This is a story I made up. I'm sharing it for @IfIWereARichMan and several people in GWDFI, since they wanted to read it. Sylvia was hiding behind a stack of boxes. Her crouched position hurt her legs, but she knew she couldn't stretch. The rioters had been yelling for what felt like hours. *Come on Mom. What's so important that you had to leave me here before we went home?* The fourteen-year-old sighed and tried to sit on the ground. She shook the boxes in going so, and ended up in the same uncomfortable position she had started in. It was cold, and Sylvia wished that she were anywhere but outside in the dead of winter. She did fidgeted with her grimy sleeve, thinking about how she ended up here in the first place. Sylvia's mother had noticed the riots gaining traction while they were at the store, and she had insisted that Sylvia hide in the alley while Emalia went to go do some mysterious, all-important errand. Sadly, this wasn't the first time her mother had run off when the rioters were out. When Sylvia was eleven, her mother had left her at home during a particularly violent protest. It had been a terrifying experience. Even though they said that they were protesting the global government, often the riots hurt the citizens more than the policies. In the once-quiet downtown, where Sylvia and her mom lived, there wasn't one business owner that hadn't been affected. Groceries, salons, bakeries, and boutiques had all closed. It was hard to find food, and people were getting desperate. Sylvia sighed. Even though it was barely four-thirty in the afternoon, it was getting dark. She searched the smoke-filled sky for stars. Her mother would always say, "Look up when you have nowhere else to turn." Sylvia had often complained that this saying was ridiculously sappy, but now she saw the value in the sugar-sweetness of the words. "Um . . ." Sylvia glanced up at the sky. "Andromeda. Ursa Major. Ursa Minor . . . ? Orion." "Now what would a young lady like yourself be doing behind a pile of boxes?" Sylvia jumped at the voice and whirled around, knocking her pile of boxes to the ground. She tripped on a rock and landed flat on her back, staring up into the hooded face of a stranger. "I assume you aren't one of those . . . protesters. So what, or really who, are you?" The person knelt by Sylvia. Although the face and features were completely obscured by the long black cloak, Sylvia could tell by the voice that this stranger was a woman. "I am who I am, nothing more, nothing less," she responded slowly, sitting up and rubbing her head. "Oh, a Clever perhaps. Maybe a Philosopher." The woman stood and stepped back, giving Sylvia room to breathe. "A . . . what? I'm not a philosopher. I'm barely in the second-level school!" "Not a philosopher. A /Philosopher/." The woman continued to stare creepily towards Sylvia. *Okay, Mom abandons me, and a crazy lady shows up. Hardly my best day.* "Um, yeah, that," Sylvia stammered, "Anyway, nice chat. Gotta go." She stood and started to back away. "Somehow I don't think your mother would be very pleased." The woman flipped back her hood, revealing bronze skin, black hair, and deep brown eyes. "I'm Ms. Aleena. I belong to and organization called the Astra Tacient. Your mother is . . . a good friend of mine, you could say. We've worked together. When she noticed the riots earlier, she sent out a message to any operatives that could respond. She said 'My daughter will be in the panic spot. If I don't report back in three hours, go get her.' This is the panic spot." Sylvia stopped in her tracks. "You're saying . . . Mom is dead. Or captured or whatever." "Sadly we believe so." "You're wrong." Sylvia gasped for air. "You've got to be wrong. It hasn't been three hours since--" "Yes it has." Aleena interrupted. "It's not safe here, but I'll give you a choice. Come with me and become a Rescue until we find you mother or," she paused, hesitating for just a moment, "or stay here until that mob finds you." Aliens held out her hand. "So?"
