Jozua Cure had spent some time on tip-toe, looking through the small window at the top of the door to her room, delighting in the fact that she knew a person's name as soon as they walked into her line of sight. This was more exciting than the hospital; she had gotten used to the names of the doctors - but those of the few scientists she had seen were more interesting. Every so often, she had become tired, and had to go and rest on her bed.

She recognised it now, the familiar feeling of aching in her legs, and settled her bare feet flat on the cold floor and padded back towards the bed. Perching on the edge of the sheets, rougher than those at the hospital - the facility wasn't exactly a hotel, but then, Jozua had never been to a hotel, so it didn't matter - she took in a few slow, shallow breaths, thin hands resting on angular knees. She had been thin and weak for most of her life, and it wasn't remarkable to the doctors any more; she found it difficult to eat, and that was that.



Despite this, hunger gnawed at her insides, and she gingerly rose, heading to the wall on her left where a basin, mirror and shelf resided. Upon the shelf rested a bowl of red jelly; due to the nature of the treatment she was due to undergo, jelly and water were the only things which wouldn't obstruct the doctor's work. She picked at the jelly with her fingernails, licking up its sweetness and smiling with an odd contentment. After taking what she needed, she washed her hands in the basin, glancing up at her reflection. The mirror showed a twenty-year-old woman with straight blonde hair that fell to her chin, and soft green eyes. Wiping her hands on her hospital gown - near enough the only garment she could remember wearing - she tip-toed back towards her bed and sat on its edge again.

She was in Warsaw, Poland. The trip had exhausted her and she had spend two, maybe three days drifting in and out of sleep, waking to use the bathroom and receive treatment for her ailment. She had been diagnosed with leukaemia just before her ninth birthday and after that, most of her days she found herself in a hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and needles and doctors. Her parents had told her she had always been sickly from birth. A premature birth, with a malformed stomach that stopped her eating, and a body so frail she required assistance if she was going outside for any length of time.

She was tired of the illness. Tired of the predictions of her life expectancy, the shock the doctors received when another birthday passed. Twenty years of sickness and sympathy, and the slowly fading love of parents that were supposed to do so unconditionally. They had four others to love and make them proud - Jozua would not be missed.

Yesterday she had told the man who administered her regular treatment that she felt strong enough to meet the doctor. Later that day she had been told that he would see her the next day. Today. Today everything changed.

'You have an X-Gene. A mutation of the genes that seems to be the next evolutionary step of our species.'

Jozua held those words in her mind. That was how she had her power. The doctor had made everything clear. As soon as he had expressed his interest in meeting her and finding out more, Jozua had requested to leave the hospital and travel to Poland. No more mundane hospital treatment - the doctor was talking about experimentation, possibly dangerous experimentation at that. It had sent electricity down Jozua's spine.

He had withheld his name. However, Jozua has realised that it proved no obstacle for her; her power would sort that. She trembled at the thought of meeting someone, with no mutation in his genes, with the ability to change her life. Any moment.

Dangerous. I have nothing to lose. If I die, it won't matter. But maybe, for once in my life, I will have helped somebody instead of burdening them.

She looked up as the door opened, lenaing forward in her eagerness and curiosity. A man she didn't recognise stepped into the room, however the determined look and the quiet thrill dancing in his eyes spoke his identity to her louder than if it had been broadcast over a megaphone.

She couldn't control the smile that her pale lips formed into, parting them as she knew his name, and gently murmured it:

"Doktor Klaus Heidegger."