A/N: Okay, here's the first chapter. I probably won't be able to update that much thanks to school [grr.] also, I do not actually think the world is this bad- I was just toying with the idea of it being this way. Anyway, enjoy! Disclaimer*groan*: I OWN ALL CHARACTERS AND THE PLOT OF THIS TORY! Yeesh.

"Hey, Adila!" Adila is me. I used to hate my name because it sounds so weird, so foreign. I've never known anyone else with that name, but I suppose that's a good thing. I started to warm up to my name after my mother told me that it means "fair, just". Quite fitting for the leader of a resistance movement, don't you think? "What is it, Edgar?" As I turn to face him, I catch a glimpse of the large crescent shaped scar on his cheek, courtesy of his "loving" parents. It brought back memories of all the times he came to our meeting spot [which is now the site of some museum commemorating all the "greatest heroes of all time". People like Josef Mengele, Hitler, bin Laden, you know, all the people who would otherwise be despised and put down as "inhumane" and "heartless"] bruised and cut up. Considering how much his parents "loved" him, it was every single time. No exaggeration. You might be thinking why doesn't he go to the police? The police? Ha. They would just call him an ingrate who doesn't know how good he has it. I should say had, because that concept was ultimately his parent's downfall, when a crowd of people did to them what they did to Edgar for practically his whole life. The only differences were that it was ten on two and fatal to those two. Their and just about the whole world's view on violence kept them from fighting back. It would have been useless anyway; they could only win fights by having all the odds in their favor [numbers, weapons, size, etc.] It still surprises and amazes me whenever I think about how he survived this long. I'm glad he did, not only because he is an efficient and loyal second in command, but also because he is the best friend anyone could ever ask for, even after all he's been through. Edgar's voice snaps me out of my reverie. "All preparations for the rally have been completed. There's a huge crowd waiting for you. It seems you're a star." "Good. I'll be there in just a moment. And I wouldn't exactly think of myself as a star, just someone trying to fix this broken world." "It seems to be working for so many people to keep coming to listen to you." "I guess. Well, we shouldn't keep them waiting." "True. Let's go." I suppose I should tell you more about our organization, or Renegade Angels, as we like to call ourselves. Basically, it was founded by my grandparents, who grew up in the world that you know, when things weren't so twisted, as they are now. Both of them had to watch as the world they and billions of generations before them crumbled and became corrupt. Women fabricated stories of being raped by billionaires just to get money. Monitors from the government were placed in classrooms and workplaces and reported any "lenient" and "inefficient" teachers and bosses- a.k.a. nice and empathetic persons. Those reported were immediately replaced with "assiduous" and "effective" people- a.k.a. drill sergeant, dictator-esque people. The government's reason? They wanted to boost the economy [which hasn't been the same since 9/11 sixty years ago] and "create jobs for people" [ironic since they fire thousand of people in the process]. The handicapped and even children would pretend to be victims of assault and brigandage to tug at heartstrings enough to acquire money. As you can imagine, this created an air of cynicism and bitterness that slowly burst forth as frustration, anger, and confusion. This led to attacks on churches, synagogues, temples, charities- anything "pretending" to be good and beneficial. For unknown reasons, hospitals were exempted from this. Anything else was fair game, all in the name of "nipping the problem in the bud". Of course, there were those who spoke out, but their voices were silenced with anything from a bullet to the head to poison surreptitiously placed in food and/or drink. For now, let's just say that it all snowballed from there. But I will say this: I assure that this movement will never die.

I scan the sea of faces in front of me. All seem to harbor the same attitude as I: sick of this world and eager to change it. Of course, they- us- have to keep quiet a low profile. But not for much longer. "I am glad to see that so many believe in our mission to right what is wrong and to sew all the tears in the fabric of society. Soon we will be able to do just that." The words come out of my lips and are amplified by a microphone and speakers. Enthusiastic cheers answer me. "No longer will we have to remain in the shadows and-" "Did someone say shadows?" Those are the last word we all hear before darkness literally engulfs us.

A/N: For some reason, all my stuff on look scrunched up. Anyone know why? As always, review or I may not continue!