Every journey apparently starts with a single step. Not necessarily a physical one foot in front of the other step, but an idea. A plan. A direction. Or that foot step.

Thomas and Bren were taking steps, actual ones, but they had no real plan. Going to see a man who dropped out of sight when you didn't know where he'd lived in the first place, let alone where he might have gone to, felt like an impossible task. They had hoped talking it through as they walked would have made it sound more feasible that it actually was. It didn't.

The park was fairly quiet. It was no longer a place of children playing or couples picnicking. It was one of gouged earth. Scorched and uprooted trees. A destroyed monument. An odd, ever bubbling pool of water that had once been home to a small fountain. The structure, a tribute to Barre's Peter Pan, was missing its left leg and the top of its head. It was laying face down in the liquid. The water temperature was ambient and, as far as everyone knew, contained no compounds that were not meant to be there. It had, however, bubbled – or rather fizzed – for six months. It didn't burn if a hand or other body part was inserted and anything dipped in remained untouched. The damage done to the statue was from a mother trying to show her daughter how to use her power.

It didn't go according to plan.

Still, for apparently no reason, the water bubbled.

A group of boys and a girl were playing football. They looked as if they could have been normal, if it weren't for the fact one insisted on skimming across the ground, barely touching it. The others kept telling him to stop and play fair, but they didn't really seem to mind. When one grabbed his ankle as he passed and threw him through the makeshift goalposts, they were all laughing.

Thomas wished he could be among them. Rough housing. Playing games, whether with or without abilities.

He'd never been one of them, though. He was forever an outcast, and he was bizarrely fine with it. There was now much more at stake than a ball game.

But, perhaps there was nothing more important. It wasn't just football. It was innocence, too.

Over in the far corner of the park, a solitary figure hung in the air. Their back was to the park and they hovered only just within its boundaries. The person faced the limp sun struggling to make its presence known in the watery sky and, otherwise, didn't move.

The boy and the slightly older girl kept each others hand held. They could have been a couple or friends or, as was the truth, two like minded children who barely knew each other, wanting to hide themselves from everyone.

"How do we find him?" Thomas asked.

It was the third time the question had been asked, but neither noticed. It was being passed from one to the other like a poisonous spider that, if held for too long, would bite the hand so desperate to be rid of it. They had no answers. Nowhere to start. No one to ask. Womack was a legend, one thought of in equal amounts as a saviour and a pariah. He had changed the world and the world had turned on him. Made it better. Make it stronger. Make it more. It transpired the Outbreak was an accident, though the details were so classified even the empowered had been unable to discover the real secrets behind it. Dr. Womack, genius as he undoubtedly was, vanished. Not through any power. He went into hiding to avoid facing the success that was also his failure.

"We need to start asking questions," Bren answered slowly. Thoughtfully.

"Who do we ask? I can't imagine anyone would want to answer."

"Oh," said Bren, her brow furrowed with either thought or indecision, "I have an idea."

She refused to be forthcoming on any further details, despite the prompting from Thomas. In turn, he was indignant at her attitude. They were in this together. She should be open with him. He asked her why she didn't want to tell him.

"You don't speak about these people. In fact, I already said too much. It's best you don't know until you need to."

"I can't really be in much more danger than I already am. What harm can it do?"

She stopped walking and turned to him.

"I'm trying to protect you. Let me."

"I can take..."

"No. You can't. You're ten years old and you haven't got a single power."

"Where you've got lots. Is that it? You're better than me 'cos you've got them?"

"No, of course not." She shook her head. "For someone who is so grown up, you're a little kid sometimes."

That hurt. Thomas knew he was unable, really, to compete in the real world against people with even the weakest of abilities. It was still more than he had. She didn't need to drive the fact home so hard.

"So, what?"

"Because I know them. You don't. It's better that way."

"Why is it?"

"Some people you just have to avoid. These are those people. Did Oscar scare you?"

Thomas nodded. He couldn't deny that. Oscar and his reputation had made him afraid. He would have been daft not to be. A healthy fear was more an awareness than the acceptance of weakness.

"Good. Well, these people scare Oscar."

"Oh."

Thomas's shoulders, squared against her implied but unmeaning insult, slumped. Perhaps he was better off not knowing, as she said. He had to trust her and being do defensive just made him sound like the young child he was but tried not to be.

