Part One: Childhood

Jessylane318

Summary: In this world, there are two types of people. Those with quirks, those capable of superhuman powers and feats, and those too worthless to inherit them. Those without are often bullied, ridiculed, and refused work. Those without are often the most poverty-stricken. Those without are quirkless—a word synonymous to useless. What would it be like to grow up in such a world?

The gas station is well lit. Nearly empty too. With multiple cameras on the outside and bars on the window, it's just like all the others. Dirty, dusty, and smelling of ethanol. Mama nods and pulls up her hood, pressing her sunglasses firmly against her face. She checks my outfit before we leave, dragging back my braid and tucking it in the oversized jacket. She nods approval, lips thin, nose flared.

She squeezes my wrist as she drags me through the chiming door.

"Welcome!"

She goes straight for the register. I can't help but cry.

I hate this part the most.

"Give me all your money."

She gives me the look, nose crinkled and lips downturned in disgust. Red nails pinch at my wrist. I shiver at the silent command. Black tendrils rise immediately to the surface. I can't help it. The cashier cringes, stepping back, wide-eyed and afraid. Thick, purple and black tentacles stretch into the air. They crawl like worms across my skin. They curl across the counter like vapor. Hanging dangerously against the man's shoulders, slipping down across his spine. They smell of darkness, of wet earth and bones. I focus on the fluorescence, watching the rickety lights sway and try not to gag.

A sack is passed overhead.

"O-O-O-Kay!"

"In the bag. You have one minute, or she'll kill you."

I don't want to kill him. I sob a little and she pinches me. It's a warning, don't do it again. She doesn't like crybabies. The cashier doesn't notice, his face bloodless, his arms shaking. He unloads the cash. I shudder.

"Enough," Mama says, and she snatches back the bag. She glares at the man for a moment, fully wrapped in my tentacles, and then she flicks my cheek. It stings, sharp and bright. I swallow and imagine physically swallowing back the shadows.

They slip beneath my skin with practiced ease.

Relief.

Sharp red nails tug on my wrist and we leave.