There are secrets in this world, we all know this. Some of them are kept by others, their reasons unknown. Others the planet keeps, waiting to be discovered, lie there, waiting. Waiting in all corners of the Earth, sometimes right under our noses, sometimes deep within the widerness. But there are some secrets that wern't meant to be found, for if they were, it could be the end of civilization as we know it. There is a society that protect these secrets, and do so with deadly force. You are chosen from birth for this society, and you may never leave, for if you do, they will kill you. They are efficient, and they are clean about it. Only one has survived their wrath, and this is his story.
Saturday morning, 9:00. It was just another morning for seventeen-year-oldCraig Reilly, getting up, heading to the bathroom and making sure that his wavy orange/red hair was messed up in the right way and headed downstairs. He walked into the marble kitchen and sat down at the stool, the wood creaking slightly under his weight. As usual, his mom was at the the stove, making a fabulous breakfast as she did every saturday morning.
"Good morning, love," Mrs. Reilly said, turning around to face her son. She was a short woman, pleasantly plump, and about forty. With dark black hair, the only thing that Craig had in common physically were the bright green eyes and a bit of her Irish accent, which she aquired from being born in Ireland and moving Macon, Georgia about two years before Craig was born. Because of this, Craig and his two brothers, Edward and Seamus were all Irish citizens and were traveling between the U.S. and Ireland constantly.
"Morning, Mum," Craig said, "something smells good!" He looked over her shoulder and his mouth watered.
"Now, you'll have to wait until you're brothers wake up," Mrs. Reilly replied, "you know how Ed is when you start before him."
"Yeah, well, he's sixteen, he needs to grow up," Craig said, getting up and trying to slip past his mum, which he failed miserably at, being pushed back down onto the stool. "People like him are the reason that alot of other people think that all red-heads are quick to temper."
"Don't say that," Mrs. Reilly said, turning to continue cooking. So Craig just sat there, head in hands and mouth watering. After about fifteen minutes, his brothers, Edward and Seamus walked in. Ed was a year younger than Craig, a little less than an inch shorter, with similar facial features and same hair color. Seamus was fourteen, and was a smaller version of his brothers.
"Something smells great," Seamus said, licking his lips and rubbing his hands together.
"Yeah, it does," Ed said, "you're going to bring the whole neighborhood here, asking for breakfast."
They sat down at the counter on either side of Craig, and they were served a breakfast with about ten different types of sausages, pancakes, bacon, eggs, and a whole bunch of other stuff. Seamus shoved it all down, while Ed and Craig took their time. After a while, they finished and went to do separate things.
Saturday afternoon, 3:00. Craig was in the study, looking through the mail that Mrs. Reilly had brought in early. Most of it he didn't care about, but there was one that caught his eye. It was a short, hand-written letter to his parents, and he started to read.
Mr. and Mrs. Reilly,
I just wanted to inform you of Alastor's situation.
Alastor, Criag thought, that's one of Mum's favorite names. He put the thought away and continued reading.
He is responding well to the new robotics, though it was painful for him when we attached them to the nerves. He is able to move his arm and legs like he would with his natural arm. We have been moving around a good bit, staying hidden. I believe, though, that we have found a good place to stay a while, where we won't be found. I will have to leave him for a while, but I think he will be safe. He was trained by them, so I don't think that he will be easy to defeat, even by members of the society he belonged to. Someday I'm going to have to figure out how he got involved with them. But I must go, I will write later.
Caring, Dr. M. Cushing
Craig read over the letter several more time.
Robotics? Craig thought. he had heard of prosthetic limbs and thought that robotics might be some fancy name for them. He got up and found his Mum, handing her the letter.
"What's this?" he asked, his usually calm voice sharp.
She looked at him and smiled. "There are secrets in the world. Sit down, I think it's time you knew."
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