FicWad

The bell rang. Students crowded the halls, eager to get out and speak with their friends. Rayne Zhenya took her time standing, letting her long black hair cover her face. She gathered her books and exited the classroom, making her way to the front of the school. The other students did their best to trip and stop her but Rayne was experienced in this. She avoided legs and feet, ducked under arms and came out facing the doors like a pro.

Stepping out into the daylight, she quickly moved to the side. Letting all of the other kids through, she then left her daily donation on the stone bench. Guilt hit her as the biggest jock in the grade, Nathan Nutrenko, took the money and pocketed it. Every day, it went like this. Every day, it was the same.

She breathed out slowly, calming herself, before turning to start the short walk home. Anger was no use, she reminded herself. The streets weren't busy. Living in a small town like hers did have it's perks, she supposed. Yet Rayne didn't like it here. Too quiet and normal for her tastes. High School should have at least had it's drama, but everyone just shut up and followed Nathan.

Which she couldn't critique, considering she did the same.

Slowly, patiently, she lifted her hand and knocked. The red door was opened and she was beckoned in. Though she couldn't see him, she knew it would be Henri. He had taken her in two years ago, when she had nowhere else to go. Lucky him, she grinned as she entered the house. It had taken two years but at least the door wasn't barricaded anymore.

"Henri, you are too paranoid," she said, her English heavily accented. Henri simply shrugged.

"And you, chica, are too trusting," he responded with a quick grin.

She flashed him a smile and set down her bag, moving towards the kitchen. "How was your day," she inquired.

"Nothing more than usual. How was ninth grade, chica?" Henri asked, already removing the peanut butter and taking the bread out of the cupboard. "As boring as you thought it would be?"

Rayne grinned widely. "Yes. I predicted correctly. There's no drama."

"And I suppose you think there should be," Henri said with a long-suffering sigh. He began making her sandwich

"High School are supposed to be your worst years. These are just boring."

"Oh, no. Never that!" The words were said with humor twinkling in his eyes.

She flashed a grin in reply. "I know I sound crazy. But some semblance of normal would be appreciated. Not this mind-numbing same."

He rolled his eyes and handed her the sandwich. "Go do your homework."

She laughed but complied, eating as she went.


That night, she woke up to the sound of fire. Glancing around, her tired eyes caught the sight of a flame building at the foot of her bed. Startled, she leaped up, screaming. Making her way through the door and into the hall, she cried out. The fire had begun to spread farther and she raced to Henri's door. Poking in, she saw an empty bed.

Relief rolled through her. He was probably at the local bar, enjoying a nightcap that had taken longer than she thought. She began the trek to the door. There was no extinguisher. Her only hope was escape.

Nearly there, she forgot about safety and ran forward. Tripping, she rolled over something big. She glanced at the shape. Henri. Her blood ran cold and she tugged at him. They could not reach the door but she could try. She just wasn't strong enough.

Falling to her knees, she cried. Tears leaked out of her eyes. She was going to die and so was the only man who had ever cared for her. "It's not fair," she whispered. The words seeped into her head and she warned herself of hysteria. Still she could not stop the words.

"It's not fair," she spoke louder. "It's not fair, not fair, not fair!" Her voice was a yell now and, preoccupied with her statement, she failed to notice a faint violet glow. Anyone who was watching that night would have said that it surrounded the house like a bubble. It was partially see-through, like a tint.

"Not fair!" she yelled as the smoke inhalation got to her. As consciousness faded, the violet bubble blinked out. The fire had been pushed away from the house.

Later, authorities would suggest that a mutant saved the family. Others would suggest that it was God. Others still would insist that the father was a mutant refugee. But none would question the humanity of the child. None would know that Chimaera, the deadliest assassin on earth, was the hero who saved the family that day. And no one would know, not for years to come, that Chimaera was Rayne Zheyna.