I am one Corrine Prater, but that is only a moniker I grabbed for myself. It’s been so long since I’ve used my real name that I’ve almost forgotten what it is.

I never thought I’d end up in the kind of mess I’m in. I was an ordinary sort of girl, or at least, that’s what I kept trying to tell myself. I could rebuild a car engine in record time, I had an honest-to-goodness library in my house growing up, and I pretty much just kept to myself. I was smarter than the average 5th grader, especially with computers, so I went right to Junior High in the middle of the school year. I was quite low on the food chain, not having many friends, but it didn’t bother me, really. When people, especially lots of them, were involved in one’s life, pain, suffering, and heartache were present, too.

I was a pretty boring person in all aspects but one. I had some extra psychic juice that I’d tried to keep hidden. I say tried because I was awful at controlling it. Stuff happened when I was either really upset or very happy. Plates rattled around in the cabinets, doors and windows shut without me touching them, and lights suddenly burned out. When I tried to do it of my own free will, nothing happened. It was freaky to a lot of people, especially me, so I felt like it was best that I keep to myself as much as I could.

I won’t belabor the point by giving a blow-by-blow account of all that happened, but I’ll just say an “outburst” happened at the wrong time in front of the wrong person. Next thing I knew, some secret agency or cult grabbed me in the middle of the night and took me away to a secluded place where a bunch of tests were performed on me. I’d been only fifteen when I was kidnapped and spent seven years being subjected to their poking, prodding, and head games. I probably would have still been there if the place hadn’t been discovered by what appeared to be some government outfit. There were other hostages, but many of them were in varying stages of declining health. I guess I was pretty resilient because I was one of the lucky ones who remained ambulatory and able to think at least somewhat clearly.

Now, like I said, I’m smarter than the average bear, as my pal Yogi is fond of saying, so I observed and listened in order to try to formulate an escape plan. It turned out that escaping came quite easily. See, while the other hostages who were in terrible shape were getting seen to by this so-called government outfit upon our rescue, I was able to slip off into the woods and get lost. I figured I’d be going from one hostage situation to another, for these “rescuers” would have asked even more questions and subjected me to more tests. Although I’d been one of the lucky ones, I knew I wouldn’t remain so if I didn’t get out of there and try to pick up some semblance of life.

Nobody came looking for me, but I know I’d be snatched again if I was discovered. I drifted into Sunset Valley with only the clothes on my back and enough cash to rent a small shack. I’m not proud of it, but I managed to steal a wad of bills out of one of the “rescuer’s” pockets. Again, I was lucky because, by then, I’d managed to learn how to control this psychic ability, at least a little. I had an awful headache afterward though and felt terribly nauseated. I’d finally gotten something out of this cursed ability, but it cost me, too.

I’d never learned to drive, so getting a car, even when I could afford one, was out. You have to have a license for that, which leads to a trail right to the government. This must not happen or I’d be screwed to the inth power. Obtaining identification in a legitimate way would also fry me. Health insurance was definitely out, schooling was a no-no, and a regular job would be my death knell. I have no training or references, so red flags would be waving for fifty miles around me if I even filled out a job application.

I’m awesome with computers. No, I’m not being conceited or arrogant; I’m only stating the bear-assed truth. I’m awesome with computers, and computers are a mighty powerful weapon. I need to earn money but must do it by laying as low as I possibly can. I will do what I know, and I know how to hack. I’m not proud of what I’m forced to do. I am a survivor, however, and survive I must. Not only will this allow me to survive and support myself, but I’m confident that if I can hack deeply enough into the right series of mainframes, I can break open these secretive so-called government outfits and other “organizations” like the one that nabbed me. After all, nobody should have to be subjected to what so many others and I have been through.

So, here I am in Sunset Valley where I must stay ahead of the game. I must do what I can to blend in, and it’s imperative that I not draw unwanted attention to myself. If I’m discovered, I know I will have to run to keep myself from getting caught. If I am caught, I know I will die. That is not an option. I am a survivor, after all, and survive, I must.