"'Oh' is right. Now, are you going to let me handle this?"

How could he not? Her plan was all they had. It sounded dangerous, particularly for him, but he was being hunted. Whichever way they turned, danger loomed.

"OK," he said.

His voice cracked and he coughed to clear his throat. It had made him sound weak, but he didn't want her to think of him in that way. He might not be her equal, but he could help. Couldn't he?

Bren glanced up and he saw her eyes widen before, quickly, she looked back down again.

"What'''?"

"Shhh," she said, her tone an abrupt hand up to silence him. "Don't look around. Just let's start walking again."

He complied, but had to ask:

"Why? What's wrong."

"Don't do it if you can't without turning your head, but look over to the guy who was floating at the corner."

Thomas kept his head straight forward and inclined it slightly down as if watching where they were walking. He let his eyes slide slowly to the side.

The man was still hanging in the air in the same place. Now, he had turned around and was watching them. Thomas forced himself to breath normally and did his best to act as if he hadn't noticed. He turned his attention, but not his head, to the rest of the park that he could see.

Such as the footballers. The footballers who had stopped their game, had turned and were also watching the pair.

"You see them?" he hissed.

"Yes," Bren whispered. "Act normally."

"We need to get out of here."

"I know, but if we let them know they've been seen, they'll act sooner."

Thomas knew she was probably correct, but he also noticed that their watchers weren't trying to hide their attention. The lone figure and the children were blatantly staring. They didn't care if they were noticed, so it likely wouldn't matter how he and Bren reacted.

Bren stopped, suddenly. She pulled her hand back, sharply, as it heeling a dog, and Thomas halted too.

"What's wrong?"

"Look," she said.

He was going to ask where she wanted him to direct his gaze but, when he raised his head, he didn't need to. They were in front of them.

Six. Five at the back, in a rough curve and one, obviously the leader, in front. All six wore full face balaclavas, with fine slits at the eyes, wide enough to allow them to see out, but thin enough to prevent anyone from looking in. The one at the front reached up and gripped the top of his, pulling it off. He dropped it to the ground, apparently thinking there was no point in disguising themselves.

He smiled.

"Hello Thomas. Bren."

The pair didn't answer. They were too busy holding their breaths in fright. Even Bren, with all she could do, knew when to hold back. Besides, she wasn't fully in control of all her powers. She didn't even know which ones she had. Either way, it was better to hold back and see what you were facing, rather than jumping into the lion's mouth.

"Come on guys, drop the masks. Let them see you. Put them at ease."

The rest of his team repeated his action of removing and discarding their balaclavas. Three were woman and two were men. One of the women had a large scar across her face. It was jagged, as if a streak of lightning had fallen on her cheek and stumbled as it was trying to get up.

"Don't worry about Dumas," the leader said, still smiling. "She won't hurt you."

He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees in a perfectly condescending adult to child position.

"Not unless I ask her to, of course."

Thomas gulped, realising his mouth was too dry to salivate his throat. He cleared it again in a brief but rough cough.

"Dumas. I think you're scaring him. Why don't you get his some water?"

"But Sir..."

"Water, Dumas. Now Dumas."

The man spun on his heel to face his questioning subordinate. As far as Thomas and Bren could tell, he didn't say anything else but the woman's jaw gritted and her hand went to her neck. The man turned back to the children and the woman relaxed, slumping slightly and falling against her teammate. The other gave her a quick shoulder to steady herself, then shook her off.

"Water, Dumas."

"Sir."

Dumas hurried away, casting her eyes around to find something she could return with.

"I'm fine," Thomas said as defiantly as he could manage.

"Nonsense," the man said. "We need to get rid of that frog in your throat."

Thomas opened his mouth to say he didn't need the water, but the man's look stopped him. It was stern, with features that solidified in an instant, intent written in every fixed muscle.

Thomas closed his mouth and waited. Dumas brought him a hip flask with the lid off, hanging from a small length of leather. Rather than shoving it in his grasp as he'd expected, she offered it to him with a brief nod and tap of her heels and he, reluctantly accepted.

He held on to the flask but didn't take a sip.

"Now, what are we going to do with you?" the man asked.

His manner let Thomas and Bren know he wasn't interested in a response. They didn't give one.

"Ah," he said. "Of course."

He raised his hand and pointed at Thomas.

"You, young man. Let's play a game."