Note: This is my first fanfic so if it's a little green around the edges, that's the reason. I worked hard on this so if you could leave a review I would greatly appreciate it.

Revised May 28, 2015.

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade, who would've guessed?

Prologue

"Don't make me go back, don't make me go back, don't make me go back…. Please, please, please do not make me go back."

She was scared. The muttering of protest seemed to spew out of her mouth repeatedly in a chant. It went quite well with the trembling in the furthest corner of her apartment. Indeed that was the very best way to deal with fear.

Holding her knees to her chest she rocked back and forth while mentally cursing herself for denying her mother's advice.

"Become a dentist," it rang within her head.

She flinched from the pain she had endured these last few years. She yearned to hold floss within her fingers, to count teeth, to prevent cavities and to think of all the gingivitis she could've warned people of. Sadly she wished for the smell of bad breath over what she had.

But no, at the point of her life where she had to choose her occupation she wanted to hear excitement as children greeted her. "Good morning Miss Kincaid," they would say as they bowed politely.

Sobbing, this same woman cowered at the thought of going back to that institution where she would come face to face with children, her students. But she wasn't scared of all of them.

Only two.

Though the young teacher had to admit the first couple of days were fine, simple even. But then again, they always are. It soon evolved into a catastrophe that happened daily.

Their ritual, it had become her fear.

A broken record replayed in her head. It was constant arguments. Bickering that exploded into confrontations where the two were merely inches away from one another. It was always the same, in both senses.

Her eyes squeezed shut as a familiar haunting picture pressed itself into her memory. The closing click of the door during morning exercises often started the whole predicament off.

"You're late!" a shrilling voice echoed within the teacher's ears, or sometimes it was a, "This is class, why are sleeping?"

The demands were often answered the same, a simple shrug of the shoulders. This making the one who yelled, a female pupil of hers, become angrier. She would soon rant about how this boy deserved thousands of detentions.

Her voice would often yell, "Miss Kincaid! He has to have extra cleaning duties. Better yet, the way he's going, we should get the school to invest in his own broom…."

That comment would irk the boy, the student who usually came late or slept in class, and he would soon begin to yell. Their bantering would go back and forth until one of them became tired of their game or felt that they had won. Then Miss Kincaid could creep out of her hiding spot behind her desk.

The young woman continued to rock back and forth as she wept, her shoulders shaking from her sobs. "I-I need to do something…," she told herself.

She knew her advantage over her two students though. She knew why they fought so heatedly every single day of their grade eight lives. It wasn't to spite their beloved teacher; it was because the truth had not yet dawned on them. And by the time it does, she just may be in an asylum.

What she needed now was answers; the solution would help her figure out the problem. Much like the case in algebra, you must know enough information to find the missing variables.

Miss Kincaid stopped her rocking; it was so very clear now. Realization suddenly slapped her in the face; her answers lied in her fears.

Scrambling across the room on her knees, she ripped open her bag, the one in which she brought daily to school. She began to toss loose papers over her shoulders frantically as she searched physically for her answers.

An evil smile played on her lips as she laid eyes on what she had been searching for. Her fingers delicately traced the binding and the surface of the cover as she lifted up a book out of the bag.

'The Eighth Grade Teacher's Manual' was boldly printed on the cover. She looked upon it with awe for a few moments, this was her saviour.

The dead silence of her apartment was broken when Miss Kincaid began to cackle. Evil was evident within this laughter; plans had begun to sprout inside her mind already.

But one thought wouldn't leave her alone. It pressed against her mind almost annoyingly. She couldn't do that though, no… it was too evil. Yet at the same time it was perfect, nothing could be better.

Revenge wasn't the issue though; she didn't want to teach a lesson to them, especially since only one of them would actually be listening. It was more of the idea that she wanted them to finally shut-up.

But she had to make her decision final, this needed to be done. Randomly opening the teacher's manual she flipped through pages until she reached the built-in planner. Then she looked around the floor for a pencil that may have decorated the floor along with the scattered papers.

Catching sight of one she grabbed it and messily sketched in the plan for tomorrow. Cackles again filled the air as her eyes gleamed eerily at the words before her.

It was a little known fact that Miss Kincaid had to teach a small strand in math called probability, and what better time to do things than the present?

Miss Kincaid was positive she was going crazy because of these two pupils of hers. It was probably more than likely she already had, but that didn't matter. It was impossible for this plan to fail, or she hoped so for her sanity's sake.

She was going to break that record even further, she was going to crumble it to pieces then burn it. And after it turned to ashes she was going to bury it away for eternity.

Their little argument days were over, she was going to make them pay. A small strand in math was going to save her sanity… if she still had some.

Now… where did she put those handcuffs?

Note: It was sort of short, but it's only the prologue. If you wouldn't mind could you please review, again it would be appreciated.