Faded tires approach a parking stump, as Johnny stops in front of an abandoned Chinese restaurant.

Shuffling feet scraped boots against the dark gray pavement. Throwing backpacks over their shoulders, the children slammed the vibrant red car doors behind them.

Caleb took a moment to stretch, whereas Johnny gripped his sword. Sharp teeth tore through cracked lips.

Drowsy feet roamed across the empty parking lot until Caleb finally relieved the stress on his neck. Somehow, the dampened breeze ameliorated his affliction; hefty, white clouds drift along the atmosphere like leaves on a duck pond.

The stars gleamed dimly as God broke the diamond and strew the pieces across the horizon.

"Let's hope the rain won't hinder our plans," Caleb thinks.

Nessa gazed at the road, congregated with heavy traffic. Her small fingers dance around the butt of her handgun.

Though it may be a hunch, I think that Apollo will not be far from where the teenagers are standing. Not only did it serve as a refuge for mutants, but Chinatown seems to be the only place that does not allow mutants to show their humiliating passports.

But since Chinatown is a vast community, finding the teenage fugitive is like unearthing a needle in a haystack.

There was no chance that these kids would apprehend Apollo without making a scene.

Johnny nods quietly. He hoped the police didn't capture Apollo first. "Hey, let's check out the Chinatown shops. Maybe he could be visiting one of them."

Sliding the katana into his backpack, Johnny leaves the parking lot, prompting the others to follow him.

Most souvenir shops reside on Grant Avenue. So when the children visited these small markets, they found toys, polished porcelain goods, and foreign knick-knacks.

But there were no signs of Apollo.

Discouraged, the four adolescents walked into a produce market in Stockon Street.

Johnny, Caleb, Nessa, and Brooke headed to Grant Avenue-a decorated street which corresponds to Stockon. What I had liked about Stockon Street is that the product markets would lower prices.

Chinese culture frolicked in the atmosphere.

Seafood markets, fried delicacies, and stores full of cooked animal parts disgusted yet intrigued Brooke.

Foreign music blasts in their ears; kids scampered past the teens' legs as they carried kebabs, treats, and novelties.

"How cute!" a blissful Caleb thinks, grinning.

There is nothing that makes him happier than seeing small children. He only hopes that the kids are being careful around tourists.

"Hey, Caleb." Johnny grasps his left shoulder.

His serious demeanor frightens the easygoing telepath as Johnny thrusts up his mysterious katana to his chest. "Unless you want Apollo to turn California into a fiery wasteland, we need to stay focus."

Feeling stupid, the telepath scratches his head.

"You're right," he smirks. "Sorry about that."

Nodding his head, Johnny urged Caleb into a herbal shop, where Chinese civilians paid for their ailments, medications, and remedies.

Doctors stood behind the cashier, helping the ailing customers locate the herbs. Almost every plant stored in glass jars-except the white rose fallen on the floor.

Long thorns sprout from the greenish-brown stem. Petals sprawled on the white tiled floor, prompting the customers to alienate from the demolished flower.

Speaking of flowers, Brooke tells Johnny that she is going to purchase some rare herbs for their mission.

"Fine," Johnny laments. "But try to step on it, alright?"

Brooke expressed a tiring sigh. "Okay, just be patient."

As soon as the young prophet disappears into the crowd, Johnny caught a curious glimpse of a back door with two, massive shelves standing on each side.

For some reason, Johnny suspected that it might be a janitor's closet or the entrance to the bathroom. But as I examine inside the boy's mind, I wonder why no one ever penetrates through the door.

He taps Nessa's shoulder to get her attention.

"Check it out, Sis," he whispers in Nessa's ear.

Her eyebrows perk up. "What?"

Johnny's index finger motioned the wooden door. "Maybe Apollo entered through there."

Caleb gazes at the mysterious wooden door staring right in front of them. "You think so?"

"Yeah." Johnny nods his head. "Wanna check it out?"

He, Caleb, and Nessa push past the mob of tourists. In the meantime, Brooke is busy buying herbs from a kind consultant.

Small glass pots of fresh aloe and condiments stashed in Brooke's backpack, as the couple bestows four golden guineas to the elderly physician.

"Thank you so much." Brooke waves at the earnest doctor who lends her the bill and small change.

After that, she spots Nessa squeezing through tight spaces. Hazel eyes switched from the inquisitive travelers to the jars of herbs collected from the bitter stares judging the children.

Despite Chinatown's tolerance towards the supernatural, the community couldn't help but feel terrified of them.

Johnny and his companions experience this abuse when they showed the cashier their passports. Behind the kids' backs were vicious customers muttering degrading comments about their kind.

