John Watson lived a fairly normal life, a regular person with nothing odd in his life. He grew up reading adventure stories, hoping something would happen to him, that someone would knock on his door and tell him that he was special, that he had to abandon his old life and join them in a battle to save the world as he knows it. But time ticked on, and the only person that came to his door was the mailman, coming with the latest sports magazine and taxes. If someone had come to the door though, he'd gladly join them, but as he grew older he realized that heroes don't exist, and if they did, he wasn't one of them. He had been one of those kids that would jump out of trees with a cape, convinced they could fly, and fall to the cold ground of defeat and break their arm. He sat in his English class, doodling hopeless pictures of animals and cartoon characters, but his current art grade was a thirty three, and it showed. The class was hopelessly boring, it was their fourth day of reading and discussing the same poem, something by Edgar Allen Poe, but John honestly had no idea what it was even about. It didn't even rhyme! He though poems were supposed to rhyme. He say at the back of the class, with his best friend, Greg Lestrade. Of course Greg was taking notes and paying attention, being the A+ perfect student he was, which annoyed John hopelessly. He felt unimportant when sitting next to him, almost getting hit in the head with Greg's hand ever time he answered a question, which was pretty much every question the teacher asked. John's other friend, Mike, was trapped in some other class, Algebra if he wasn't wrong, which was more difficult, but probably a lot more entertaining. Their teacher, Mrs. White, was an old, dull person, who's voice seemed to be only one low pitch. Class was almost unbearable, and John could see the sun shining invitingly through the windows, taunting the poor souls stuck in the classroom. He stared at the digital clock on the wall, 2:24, six more minutes and then the doors opened, letting them be free. The seconds ticked by with taps of his pencil on the desk, impatiently watching for the four to change to a five and then on. Finally, the beautiful song of the school bell echoed through the halls, the best sound he's ever heard. There was a mad rush to get out of the classroom, and John was in front, practically running to his locker. When he pushed through the crowds with his backpack slung over one shoulder, saying goodbye to his friends, he walked through the school doors into the warm spring air, breathing in the freedom with pleasure. The trees were turning green, the flowers blooming, the birds chirping, perfect. But there was one thing that made this spring different from the rest, there were no old ladies out planting their flowers, no kids running you over because they lost control of their three wheeled toddler bike, no dogs barking as you walk by, the streets were silent and empty, as they have been for a while. There was something weird going on, some type of disease or something, no one knows for sure, but people would be found dead inside of their houses, sometimes whole families, dead without a mark, nothing physically or mentally wrong, they just stopped breathing for some reason. These rare deaths had been ignored when they first started, one at a time, spread out, but as they became more frequent, people had learned to fear for their lives due to the 'new plague'. John was one of the braver ones, walking home alone, but even though he was nervous about the horrible death, he though he wasn't necessarily afraid to go outside. The latest death had been not far from where he lived, making parents fear for their kids and for themselves, but John's parents thought the whole thing was mass hysteria, and they'd find the disease soon, one of the few that thought optimistically. The spring air was still chilly when the wind blew, and John zipped up his light jacket, hiking up his heavy backpack, full of textbooks and binders. He knew he had a full day of homework, which he dreaded. John hated that schools thought kids didn't have enough learning in the eight hours they are trapped in the walls, so the only logical answer was to give them a class periods worth of work to do at home, and watch a pointless movie about teamwork in class. He honestly hated public school, but he'd be out soon, he was a Junior. John stopped in his tracks, staring where he thought he saw the flash of someone moving behind a corner quickly, as if they didn't want John to see them. He wasn't panicking, not yet, it's probably some paranoid person. John kept walking, slower now, keeping his eyes and ears open. He took his hands out of his pockets in case he needed to fight someone, which he hoped he didn't, but he was a pretty decent fighter if he needed to be. He walked past the corner to see that there was no one there, of course there wouldn't be, his mind was probably playing tricks on him. He kept walking, thinking if he needed to attack someone his bag full of books would do the trick nicely. He heard something snap behind him, whether it be a twig or a leaf, it made him twirl around with his hands in fists, sudden panic filling his head irrationally. There was no one there, which didn't surprise him, probably just the wind. John kept walking, a bit more nervous now, increasing his speed. His house was only a couple of blocks away, he could probably make it in time. He saw a shadow move faster than possible from behind a bush on a neighbor's yard, which officially scared him. John started running now, his backpack hitting his back uncomfortably, but it didn't matter right now. Someone was officially following him, and he hoped it wasn't the person responsible for the deaths of all of those people. He kept running, two blocks away, almost there, when something pushed him to the ground, like a strong wind that didn't shake the leaves or disrupt the air flow, just pushed him off of his feet and slamming him into the cement, his backpack bringing him down hard. He knew his hands and knees were scraped badly, but he didn't have time to check if they were deep wounds or just brush burns, he tried to get to his feet, but something was holding him to the ground, binding his limbs useless at his sides. Now he was full out terrified, this didn't make sense, it wasn't possible, and he felt like he was in a hopeless life threatening situation. He saw a pair of feet walk casually towards him, with sharp black shoes and what seemed to be dress pants, a little bit dressy for murdering an innocent kid. He only saw their feet, and by now he was struggling against his unseen bounds, knowing it was hopeless. The feet came closer and closer, stopping right near his left arm, so the person, whoever they were, the rest of their body was silhouetted against the sun, was looking down on him. In their hand seemed to be a stick, if he was crazy he'd say it was a wand, but that was impossible. They looked down on him with almost humor, and John knew then that he had to be dead soon. He struggled pointlessly againt the invisible bounds as the figure raised his arm, the one with the wand thing, and pointed it at him. He started to mutter things, unrecognizable gibberish that must be some dead language. his voice was sharp, threatning, "Avada Ka..." but he wasnt able to finish. There was a yell in the same weird language and the man above John was thrown off of his feet, toppling over the mailbox and lying, unmoving, in the perfectly mowed lawn. John tried to take in whatever happened, but foud he had no time, his arms and legs could move and that meant he could run away from this hopeless situation. He abandoned his bookbag and scrambled to his feet, running as fast as he could towrds the school, or a neighbor's house, anywhere but here, with the mysterious people. He noticed a figure running after him, maybe the person that had thrown the first man to the ground, but John didnt stop to take names. He knew he was in danger, and even if his chances were slim, he wouldnt stop fighting until he was dead. The man caught up to him somehow, John had been the fastest person on the football team last fall, but apparently this man was faster. John could see his shadow approaching, and he pumped his arms and put everything he had into his running. And then he was thrown to the ground, not by the same invisible wind from before, this man actually tackled him onto the neighbors grass, slamming him into the earth for the second time today, but this time he was crushed by whoever it was on top of him. John tried to fight his way out, even though he was gasping desperately for breath and his limbs felt like they were on fire.

