Chapter 1

Shawn Stone sat on the front porch of the Henderson's home with a neutral look on his face and two suit cases on each side of him, not to mention the laptop computer case in front of him. The case had various floppies and CDs that had programs and information on them that would get him in a lot of trouble if the proper authorities knew he was in possession of them.

The .50 caliber Desert Eagle semi-automatic pistol was hid under his extra large shirt, at his back, in a black leather holster-and a .25 Caliber was strapped to his left ankle, under the cuff of his jeans.

His other two guns were in his suitcases.

Shawn was always cautious.

He had done it again. He had worn out his welcome. Some times he wondered why he was so fucked up in the head to do the stupid and sometimes quite violent things that he does. This wasn't the first time he did this. This was not the first person he put in the hospital.

He really doesn't mean to do these things, but sometimes, it's like his mind shuts down and his body takes over, and does things so violent that it scares most people away from him. It only happens when he feels threatened, though. So that was something.

The scary thing is that he had no idea how he knew how to do the violent Martial Art moves so well, when he hardly ever studied any. He quickly found out that he was quite the expert by the time he hit puberty. Of course, the principal hated it. Most kids got bloody noses when they fought; Shawn broke bones, knocked out teeth and put people in the Intensive Care Unit, and he didn't feel an ounce of guilt for doing it. In fact, it took a lot to make Shawn feel guilty if he hurt some who threatened him-and for some reason, he felt easily threatened. It was almost like he was part animal; like some kind of damn wolf.

This was his twelfth foster-care home and the old couple had finally just threw up their hands and said they had had enough. They were tired of him never being home, or when he is, he was always on the computer or reading a book. They were tired of him not being talkative or social. Moreover, they were pretty pissed he put their son in the hospital.

The ironic thing was, this time, it wasn't Shawn's fault. At least they let him keep the laptop they bought him, though. That was nice of them. They had bought it for him for his fifteenth birthday. It was sort of a way to get him to open up-it didn't work. It wasn't their fault; Shawn just wasn't good with most normal people. To him it was like he and they were separate breeds. Not that one breed was better, but they were different. That's what it felt like anyway.

Shawn was still fifteen years old, but he would be sixteen the next day. The Henderson's had a son, Chuck, who was a star quarterback at the state college, and was twenty years old. Now this ball-boy might have been a good quarter back, and might have got good grades, but his manners were for shit. He was just a rude little prick.

He and Shawn clashed immediately. Chuck liked loud things. Shawn liked it when it was quiet and didn't like to talk like Chuck did. In fact, that boy wouldn't shut up. He was always talking about football. Chuck was just loud. If the ball-boy knew that loud noises sometimes made Shawn violent, he might not have blasted his music so much.

The day started off nice enough on the fifth day Chuck was there, though. Shawn got out of bed and threw on some jeans and a t-shirt, then an extra large, light blue button-up shirt that he didn't bother buttoning-it was mainly for hiding his gun, that was tucked in the back, in its holster. Shawn never went anywhere without a gun. He always believed in the saying, its better to have and not need, then to need and not have.

He never tried messing with his hair anymore; it was a completely lost cause. His light blonde hair was always wild, standing up in odd places and astray. He tried for a long time to tame it, but nothing besides really strong hair gel worked, and he'd be damned if he would put that on his head-so he just gave up on it. However, the day was starting out good, so far.

Anyone that knew Shawn would know that this was his room. He had dozens and dozens of books scattered all over it, along with various computer parts. He had stolen some really cool attachments to bulk up his laptop. Then there were the professional throwing knives and ninja stars. For some reason he did not know, he mastered both of them weapons within a week. It sometimes worried him how good at violence he was.

He kept a throwing knife kept under each sleeve.

He also kept the five throwing stars in a special case on his left ankle.

Mainly because the .25 pistol was on his right.

His room was on the top floor of the house, as was his foster parents' son. When Shawn was walking down the stairs at a leisurely pace, he heard a voice behind him say jokingly, "Hurry the fuck up!"

The next thing Shawn knew he was sprawling down the rest of the stairs, landing flat on his back. That hurt-especially when the .50 Caliber dug into his back. If Chuck knew how much that hurt, he would be running, but he did not. Chuck never was too bright. He just stood there feeling guilty and looking like a damn good target.

