"Mom?" I murmered, holding her hand tighter and leaning closer as we walked.

"Yes?" She sniffed sadly.

"I'm really sorry I didn't say anything. I'm really really sorry." I felt the normal sense of anger flooding me.

"It isn't your fault. You were just scared. It's not your fault." She assured herself as we reached the dismal, barren building on the edge of town.

"I'm going to disappear right?" I asked the question we had both been avoiding forever. I knew that's what this was, that I was one of the four percent who would leave and be forgotten.

"Yes Owen. You'll disappear." She squeezed my hand and pointed to the glass doors. "You have to go now."

"Promise me Mom." An angry tear slid down my face. I didn't want to have to ask her. I didn't want to have to ask the woman I loved most in the world, the woman who volunteered to take me when even my brother turned his back. "Promise me you'll forget me. Promise you'll never say my name again."

"I promise," She cried as men in oddly colored uniforms strode out of the building.

"I love you," I said before hands gripped my arms and pulled me towards the glass doors.

She didn't respond, and I was thankful. She shouldn't have to feel anything for me anymore. I wouldn't disappoint her anymore.

"Let's go," grumbled a voice. I stood to help them walk me inside where I would face whatever people like me deserved. He had dull green sparks flying from his body. He was a Happy. He didn't act like one though, His voice was too rough, too defeated.

We marched through the doors, entering a clean lobby, even if it was cramped. The men, I counted eight, pulled me to a amble desk in the middle. Another uniformed man sat there, clicking away on a computer. He had the same green flickering around him, not that he could see it anyways.

"Owen Conners," I spoke clearly as I had been instructed. "Sixty four percent Rage, thirty percent Happy, four percent Sorrow, and..." I trailed off, knowing why I was here instead off out in the normal world. "Two percent Violent." I rolled my eyes with disdain for the two percent of me that would put me in a place like this.

If I had been two percent Happier, had two percent more Sorrow, I wouldn't have ended up here. I'd get to go to a rehabilitation, but no. I was sent here. That two percent changes everything around here. That two percent ends life as you know it. That two percent - it makes you dangerous.

I didn't notice when they slid a needle into my neck. They didn't notice when my normal pink flared into dark, crimson red. They didn't notice my cry of pain when my sparks stopped. But they noticed when I fell unconscious.

I hated my cell. Hate is normal for me now, but I sure hated that cell. It wasn't more than two feet by two feet, and just tall enough to make my 5'3" height stoop. If I had enough room to turn around, I would've forgotten which wall was the one that slid open. A small air vent in the ceiling that brushed my hair ensured that I remained cold all day long.

Thinking about my confinement made me upset, and being upset flared my pink into red. The light that bounced off the gray wall hurt my eyes, so I tried my best not to let my anger rise.

Finally, the wall in front of me slid open, revealing the other doors doing the same. Across the hall I saw my friend, Mikey.

I waved at the teenager covered in dark purple electricity shooting from him. A loud buzz sounded and everyone stepped out at once, streatching sore legs and arms. The majority of people were pulsing with full red. Some were blueish, most of whom looked more white than blue. Miley was the only Violent we had, dressed in his purple sparks and gray uniform that hung loosely around him.

The symbol on his head identified him as a Violent. I remember asking him if I had one in my head, even though every other person had one.

I greeted him in a friendly matter, high fiving him. His normal look of annoyance didn't falter.

"Good morning Owen." He muttered, grimacing.

"Good morning Mikey," I said, sensing my red die down as I joked.

"My name is Mike. Call my Mike." He said bitterly. The air around him lit up with purple sparks and I stepped back, gasping slightly. It scared me when his sparks turned that shade. I knew he couldn't help it, but it was terrifying. Violent people were exactly that, violent. They had a normal compulsion to hurt others, even though they knew it was wrong.

Sadness poured into his eyes as the light dropped to blue. "I'm sorry I scared you. I-,"

"It's okay Mikey. I get it." I said truthfully. I did, to be honest. Almost every other person here was only one percent Violent. If anyone understood Mikey, it was me.

"Let's go," He muttered as the normal purple shade returned.

We walked with elbow room, giving that the other prisoners gave the Violent plenty of space. I was his sole friend.

We reached the cafeteria after passing centries of doors over our hour long walk. Most were empty, signified by the empty panel above It wear a name should go. It was a large room, designed to hold the half hundred of us who lived here.

Mikey and I sat as other kids seemed to immidiatly levitate away from our table. I saw Mikey frown beside me.

"It's okay Mikey, I'm your friend." I reassured him.

"I hate people for being the way they are. I hate people for their unwillingness to accept people just like them." He grit his teeth as a guard came by and set trays of food in front of us.

"I know it sucks Mikey; but there isn't a thing we can do." I picked up an apple.

"I know there isn't anything we can do. I'm not an idiot." He growled, muscles tensing. I could see the battle inside of him, trying to control the violence wanting to burst from him.

I had only ever had my violence
show up once. It was when I first came here a few years ago. I was standing on the stage the had for introducing new freaks. That was the first memory I could ever remember, standing up there, everyone watching and judging me. I hated it so much that faint purple - Nothing like Mikey's - surrounded me. It was the most painful thing I had ever endured. When Rages or Sorrows get frustrated or sad, the sparks that crackle from their skin gets darker. The darker a color grows, the more painful it is for the person the energy is coming from.  Purple was maybe twice as painful as red or blue would ever be, which said something.

"Atention please." Buzzed a bored voice from the stage, almost as if my memory of it had jarred it to life. Mikey didn't look up like I did. He didn't care about whoever was joining the team of weirdos this time.
"This is Kalesea. Her percentages are..." The voice trailed off as the guard introducing her squinted at the card. I couldn't see the girl named Kalesea as she was standing behind the guard.
"Unknown? Percentages can't be unknown." The guard murmered.

"Mine is. Deal with it." The girl said, directly to a guard. Now Mikey was looking up with curiosity; people didn't speak to the guards, ever. That got you... Well it got you in trouble.

"Excuse me?" He mused, almost laughing.

"I said, mine isn't. I don't have set percentages." I heard an exagerated sigh. "And I go by Kale."

"Well, this is Kale I guess." Said the confused guard. "Make her feel welcome I suppose."

He stepped off the platform and I could finally see the girl. She was short and had black hair that hung past her shoulders. She was thin, but not in an unfed way. But there was something off about her.

She hopped down from the stage, looking for a seat. Most tables quickly scooted over to take up more space. Her eyes fell on where Mikey and I were sitting.

We exchanged glances as she sat. Another guard hurried to put a plate in front of her. As she started to eat, it hit me. She didn't have color radiating from her skin.