Luis. That kid was a real firecracker.
He had a way of setting people on fire and not because of his flame throwing contraptions—he could never actually set fire to anyone with those. Maybe Ashby, but surely no one else. No, it was something internal that set people off.
Seventeen years old and already he’d managed to get half the sector after him for some reason or other. And he showed no sign of slowing down.
He made enemies on every street corner, showing off the goods everyone saw but him. Hitting people in the face with them like a whip.
That whip had hit Paul in the face too, hadn’t it? Isn’t that why he had swooped in like a benevolent eagle, plucking him out of the chaos he had stirred up, whisking him away to his magical workshop for surgery and teamwork? Why was Luis so special?
Why hadn’t Paul tried to go after Moore more seriously earlier?
Because, before Luis returned in his pockmarked sneakers and his sweat-stained t-shirt like camel hair robes, everything was on the down and out. Dying. But when he came back like locusts and honey out of the wilderness, life started gasping and clawing to the surface.
Feelings got raw and new again. Pain hurt. Laughter brought rain and anger started fires.
That scraggly kid had started something, obviously, but Paul didn’t know whether it had to do with that abnormal brain of his or whether Luis was just a living metaphor for hope.
It didn’t make much difference, Paul concluded. The results were the same.
A/N: Paul: He is the son of the miraculously uncontaminated. The only person immune to this disease. We must watch him and learn from him.
Luis: (standing off to the side, picking his nose)
Paul: This is our savior, ladies and gentlemen.
If you want to read more Countersink, I’ve got just the thing.
Protagonized. 
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