Most of the buyers utter "freaks" under their breaths, whereas a vapid, old woman spat chewed tobacco near Nessa's feet.

Outraged, Nessa was about to pick a fight with the grandiose old lady when Caleb impels his thoughts inside the girl's head.

"Nessa," he thinks in a reasonable tone. "It's not worth it. Punching her in the face won't solve anything." 

The girl's face tightens when she looks up at Caleb.

"Stop reading my thoughts," she tells him. "I know these people aren't exactly nice but-"

"Don't listen to what those assholes are saying," Caleb ducks under a hefty man carrying a large jar of duckweed.

"All we need to do is find Apollo, take him somewhere safe, and pretend nothing happened. Okay?"

Nessa shoots him a menacing look until her expression softens. She loathes these racists more than her friends; but even so, Caleb was right.

It's better to ignore these people than prove them right. Grasping his hand around the door, Johnny twists the knob and pulls the wooden entrance towards him.

It leads them to an endless flight of concrete stairs. Chills snaked on their skin. Shy sweat aroused from clogged pores.

But what horrified Johnny is the stale odor of smoke.

"Hey, where are you kids going?" a vicious voice snarled.

Johnny, Caleb, Nessa, and Brooke swivel their heads to see a bald Chinese man wearing a yellow Hawaiian printed shirt, khaki pants, and ink blue flip-flops.

"We're sorry." Brooke blushed. "We're just-"

"This door is off-limits." the hairless old man marched towards the children and slammed the entrance in front of them. "Either buy something or get the hell out!"

"Look, we don't want any trouble, man." Caleb sighed. "We're just curious to know what's behind this door."

The old man crossed his bulky arms. "This door leads to the men's bathroom."

Brooke casts him a strange look. "If this door leads us to the bathroom, then why isn't there a sign?"

"Because we're refurbishing the store," he answers, clawing the reddish-pink blemish behind his ear.

It's funny how irony works. For one thing, this store has been remodeled last week with no critical issues. Also, in newspaper articles, this shop has a rating of A-minus.

"Are you the store owner?" asked Caleb.

"Yes."

"Wow, good for you." Nessa bobs her head softly. "So, can we go through the door now?"

The store owner grimaced, "No, you are not."

Frustrated, Caleb takes a bold step forward and peered deep into his eyes.

Anxiety begins to pound inside his head as the store owner thought about the Yakuza goons buying and selling bags of cocaine in the basement.

Astonished, Caleb pats the store owner's right shoulder. "The Yakuza is dealing with drugs behind that door?"

Johnny, Brooke, and Nessa all widen their eyes. This herbal shop has a drug dealing business downstairs?

"How do you know that?" an appalled store owner asked. "Are you the police?"

Caleb frowns in disgust. "Dude, how old do you think we are?"

His outburst startled a few customers who were picking herbs from the white shelves.

In the meantime, the store owner's face reddens. He examines the children before berating himself for asking outrageous questions.

"I have to do it," the store owner. "The Yazuka promised to give me money to help the shop."

He analyses the kids' bewildered faces and continued, "Look, I have a daughter who has lung cancer. My wife's job does not pay her enough. If I tell the police, the Yazuka will kill my family."

Brooke's toughened expression melts.

"So, you let the Yakuza use your shop so you can help your family?" she summarizes.

"Look," Johnny says patiently. "We don't care about you helping the Yakuza, man. It's your business, not ours."

"The real reason we are here is that we are looking for this kid. And we think he's hiding in your basement."

Uneasy, the store owner nods. "Alright then, but how do I know that you kids are not going to call the police?"

"Because we don't give a rat's ass about the police," Nessa retorts in a sour tone. "That's why."

Unlike Caleb, Brooke, and Johnny, Nessa was tired of answering this man's despicable questions. A huge part of her wanted to rat him out to the cops, but Johnny taught her to keep her distance from the local authorities.

Strolling towards the door, Brooke twists the knob and enters the passageway. Rumbling sounds bounce off hollow walls; dripping water. Angry buzzing. Dust threw over stair rails like curtains.

Concrete gray peeled the bottom of her heels, as the teenaged seer walks downstairs. Her friends thudded behind Brooke. Frosty breath dispersed from cotton-mouthed lips.

Nessa tries to catch up to her eldest sibling, but she almost tripped on something small and sharp.

"Ouch!" she winced. The girl slows down to see a jagged twig of a Cypress tree oozing blood.

Caleb, Johnny, and Brooke stop dead in their tracks.

"Are you okay?" Brooke whispers.

"Yeah, but-"

"Shush!" Johnny silenced the girls as he hears two delivery trucks parking on the concrete floor.

