All too happy to finally be sleeping, Finn snored on the couch in his apartment, time slowly ticking by as the morning grew into noon. The thing that woke him - eventually - was his watch, which rang off the hook, as if angry at him for sleeping for so long. He woke with a start, scratching his head as he quieted his fancy watch. His groggy eyes widened in panic as it clicked in his head - he was late for work, again.

After grabbing a quick breakfast and pulling on a mostly clean business suit, he rushed out the door, checking his watch all the while.

Tapping the watch and straightening it on his wrist, he thought about the real reason for it. Ever since he could remember, he'd experienced strange things - things no one could explain. When he was three, he was on the soft rug of his family room in a mansion in London - on a family vacation - playing with his favorite stuffed animal, Switches. His mother was humming a sweet tune, his maid dusting the fireplace, when, without warning, he screamed in pain, trying to tell the adults the pain causing him so much trouble was on his arm - where he always got stupid shots.

They rushed him to the hospital, worried for his life, but no matter what they did, the doctors couldn't figure out what the matter was. He was in great shape - for a three-year-old.

The pain was gone though, and his mother took him home, worrying about him for the rest of the week.

Sometimes he got the symptoms of a stomach virus, but he never got sick, regardless of how horrible he felt. Everyone waved it off, telling him not to worry about it, but the older he got, the more he wondered whether they were shooing it away because of his own comfort, or theirs'.

Finn shook his head, hating how much his childhood bugged him. He had just turned twenty, he couldn't still be so bothered by his past . . . right?

He tried not to zig-zag too much through the crowd, doing his best to keep whatever dignity he hoped was left in him. The streets of New York didn't normally agree with people in a rush, but everything seemed . . . unusual, like today was different for some reason. He kept pulling the cuffs of his suit down - a nervous habit he'd accidentally gained over the last week. His dad had given him a job - whether Finn wanted it or not - at his company. His dad, by the way, was a millionaire.

Finally, he reached the office building - the one his dad owned, his dad who he was working for - pushing away all the thoughts that crowded his head.

Okay, Finn. Today will be different - you're going to make sure of it.

Sitting at a cubicle for about four hours had him more exhausted than he thought possible for sitting. He jogged his leg like a teenager, checking his watch. He was glad for its purpose; keeping the phantom feelings away. He - throughout his life - mostly got odd pains, but there was a good mix of other things - not just pain. Sometimes, it was like a dream was playing in the back of his head even before he went to sleep.

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He tapped it, for no reason in particular, sighing at the time. He'd been there for so long. He wished his dad could've owned some other huge company - maybe one with less chairs. He looked around the quiet room, the workers silent in focus. He checked his watch for the millionth time.

It glared up to him with the same 5:00 he'd seen for the last - what felt like - forever.

I can't sit here any longer or I think I'll go crazy. Maybe no one will notice if I . . . He stood, clearing his throat to seem "casual" as he tugged the cuffs of his fancy suit. He walked down the boring halls as importantly-looking as he could. No one even looked up as he walked past, then finally out the door. Even the receptionist didn't give him a second thought - although plenty of fortune-hunter-women did. Well, not so much him as a person, just his money.

He was walking through the foyer, his heart pounding. He was so close to getting out of the place. But his plans were foiled the second his dad appeared there, dressed even fancier than he was, expensive cologne choking everyone in a mile radius. He stopped in place, folding his hands behind his back in a formal manner.

His dad - Johnnathan Peter - stood slightly taller than his son, despite his age, with salt and pepper hair and unnaturally, plastic-surgery smothered face. Finn forced a fake smile, hoping John would see how he felt about being there.

"Finntainian! What are you doing here, in the foyer? I thought your cubicle was upstairs!"

"Well, I needed some fresh air, father. I thought I'd grab something to eat as well."

"I don't think-"

Finn ignored him, unconcerned about trying to act casual anymore. John wouldn't fire him - he didn't have it in him. Not because Finn was his son, no. Because Finn got more publicity and fame than his dad did, so John mostly kept him around for that - no matter how much he annoyed him. Of course, Finn wasn't blind to his motives, eager to get out of his clutches for once and - maybe it was wishful thinking - explore the world.

John tried to call after him but Finn ignored him, passing through the automatic doors to the real world. He'd made it to the sidewalk but only managed a step before unexpectedly being dragged into the closest alleyway by his arm. When he turned to see who'd grabbed him, his panic was gone and an aggravated look passed over his face. He sighed, yanking his arm out of the person's hand.

"What do you want, Elise?"

John's secretary crossed her arms, pursing her lips together.

"You know he doesn't like you to be on your own, especially when he needs you in his building."

"Where he can keep me safe from the big bad world?"

"Yes!"

"I'm twenty-years-old, Elise. I think I'll be okay on my own."

"I don't understand you, Finntainian."

"It's Finn."

He didn't give her another chance to speak, turning on his heels and making his way back to the street. Elise called after him, angrily marching towards him. He sighed, turning around to face her. She opened her mouth to speak but the sudden ringing in his ears clouded her out. He pressed his fingers against his head, which had eagerly grown a headache. He found himself blinking a million times. Was there some kind of unseen blinding light? Just as it was all dying down, a hard pain exploded in his gut, making him double over.

He couldn't even hear himself grunt.

Time slowed to a stop as it flew by. When his vision cleared slightly, he caught a glimpse of a small crowd and flashing red and blue lights. Everything was too overwhelming. Before he knew it, he was on the grimy alley-way floor, his vision tunneling in. Something burned into his wrists then he blacked out.