"Stop! Stop fighting! I'm here to help!" The man yelled desperately. But his voice sounded young, like he was just a teenager. Like John would listen to him, who cared if he might have saved him, he used a supernatural force, or so it seemed, and John was not going to let someone like him kidnap him. The person pinned his wrists to the ground, his legs making sure John couldn't kick or wiggle out. It was like a super awkward wrestling move, but unfortunately John had never bothered with that sport.

"Oh for god sakes don't make me stun you!" The man cried. That didn't sound good, and John finally accepted that he was in yet his second hopeless situation of the day. He stopped fighting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He now focused on his attacker, his face not inches from John's, so if anyone came driving by they might be a bit creeped out. But if someone did drive by, John could bear the embarrassment to be saved. He had startling green eyes against pale skin, with dark curly hair, that seemed very well taken care of. He had very high, noticeable cheek bones, which very well could be considered a weapon. John pushed his head as far back in the grass as it could go, thinking maybe he could head butt the man, but that might make the man stun him, and John wanted to be conscious for this whole thing.

"Okay, okay." John huffed, staring up into the mans eyes, which were disturbingly distracting. His wrists felt like he might loose circulation on them, his grim was tight and it didn't see like he was letting go anytime soon.

"What did he want from you?" The man demanded, practically yelling at John's face.

"Nothing! He didn't say anything, he just said something!" John insisted. The man stopped for a moment, looking slightly confused, but regaining his tough interrogation face.

"Have you done anything you might regret, something that would get you in trouble?" The man asked.

"Nothing! I swear I'm innocent, please let me go!" John pleaded, praying that the man would consider it. The stupid neighbors hadn't looked out their window in a while apparently, if they had they might see this little scene and come out to help for once!

"Then why was he after you?" the man asked, muttering more to himself than John.

"Please let me go, I didn't do anything." John said lightly. The man looked back down at him, John could see straight into his eyes, trying to ignore the deep sadness that was clearly visible.

"Don't run, I will stun you." The man said, and he didn't sound like he was kidding. John nodded as fast as he could, anything to stand up. The man's grip loosened and he moved over to kneel on the grass, jumping to his feet and taking a stick from his pocket, just like the first man had. John was so confused it felt like his head was about to split open, but he stood up like a good boy, brushing the grass off of himself with annoyance.

"Follow me, we need to get somewhere safe." The man insisted.

"Why should I go anywhere with you?" John asked.

"Because if you don't you won't make it through the hour alive." He said obviously.

"Who's after me?" john asked.

"We don't say his name." the man said as if that should be obvious.