She wore a ratty grey cardigan as she walked through the halls of X-Corps headquarters in Chicago, looking down at her feet but somehow managing to stay out of everyone else's way. Her long, white blond hair was tied back in a simple tail, and she kept her hands stuffed in the pockets of her sweater. If you didn't know who you were looking at you might have assumed that a homeless woman had somehow gotten past security.

She stopped in front of a door, standing quietly for a moment before straightening up and smoothing her clothes. Her access ID card was clipped to the waist of her jeans, and Susan Quinn pulled it off to wave in front of the lock of the door she was standing in front of. The thirty-five year old waited for the soft click and green light and opened the door, the ID card zipping back into place on a retractable cord.

A dark haired man looked up as she entered the sparsely decorated room, a crocodile smile on his face. "Susan, right on time." He gestured to the overstuffed chair across from him, the only thing in the room that looked remotely comfortable. He was sitting at a desk, a tablet in front of him, keyboard projected onto the wood laminate. "Ready to get started?"

Susan nodded. She was always on time and ready to get started, but that didn't stop him from saying the same inane things every single day. She settled into her chair, drawing her legs up underneath her, and folding her arms around herself. After a moment she closed her eyes.

Roger Caswell narrowed his eyes at her, and then looked down at the list of questions he'd been given to ask. He was careful to keep his tone neutral, as he'd been instructed. "What is going on in New York tomorrow?"

She inhaled softly, and sighed out the air. Years of training and conditioning made it easy for her to slip into the pre-cognitive vision.

A woman screamed as a man pointed his finger at the convenience store clerk, something invisible punching through the clerk's forehead and knocking him to the ground. The mutant ripped the money from the till, and backed out of the store - a 7-11 - brandishing his index finger like a gun at the other people in the room.

"A mutant with a focused telekinetic attack will rob a Seven Eleven." Her voice was soft.

Roger wrote it down, fingers tapping on his desk as he noted the exact time. "Anything to narrow down the location?"

Another quiet sigh. "No taxis outside. Park across the street. No swings, just grass and dogs."

Near dog park in the suburbs, he typed. "What is going on at Alcatraz?"

Susan opened her eyes, looking out the window. "Nothing."

He frowned, then smoothed the expression away as if it had never existed. "You aren't trying, Susan. Focus. Breathe. Close your eyes."

There was nothing outside but blue sky, but she imagined there was a little bird out there, beckoning her to come and play.

"Focus, Susan." His voice had an edge to it.

She looked down at her hands, and then obediently closed her eyes. Alcatraz. An island in San Francisco bay, turned into a prison, decommissioned, and then reactivated over ten years ago after being retrofitted to Vanguard standards for holding Class 6 mutant threats. She inhaled, and exhaled.

The island sat quiet in the water, guards in black without logos or patches patrolling. No panic. No one running. She focused more, seeing the warden's office. Warden is playing a game on her tablet.

"Nothing is happening out of the ordinary." She delivered the words with a little irritation. "Guards are doing their rounds. Warden is playing a word game on her tablet."

"Thank you, Susan."

My name is Susie, she thought, looking out the window again. It was easier to do what they wanted and not put up a fuss. People who made waves were often thrown overboard, and Susie wasn't a good swimmer. Metaphorically speaking. Her friend Tom had told her that. That it was okay to do what her teachers asked her to do, and that she should be good. Not like me, he'd said. He was always in trouble. He was a good at 'swimming', he joked and he knew what to say and how to make people like him. Susie found his confidence dizzying, and when she'd been shipped away from school and Tom to the US she'd tried to do what he said. Be good. Be good Susie. They'll take care of you. They want your ability, so they won't hurt you if you're good.

He'd been right - and wrong. They'd hurt her, trying to get her ability to expand and become more than just a peek into the next twenty-four hours in the future, injecting her with all manner of things. But Susie always did what they asked and things had long ago settled into a routine. If she had a vision she wrote it down. When she was asked about a specific place she would focus and tell them what she saw. She was a tool to them, but one they had learned to treat carefully.

A dark-eyed girl stared at Alcatraz from the Golden Gate bridge, raising her hand in a one fingered gesture before turning away and walking back toward San Francisco.

Susie bit her lip. She'd tried holding back things, but while she had more control over her episodes than she'd had as a girl, they always seemed to know when she'd seen something. The day to day lapses still happened, but in these sessions they asked her to look to the fullest extent of her ability, which was the hard cut off of a full day. Twenty four hours from now there would be a clerk dying in a 7-11. She didn't know if X-Corps could alter the futures she saw, or if it would happen no matter what they did. No one told her, they just asked her questions.