"Goddamn stalkers," I muttered under my breath.

I was taking out the trash for the third time this morning while subtly glancing around my neighborhood. I lived north in California, which wasn't a huge difference from the south.

My neighboring houses weren't exactly beaten down but they could use a renovation. Or three. The paint was fading and scraped off in some spots. One house even had so much graffiti inscribed on its body that it looked like a custom sleeve tattoo. Rickety fences decorated most houses on the street. Most looked like they couldn't withstand a shove from a pinky finger.

My house stood out in that department. Instead of the flimsy barbed wire fences that could've been the new symbol of California, I had a proper perimeter wall around my modest house.

Though I wasn't one for standing out, perimeter walls sent the message that there was either an Inquisitor or high ranking official living there and most thought the risk of robbing it was higher than the reward.

So why was I outside the safety of my walls for the third time in three hours? I shot a hidden glare at a car parked a little ways down the street.

I had felt its presence last night and had stayed awake, thinking Inquisitor robbers might've decided to test the owner of the walled-in house. The car hadn't moved and I wasn't able to sleep a wink.

My neighborhood didn't exactly host notable figures. I had made sure of that before settling down. So, a car parked here was as out of place as an angel visiting hell. It wasn't necessarily that cars were a lost commodity in the world, but in California, they painted you as a target ripe for picking.

Car robberies were frequent since many government-funded dealerships would accept used cars without any raised eyebrows. I didn't claim to be the smartest tool in the shed but my intuition told me the government knew what they were doing.

My intuition also told me that anybody who drove an Aston Martin through California, even the northern side, was brave, and probably for good reason. My gut also told me they were here for me.

X-ray vision wasn't in my deck of cards so I couldn't see through the dark tint but I couldn't shake the dreaded feeling of being watched. I hadn't been as thorough as usual after my robbery last night either. Usually, I was able to coat myself with heightened senses and shake any tails that might be fans, journalists, or CIA agents. However, considering how close I had come to snuffing out my spark, I hadn't heightened my senses the entire way home which left a twenty percent chance of a successful tailing job.

I ruled them out as government endorsed considering my house hadn't been lit on fire already, so I had no idea what or who they were. Frankly, I didn't plan to stand around and find out either.

I headed back inside, hurrying to pack up a suitcase. I didn't have a ton of belongings that couldn't fit in my pockets but I was big on fashion and had built a respectable collection that I didn't want to part with.

Suits of all flavors were folded in next to their bottom counterparts. Dress shoes were similarly thrown into side compartments. I shrugged at what I called the Clark Kent part of my wardrobe, with casual T-shirts and Jeans with beat-up sneakers. I threw in some and hurried to the kitchen.

The house was only thirty feet wide and may have passed for more of a cabin than a house back in the day. Still, I had grown fond of the simple living quarters and cursed under my breath at having to leave it behind.

I dug into the fridge, snatching up bags on top of bags of candy. I was a bit of a sugar junkie and I hadn't heard of an Inquisitor dying of diabetes so I calculated the risk of me dying because of my addiction was below twenty percent.

Considering my job, that was a drop in the lake.

Finally, I was ready to go. I eased out of a backdoor which threatened to creak loudly but thankfully behaved. With suitcase in hand, I leaped over the ten-foot wall in a single bound, assisted by my spark.

I broke off into a slight jog away from the car's position on the other side. I had a vague idea of a destination to hang low at while I searched for a new house. A house could be easily purchased on the tablet inside my suitcase at just the tap of a button.

One of the many advantages of the dominance of electronic transactions in the modern day.

I had taken only a few steps when I felt someone bearing down on me. Inquisitors when they reached a certain level developed an aura. I had been told my own aura was weak, a sign of inexperience with high risk.

The aura that suddenly intruded on my escape did not have such a defect.

A man landed a bit in front of me, his eyes hidden behind the darkest shades I'd probably ever seen. He wore a tacky full suit that made my eyes burn and immediately I placed him in the people I detest category.

Tacky suit folded his arms, staring intently at me. I considered my options. This guy seemed like a dangerous opponent even at full strength, so considering I hadn't slept a wink and was in dire need of some replenishment, engaging him was a no-go.

Which left escaping or rather, a tactical retreat. It wouldn't be easy but it was certainly possible.

Just as I was planning out the best routes to lose Tacky Suit, the Aston Martin pulled up behind me. I gulped. There was at least one other person in the vehicle which meant my chances of escaping had just dimmed drastically.

"What do you want?" I asked.

"For you to get in the car," Tacky Suit replied evenly. I noticed he had a clean shaven haircut which made me wonder if he was actually with the government. They weren't exactly known for their subtlety though.

"And if I say no?"

"Then I'll put you in the car."

The bastard seemed to be fighting a smile as he said it. The guy was itching for this to go the violent route so he could satisfy a superiority complex probably. It was what you would expect of people with crappy suits.

I snorted. "I'd like to see you try."

I had a really bad habit of bluffing when I got nervous.

Tacky Suit unceremoniously stalked forward, cracking his knuckles like some cartoon character about to lay a serious smackdown.

I swallowed my pride, raising my hands in surrender. Whatever they had planned for me, being unconscious would lower my survival rate significantly. I may as well be dead meat at that point. This was no time to have an ego clash with the unfashionable.

Tacky Suit paused, a frown creasing his face in slight disappointment before motioning behind me as one of the car doors swung open.

I sighed. "Hope you folks have room for a suitcase," I mumbled, trying to stall for God knows what.

A miracle perhaps.

Tacky Suit picked up the suitcase without a word and again motioned at the door behind me.

No such luck.

As I slid into the vehicle, some sort of bag was immediately thrown over my head but not before I caught a glimpse of two people up front. They both sported auras that were as worrying as Tacky Suit.

I folded my fist in frustration. I'd been better off trying to surprise attack Tacky Suit after all! Deep down I knew it would've been futile.

I reclined back in the surprisingly comfortable seat, wishing I had known the neighborhood better to gauge the car's direction from my other senses. Atleast they didn't rough up their prisoners.

A harrowing question dawned on me as the Aston Martin picked up speed and I drifted further and further away from home.

Had I just been kidnapped?

Chapter Three - No Such Luck

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