only Gage has a twin. Yeah, that’s just what the world needed Ma, a second him. The second him is Brett and BIG SURPRISE, he’s just as mean and evil and angry as Gage is.
         Anyway, forget them, I need to focus. Which way to the Sky train? I stop at the end of a sidewalk corner, my boots crunching in a heavy blanket of white snow. I should have brought a HGPS, holographic global positioning system, or better yet mom should have installed it in my frontal lobe (or whatever part of the brain they put the chip in) when I was an infant. I breathe a laugh. Like we could buy something like that. Unie, the second oldest in general, and the oldest girl, tries hard to support us but still, it’s not enough. Basically I’ve been on my own since I was eight.
         I turn another block because I’m pretty sure I know the route now and I strut on down that way. At the end of the walkway, though, I see a guy-no, two guys. They look pretty combative, just standing there, and not only that, they snap their heads away in unison when I look their way, the way people do when they’ve been staring. I frown, throw my hood over my ears and keep walking. It’s strange, I’ve never seen these guys around, and it’s not like I know the whole town, but I can tell a fake tough when I see it, and theses guys are giving off a whole vibe of fake tough. They glare in my direction and I look around. Nope, no one here but me. So what? If theses guys want a fight, they got one. Someone’s gotta show theses punks who owns this block. It’s not me, but it may as well be.
         The Vinez’s are in charge here. Not that anybody asked us, we’re just that way. Most of us fight for no reason, with little warning, but I aint that way. I get in a few scrambles here and there, but those where probably well deserved considering I’ve got a long fuse-and most brawls are with my brothers. Most people know not to be irking me, because of the whole family tirade thing, and also because I’m a boxer and nobody wants to get in with it with a guy who fights for fun. No-not for fun, for money or self-defense. That’s it. Twenty bucks a meet isn’t much, but it keeps food in my belly for a couple of days at least.
         I wouldn’t have to fight if mom weren’t so sick. She got sick, I mean truly sick, almost a year ago, and now she barley leaves the living room couch. Not to work, not to answer the door, not even to stop the World War lll that unfolds right in front of her almost daily.
         Anyway, I’m tiered, it’s mid-afternoon and I should be in school right about now. But I’m not. If they catch you skipping school you get fined-a bunch, and I’d have to pay myself. So why bother getting caught. I cross the icy black road to the other sidewalk and stuffing my hands in my coat pockets I keep it moving. Smooth and steady, making it clear that whatever trouble they got going on over there, I want nothing to do with it. But they keep staring, and I get a knot in my stomach. What!? The first guy’s black with bright red short dreadlocks and the second’s looks a synthetic. He’s a pale guy with short hair that’s the same color of his skin and cold silver eyes. I don’t turn my back on them. I make it halfway down the walkway, past the town home fences and snow covered yards, when they start to cross the street too. My stomach drops as I notice what Synthetic-boy is holding; a silver bud-nosed laser. I jet.