Shawn wanted to pull a gun and put a bullet in the man's skull, but he didn't.

The police looked down on that kind of thing. Go figure.

The next thing he knew, Chuck, the guy who pushed him, was standing over him. The man had a look off shock and worry on his face. Shawn honestly didn't think that he meant to do what he did. The college boy was probably genuinely sorry about what he did as well, thinking it was only a joke. He would have probably apologized-if he would have had the chance.

However, as Shawn was the one lying on the floor, the fifteen year old was past giving a shit. In fact, he was past being anywhere close to rational. The term 'Blind Rage' was closer to what he was feeling at the moment. It was a natural basic reaction to being pushed down the fucking stairs.

Shawn did a quick spin of his legs and took the man's feet out from under him, so that he was lying on his back. Then he, while still on his back, lifted his left leg high and brought his heel smashing down right on the bastard's mouth, knocking out four of his front teeth. Then he did the same move again, with lightning quick speed, but this time he nailed him in the forehead so the back of his head cracked against the floor.

He wanted to do more, but thought that it probably wouldn't be wise.

He done all of that while lying down and only using one leg. He thought it was quite impressive. However, the Henderson's didn't think it was impressive at all. In fact, they were pretty fucking mad about it. Apparently the state championship was in a week and there was no way in hell that their dear asshole of a son would get to play. The upside was they didn't press charges because the asshole did push him down the stairs.

The down side? They wanted him gone.

That was two days ago. Chuck, their son, was still in the hospital-he had received a concussion and was in a coma. The Henderson's graciously let him stay with them for the two days that it would take for the Department of Human Services to find a place for him to stay. Shawn always thought that DHS stood for "Dumb Human Shit-heads", but that was just his opinion, and no one usually listened to him.

The truth of the matter was that Shawn just hated being part of the system. He hated being told what to do. Because of his fighting skills, he could survive on the street quite well. It was the not having any money that was the problem. If he had the money, he could drop out of high school, get a GED, and go straight to college-and he was smart enough to do that, too.

At every foster home he went to, the first place he looked for was the library. Not many people knew, and he didn't really want them to, but he had an eidetic memory. Meaning that he remembered everything he read, seen or heard-forever. He could also speed read so fast that he could finish four hundred page novels in mere minutes and remember every damn word in that book. His favorite books to memorize were Science, Electronics (including computers), History, Weaponry, Warfare and Languages.

Although, he had to listen to the tapes at the library to get the exact pronunciation right for the languages. At the moment, he could speak, write and read twelve different languages fluently-and one of them was Sumerian. That was a bitch to learn, because there were no tapes for that and very few books-so he didn't know if he had the pronunciation correct.

He learned weaponry because he owned four hand guns and other weapons.

As Shawn sat on the front porch, he began to think of the reasons the DHS annoyed him. Take now for example. He didn't have any idea who would be picking him up today. Well, he knew her name, but that was all that they would tell him. Traci Williams. Hell, she could be crazy.

Like me, he thought with morbid humor. He had no idea how close to the truth he was about this particular woman.

When Shawn thought about it, he supposed that he was luckier than some kids that go through the System. He never was abused; they just never seemed to understand him and always sent him back. Or he hurt someone in a bad way and they didn't want to be near him.

When Shawn thought about it, he knew he was probably the luckiest kid in the state when it came to the court systems. He had been shoved before a judge seven times on charges of assault and battery. Three of them were his age, and four of them were adults. However, that really didn't matter much, because all seven of them were crippled in some way permanently by his hand, because they either attacked him or threatened him.

However, he got off every time. Yes, he was a lucky bastard. He had no idea that he was projecting his telepathic ability subconsciously to the judge and jurors to let him off.

Shawn might have been a violent son-of-a-bitch sometimes, but there were some things that he would not even do. Like taking his anger out on a girl. Never in his life had he ever hit a girl, and he would be damned if he would ever start. A person could say that he had a real soft spot for girls. They were pretty, especially the one's that were interesting. Most of all, they were enigmas to him. And, oh, how he loved enigmas.

