I hate the day.

It wasn't always this way. I used to love the daytime, though it seems like a century ago. Before Pop took me on our journey, I would play in the park with my friends. Or out on our journey, playing with Ucchan, or sparing with Ryoga, or learning some new technique with Pops. All out in the sun, when the world seemed a happier place, full of hope.

But there ain't any hope no more.

You can feel it in the air. A sense of- something. Like the calm before a storm. You walk down a street, and you can feel eyes on your back. Mothers, hanging out their washing, looking at the pedestrians just a little too long, their eyes squinting slightly. Most can't put their finger on it, but to those of us in the know, its there.

Suspicion. Fear. Hate.

Other countries don't have it so bad, I hear. In Australia, and New Zealand, in particular, it's all pretty happy. The bulk of Europe has it, but not so badly as most places. America has it, but like everything American, its overplayed, beyond what they actually feel. Gangs and shootings. Sad, when the safest place to go is the most violent. But then again, its not like I have a choice. Japan is terrible, probably the worst in the world, ashamed as I am to admit it. It's a pretty stiff country any way. Not everyone here realizes it, but I do. Having been to so many other countries, Japan seems so closed, so bossy. Everyone has to fit in, has to be just like everyone else. Even in my old home, Nerima.

I hear they clamped down on it, after we left. No more insane Kendoists, no drug obsessed gymnasts, no pineapple toting hairdresser wannabes. Now, it's just like everywhere else in Tokyo. Just the same as everywhere else in Japan. All drones, looking for the nail that sticks out, with a hammer ready. That's why I left- I'm a pretty big nail, and they were sure to fetch a huge hammer, one which wouldn't care how much damage it made trying to keep me down.

But you can't escape the fear, wherever you go. Or the guilt. You know that at any moment, someone will shout out a word, just one word, and it'll all be over. One word, and a hundred people will be trying to tear you apart.

That's why I'm leaving. The boat leaves in an hour, and it'll just be the three of us, normal illegal immigrants to America, three of millions. And hopefully, we wont have to fear as much. Or maybe I'll find this "White Queen" Nabiki mentioned. She said, before I left, that she was looking for some skilled fighters, and that I'd fit right in. Perhaps I'll find her. Maybe we'll just wander around. But at least we'll be in "America, home of the Free". Maybe then we'll be free. No more looking behind my back for those dam sensors. No more having to run as people accuse us, condemn us for what we couldn't help. Before they label us.

Before they scream out what we are, for the world to know and despise.

Before they scream "Mutant".