New York City, New York

Ah New York...It's been a while since I'd come here. I leaned back against the warm bricks or the building behind me. A place where a dirty kid could blend in, where no one looked twice, and where the tourists wallets were full and easily accessible. I licked my fingers, getting that last bit of chicken grease. New York would be the perfect place to live forever...Except for the stupid winters.
I pushed myself onto my knees and picked up a chicken bone. I threw it into the air, concentrating as hard as i could. It fell to the ground. I screamed throwing my hand out. It shot into the air and embedded itself in the wall across the street. Opps. I looked around; nobody noticed. Nobody ever did. I cross the street and tugged as hard as i could, but the thing wouldn't come free. I sighed. Well, Hopefully nobody would notice.
I started walking down the street. Time to find a place to sleep. I made my way into the subway, choosing one of the broken tracks i waited until the security guard had turned away before jumping onto the track. There was an unused platform about a mile down. It was the perfect place to stay, there was heat, a little light, and nobody around. Because being alone was what i liked. People betray you. They may have good intentions, but in the end they just make things worse.
I made it to the platform and headed for my favorite corner. A ragged mess of old cloths and blankets served as my bed. I curled up, pulled a tattered afghan over myself, closed my eyes and tried to fall asleep. Life was good. It really was...

Hours passed without notice as Natalia sat at her desk writing out her dreams of a normal life. Nothing outside her world of colorless people and monocromatic clothing even touched her awareness for the hours she sat alone, and ignored, in her studio appartment until a knock at the door almost took her thin door off the hinges.
"Natalia," came the voice of the little old man who owned the appartment and the little Mom & Pop store. This time the knock was more timid before the old man continued, "Come on Natalia, open the door. I know you're in there, you always are so it's no use pretending you're not."
"Hurry up old man," grumbled another voice. It was hard to make out but it was a man's vioce and not one that Natalia wanted to meet the owner of. "Don't waist my time. Get out of the way."
"Son, there's no need to be harsh," the old man replied, trying to keep his voice down. "There's no need to scare the poor girl, she has enough problems as it is and doesn't need your help. Breaking down the door won't help anything either." There was a low grumble that Natalia could only guess was the other man's responce. Natalia very slowly got up from her desk and slunk over to the door, sliding down to the floor next to the door in hopes of hearing more clearly. "Come on Natalia, please open up." Keys started jingling.
"Leave me alone," Natalia desperately thought. "I'm not here. I work at this time remember... Just leave me alone." The keys stopped jingling. Natalia gave a gigantic silent sigh and prepared to move away from the door when there was a scratching at the lock. Her breath caught in her throat and tears built at the edges of her eyes.
"I'll just open the door," the old man said. "She may be writing, that girl is dead to the world when she writes."
"No! God no!" Natalia screamed inwardly. "I work at this time!" Her internal monologue turned into barely a whisper, but a spoken command all the same. "I'm not here! You saw me leave almost two hours ago and you asked where I was going. Remember, I told you I was going to work!" Natalia's pupils flared, erradicating the ice blue of her eyes for just a second before snapping back to normal. It was all she could do to stop herself from crashing into the floor as the world spun and swam before her suddenly dry and burning eyes.
"How could I forget!" exclaimed the old man, pulling the key out of the lock. "I ran into almost two hours ago as she was heading out to work. I guess her boss asked her to take up another shift at the paper with all the people going missing. No use going in here." Natalia could hear his light footsteps on the floor as he made his way back down the hall. The second individual didn't leave, however, he just shifted his weight.
"NYC Division," the voice grumbled. "We've found her... The old man won't let me in... Don't want to bring around... No, she doesn't have close family... Completely alone... No, he suddenly remembered seeing her leave for work... Must be a Pusher... Yes, Sir... Yes, Sir, I'll keep my eyes open." Heavey footsteps moved away from her door after a small snapping noise, which must have been a cell closing, and Natalia laid on the floor. Closing her eyes.

The world twirled around Natalia when she finally opened her eyes again. The clock wasn't within her sight line so she had no idea how many hours had elasped while she was on the floor. Pushing herself off the floor, Natalia stumbled over to the night stand to find the eye-drops she had in the drawer. Every once in a while her eyes would get this terrible dry feeling but it wasn't that bad as long as she could get moisture into her eyes before it got too bad.
Grabbing her hooded sweater and fingerless gloves off the back of her chair with a small messanger bag just big enough for her book, pen and paper, Natalia headed toward the door. Looking through the peep hole before opening the door she made extra sure there was no one waiting for her in the hall. The door hardly made a sound as Natalia slipped through, pulling her hood over her silvery-white hair and gloves over her nearly translucent hands, and ran down to the street.
As far as she could see there was no one trailing her on her way to the train station. Panic had taken over her logical mind and the only option she saw was to get out. New York was a terrible place to live, there were too many people, especially as the freak she was. Without even looking at the destination of the next train Natalia bought a ticket and jumped on the car as it was pulling out of the station.

Tom Blitzfield sat alone in his one room studio apartment, kneeling down on the floor with random gun parts scattered about. He had his hood up and was looking down at the pieces of cold steel. This is it... the thought to himself, enough running. Now is the time to fight... His fingers ran over the cold steel and he breathed slowly, unable to hold his fear and anxiety for the whole thing. He didn't know what he was doing. He never even spoke out publicly about anything, but the Division had been bothering him... they'd been floating around in his head like an unwanted specter. He needed to get rid of them and the only way to do that was to get even. To take the revenge he had wanted his whole life, but his weak mind would never let him.

He grabbed the first piece and ran his fingers over it. With an inhale, he began to whisper and quickly grab for another piece. "...I am strong..." he began and clicked the few pieces of the butt together. He reached for another piece lightning quick and continued to put together the pieces of metal, snapping and twisting them into place, "...I am brave..." he continued under his breath, now getting the hang of it, "...I will have my revenge..." he continued to put the pieces back together. He had already been skilled, doing this routine over and over again by himself. He knew where every piece went and how it snapped so nicely into place.

"I am strong," his voice became louder as the intensity increased, "I am brave, I will have my revenge." The pieces now started clicking and falling so carefully into place. He continued, grabbing each of the many, many pieces that were on the ground. "I am strong," he continued, his voice getting louder and louder as his mantra seemed to give him inner strength, "I am brave, I will have my revenge." The pieces were flying off the floor as the metal got bigger and bigger, forming half of the device. "I am strong!" He continued, his voice reaching near yelling, "I am brave! I will have my revenge." Almost done, the metal was all piecing together nicely, forming a devastating weapon.

"I am strong!!" He was now screaming at the top of his lungs, his usually calm face now infuriated with the thought of what happened in the past. He wanted his payback so badly, it was brooding inside of his very soul, "I am brave!!" He finally locked in the front part and held up his weapon... a .50 caliber rifle to his eye and looked down the scope at a Division agent across the street from where he was. "I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!!!" He screamed and ran towards the window. He looked through the scope of the undercover agent and was panting, his heart beating as quick as it ever had. His finger was itching to pull the trigger. His mind was screaming to do it even though it went against his very nature of being kind and gentle. His eyes stared at his target... he wanted to see the look on his face when he pulled the trigger. As the man turned around, he squeezed... but only heard a click. His whole arm was shaking as he continued to watch the man through the unloaded gun. He lowered it and was breathing hard through his nose. He slowly walked back to his original position and began taking apart the weapon, piece by piece chanting. "I am strong, I am brave, I will have my revenge... I am strong, I am brave, I will have my revenge..."