A frightened Caleb tilts his neck to see nasty convicts crawling out of the vehicles, carrying bags of cow manure.

Strange tattoos stretched across powerful muscles; malignant eyes scan around the room for any eavesdropping intruders. A handful of Yazuka soldiers wielded firearms while some hoists long swords.

"Oh, shit." Caleb squeaked.

Brooke drags him from the back of his shirt.

"Shut up!" Nessa hissed. "Do you want the Yakuza to kill us?"

There are two sides: the tattooed bandits and the well-dressed businessmen.

Light filtered the polluted air as malicious crime leaders retrieved the bag of cow waste, shred it open with a knife, and watch cocaine bags fall onto the floor.

A huge smile spread across the opposing rival's face. Like his mild-mannered friends, the man in a crisp gray suit approached the hooligans with a leather brown briefcase.

"As promised, here are ten-million dollars."

Greedy hands reached for the briefcase when, out of nowhere, a hooded figure appears to them as a ghost. It wore black garb, fingerless gloves, ripped jeans, and old combat boots.

At first, the children and the Yazuka goons did not know what to make of this.

Japanese criminals prepared themselves for battle. Some drew out their swords while others cocked their guns.

"Who the hell are you?" one shrieked.

The mysterious figure raised his hands as if he is trying to surrender. As Nessa takes a closer look, she noticed the pus-filled sores swelling on the corner of his pale lips.

"Please let me go." his trembling voice sounds like a broken record.

The Yakuza exchanged dubious looks at one another. Surely, this person is a cop in disguise; however, he isn't carrying a badge or a gun.

Inspecting the unusual figure with suspicious stares, the criminals motioned their guns in front of him.

"Are you a pig?" a hateful tone rasped.

"Huh?"

White silver gun jabbed the hooded figure on the back of his head. Powerful hands yank the black hood away from his head, revealing a teenage boy.

Hostile light crept through his dark blonde hair. Blue eyes broaden at the gun aiming at him. Bones appeared through the boy's flesh, implying how anorexic he is.

Somehow, Nessa recognized the boy's face.

"Apollo?" she murmurs in delight.

Though the boy had matured over a year, his appearance did not alter.

From the corner of his eye, Apollo carefully glances at the teary-eyed Latina then, much to the girl's surprise, takes off running.

"Hey!" one of the Yakuza goons shrill. "Get back here!"

When Apollo refused, they began pelting the boy with raining bullets. Johnny and the other kids scrambled upstairs to find shelter from the chaos.

Indignant uproar abused their ears.

Like an innocent child in a colorless world, Nessa crawls into Johnny's stiff arms and embraces him tightly. Caleb covers Brooke's ears while watching the turmoil unfold.

Johnny tries to comfort his sister, but she continues to walk over the loud gunshots until the sounds of pouring drizzle eased their fears.

The waggling lightbulb stops dead in their tracks; tensions between the two factions vanish.

Initially, the children guessed that the battle had discontinued. But as Brooke begins to open her eyes, pessimism begins to torment her one more time.

"Oh, fuck." she whispered.

She and the others observed the criminals wither in pain. Angry flames consumed their uniforms, skin, and shoes until there was nothing left of them.

Searing heat wavered from their discolored corpses while delivery trucks were digested by flames.

Abandoning their hiding place, the children entered the fiery landscape.

Johnny reluctantly draws out his sword and scopes the area, while Nessa and the kids found Apollo on the concrete floor, forming into a ball.

"Holy shit," Apollo mumbled. "I can't believe I did it again."

He glides his hands into his unkempt hair, whimpering like a neglected child. Sighing, Nessa wanders up to the anxious Apollo then crouches right beside him.

"Are you okay?" she asks the boy. "Did those assholes hurt you?"

Apollo shakes his head.

"Good." Johnny sheaths his sword then pats Nessa on her left shoulder. "Let's get going or else the cops will find us."

Brooke helps Apollo to his feet, while Caleb peers at the overcooked bodies. Somehow, the scarring images reminded him of the dead soldiers he had witnessed in the laboratory.

Backing away from the darkened carcasses, Caleb swivels his heel and joined the others.

Feet slapped on the heated floor; screeching flames rumbled, bright orange glowed on dust gray walls. But what startles Brooke is her troubled visions about a threat coming their way.

Wild sirens overwhelmed howling flames.

Anticipating this, Brooke gripped her firearm and tells everyone to get ready.

"I think we got company," she gives notice to her comrades. Racing cars begin appearing in all directions, like a pack of monstrous wolves surrounding their prey.

Light washed the children in a blue and red glow. Little did they know, the police has come to take their prize.