Then there was the fact that he was a virgin and would like to get very personal with a girl on an intimate level. Yes, girls occupied his mind a lot of the time. In fact, it was one of the few things he had in common with people his age-or even people in general. He just wished he could find a nice girl that he could share his secrets with.

Secrets that he kept well hidden. People knew that he was strong for his age, but they didn't know just how exactly strong he was. If they did, they would try to lock him up-and if that happened, many people would die. Because there was no way in hell that anyone was putting him in a cage.

He had always been edgy about being in closed in places. It was personality quirk. He hated the feeling of being locked up. He didn't know it was because of his genetics. His kind was meant to be free. He didn't know that his kind were both Predator and Protector.

As for how strong he was, he wasn't really sure, because he always held back. He went to a gym once, but he really couldn't go full out because there were three or four people in there with him. He did lift a little, though. He bench-pressed over seven hundred pounds ten times, and was only slightly straining on the eighth lift. He stopped then, because he was afraid he would get caught. It was supposed to be impossible for someone his size to do that. He didn't have really bulky muscles. It would have raised too many questions. So he was always careful to hold back.

Frankly, it scared the hell out of him to be able to do that.

Needless to say, he could have crushed Chuck's skull with that kick if he wanted-but again, too many questions and too many cops. Other than that, it wouldn't have bothered him a bit to kill the ball-boy. He knew that it wasn't psychologically "normal" to think that way. Then again, he had always known that he wasn't anywhere close to normal.

Shawn also had another secret that he didn't even like to think about-not even consider. If people new, he was sure a sniper or something would take him out. If he concentrated, he could read people's minds or emotions. He did not do it often, because he was afraid of getting caught. Besides, the few people he had tried it on had thoughts that reminded the boy of sewers.

In fact, he only did it three times in his life. He found that he could delve into memories, or just surface thoughts, and the people he did it to never even seemed to notice, but he didn't want to chance it. He always wondered why he had to be such a freak.

That gift sort of scared him more than his strength did. At least with the freakish strength, he had some kind of control-he knew nothing about how to control telepathy. There was no telling how much he would mess a person-or himself-up if he did the wrong thing in their head. It just seemed too dangerous to him.

So, Traci Williams, where are you? he asked himself with amusement and boredom. He was very curious to see if she was like all the others DHS had sent him to.

Traci Williams pulled up to the quaint two story house that was out on the outskirts of town to pick up her new charge, Shawn Stone. She had to admit that she was exited about this. There was only about one hundred and forty eight of his kind in the entire world-he was the only one in the United States. The last one died three months ago.

Moreover, her spy network of Ability Empaths (people that scan others to see what their ability is) said that he is probably one of the most powerful Full-Hunters in the world, and he wouldn't even be in his Prime until tomorrow on his birthday. Then he would have the speed to go with his already gained strength.

There were two different types of Hunters. The weakest were called Sub-Hunters. They had the massive strength to fight the vampires, but they did not have the mental capacity or speed to do anything else. A strong mental vampire could place them under thrall if they tried hard enough, then rip their throat out for an evening meal.

However, Full-Hunters and Full-Slayers, which she was one, had the mental capacity to do much more than hold off the vampires. They could do things like read people's minds. Control peoples minds. Hell, they could even re-write them if they wanted to-and that was what Shawn was capable of. The strange thing was that the mental abilities usually do not come until the Hunter or Slayer's twentieth birthday. That made Shawn special and probably quite powerful.

Shawn did not know it yet, but it was going to be his job to protect the United States from demons and vampires. There were several mystical points of convergence in the United States that demons slip out of and it was his and her job to patrol them and wipe out the enemy.

So she was there to try to convince him to be his mentor; after all, even though she was only twenty, she had a lot that she could teach him. He wasn't the only one with an eidetic memory. She was also raised around Hunters, Slayers, Empaths and Telepaths. However, she also wanted to be his friend, after one of her Empaths gave her a report on his mental state and what he thought his self worth was.

It was a much known fact that Full-Hunters were very anti-social and was prone to be overly violent when provoked, when they were not around their own kind-meaning Slayers and other Hunters. The only normal people that they ere not violent to was women. No one knew exactly why, but Hunters always wanted to protect them. Even when they took them as Followers, they always treated them with respect.