Maxville Level Five Prison for Superhuman Beings.

I hate that place. I seriously do.

My name, my power, my story shouldn't matter to you. Because it's not, and it'll never be, about me. It's about those civil servants putting on a show in spandex and capes. I don't matter to anyone but the boss I hand the manila folder to at the end of the day, week, year.

I creep, I sneak, and I eavesdrop. I write down what I hear and I sometimes get sticky fingered with the documents and maps that get carelessly left out or in unlocked drawers.

I'm a shadow.

I only disappear once the light of the Heroes' show is shined in the corner I hide in.

I hate visiting the prison because I'm the reason most of these men and women had their Plan discovered before the great, unfortunate unveiling day. I walk through, and most don't know me. I doubt they noticed me in the first place, much less now.

I'm not conceited enough to think that the Heroes would be less informed with out me.

Like I said, I don't matter.

I'm replaceable.

There was a thick glass wall between me and the inmate. My mother. She was locked up due to information from the man who trained me to hone my skill.

The prison had robbed her of the beauty she once had.

But it almost came back the minute she saw me.

She smiles widely. "Hello, baby," She says into the phone.

I smiled back. "Hey, Mom."

"How've you been? How's work?" Mom asked eagerly, hungry for a distraction. This is why I've been coming to see her directly instead of calling or writing letters.

I told her about my civilian job cover, a free lance photographer for a magazine. She asked me when I was fifteen not to go into the superhuman business. She didn't want me in there like her or killed by one of her old colleges.

I talk about a fake relationship and fake classes I'm taking at a school I never enrolled in. I chatter about my roommate, her being in the hospital, how both of us are pooling our money together to fix up the place we share.

I had to leave sooner than later.

I pass a few groups on my way out, always exchanging looks with me as if I could tell them how the visit would go.

There were lots of things I really didn't tell my mom out of spite.

I didn't tell her my roommate died three years ago. I've yet to rid myself of her stuff.

I didn't tell her that I was fired from the magazine three weeks ago. I've already gotten rid of everything from there.

I didn't tell her three weeks ago I was approached by her brother.

I slid into the front seat of the Volvo as it pulled up next to me, closing the door and buckling my seat belt before we started.

My Uncle's associate, a tall, normal man, was driving. I took a floppy disk out of my pocket and put it in the glove box. He grinned at me.

"How many of the systems could you copy?" He asks.

I scoff. "All of them."

He looks surprised.

I scoff again. "You underestimated me. I'm good at my job."

The Normal Man gives me an almost doggish smile. "You're good at betraying people. Won't they notice you bein' gone?"

I wag my head.

It's like I said.

I'm replaceable.

But Jetstream and The Commander aren't.


Okay, I was halfway through my next chapter of my Naruto story when Sky High came on. Whenever it comes on, I just want to write a fic. This thought came to me because all of the stories are about girls with millions of powers who want to be heroes and make out with Warren. (poor boy gets too much attention)

I originally wanted him to be in here, (coming in when the narrator was leaving) but I didn't like the idea when I had it typed it out. That's what usually happens to my ideas.

Now, back to MC chapter eight.