His fingers twitched and the stick danced under his control. Henry looked for a string, some mechanism to it, but saw nothing. The boy was controlling the stick as if by… magic.

“Get out my mind and my shop you cheating Grol.”

A word Henry had heard before, his attention caught by the speaker. A butcher, his apron bloodied, was chasing a skinny girl, her hair a faded blonde, from a shop, shaking his fist in the air.

“If you bloody Grols can't keep honest, I don't want any of your kind in my shop. No powers in trading,” the butcher said.

The man in front of Henry stopped and shouted at the butcher.

“Racist!”

“It's not bloody racist, I am trying to run a business here. The use of powers is against the-”

The man ignored him, pulling his hood over his head as he continued down the road. That was when Henry noticed what he was doing. The man's right hand was slightly extended from his side as flames, like little meteors, flew in between his fingers, weaving around his hand. His other hand, now free from raising his hood, flicked and the flame jumped across to it, the ribbon of fire resting in his palm, slowly turning on the spot.

It was like being in a circus, full of impossible things. A place that collected the curious and the bizarre. One thing that didn't go un-noticed to Henry as they carried on down the street, was the distinct lack of mirrors or reflective surfaces around, glass was kept dirty and windows smudged. Was that for the benefit of people like him, those who could see the monsters?

About 50 meters away from it, Henry realised what they were heading towards. At the end of the street stood a tall black building that disappeared both beyond the ceiling and ground, shaped like an inverted triangle. Spanning across its full width at ground level were a pair of block-like doors propped open to reveal a room which appeared to house a series of security gates. Guards dressed in midnight blue stood around the entrance, their uniforms made of an unusual woven material that reminded Henry of Kevlar, the fabric conforming to the contours of their bodies. Long black guns, resting against their chests as they paced from door to door, told Henry that once they were inside, getting out was not going to be an option.

They were approaching the entrance to this triangular building when it hit them. A pulse of heat flung Henry off his feet and onto his back, hitting the floor awkwardly. Flames bloomed from every orifice of the building, casting the street in hues of red and orange. Pieces of the building tumbled through the air, falling as metallic meteors around them, as a low pitch whine rang in Henry's ears. He sat himself up and slowly started to take in the chaos that had erupted around them. People lay limp and unmoving on the ground, the crackle of the flames the only noise for a moment, before cries of pain filled the sky. The blue suited guards lay strewn around the entrance, their bodies burnt and bloodied, perfectly still amongst the collapsing wreckage.

“Deliver us for repression, deliver us from segregation, deliver us from persecution!”

The words chanted in the air, each repetition becoming louder and louder. People pushed past Henry, moving towards the building, but not to give aid. Henry noticed the guns in their hands and knew what was coming next.