E.L.F
It was not the most comfortable van ride I've ever had.
I was sandwiched between two PRT troopers in the back section, behind the steel net and what was probably bulletproof glass divider while wearing gym pants, shoes with no socks and an ill-fitting T-shirt. The atmosphere was tense, unsurprisingly. My shirt was chafing my arm pits and the woman officer had a bench to herself right across from me. Strange as it sounds, that was bothering me the most. The lack of personal space and that it could have been resolved if either one of my bench buddies had decided to sit on the other side.
I used to be a touchy-feely kind of person. Handshakes, pats on the back, the usual stuff. I can clearly recall Mom's – and Emma's – brands of enthusiastic hugs and my Dad used to have the habit of kissing my hair. Things changed. I haven't given anyone a handshake in months. Still, I don't remember being exactly antsy about it. Worried I was going to get a pencil to the gut or shoved into the wall, yes. Antsy?
Another one for the list, I thought. I had palm lines, but they were in a completely different configuration and paler. My skin was soft like I came straight out of five-star spa treatment and hairless. The protruding tendons by my ankles looked like they were shaped strangely on top of being
here instead of
there. My ankles were the cause of my brainstorming session. Or to be more accurate, looking at my ankles had caused my brainstorming.
I was the typical unfit fifteen-year-old girl. The extent of my physical exercise was gym class twice a week. Before dodgeball, badminton, running around the football field or whatever torture was on the curriculum that day, there was stretches. They were supposed to prevent us from hurting ourselves. I was leggy, and not in the good way. Touching my toes while standing was likely to hospitalize me.
I'd twisted my leg into a half pretzel trying to get a better look at my ankle before one of the troopers coughed. Trying to ignore the stares I knew they were giving me, I'd put my leg down and I didn't even have the slightest twinge of pain. My toes rubbing against the side of my sneaker caused more discomfort than bending my knee half out of joint. A quick test of my fingers confirmed that I was ridiculously more flexible now than I had ever been.
So what else about me was different? If I was going to be stuck like this, I needed to know how deep it went. My ears could probably be altered back to human standard round and my face proportions corrected with cosmetic surgery. That was just me wishing though. We'd never be able to afford it. My heart was still beating fast. Not as fast as it had, but still noticeably quicker than usual. Stress, probably but I wasn't going to rule it out. I had 20/20 vision,
better than 20/20. Now that I was paying attention to it, everything around me looked uneven. Straight lines, weren't. I could see the individual fibers of my shirt with such clarity that I almost looked fuzzy. If I had to describe it, it's like I was seeing pixelation in real life. Imperfections glared out at me. My emotions were like a buoy on a stormy ocean, and I could mess with people's minds.
This was the new me, pros and cons, inside and out.
"What's going to happen to me?"
The officer's hair was probably brown to match her eyebrows but that was all I could really see under the bowl like helmet the PRT shared with SWAT. She had on sunglasses and a plaid scarf against the cold that I wasn't feeling.
"We must confirm how compromised our troopers are."
I think she phrased that as diplomatically as possible, but I still cringed. If it turned out that it wasn't a temporary effect and that I had those two men under my control
permanently? My breathing hitched as the tension in the van tightened like a stressed violin sting. As we stopped at a red light, I averted my face feeling like I could fall down a pit of shame. I bit the inside of my cheek, hard. My blood didn't taste metallic; it was strangely sweet. I inhaled through my nose, and exhaled out my mouth a few times. The downward spiral had stopped, maybe even reversed a bit.
Okay, so permanent. Well, they probably lost their jobs. I didn't know if there was a pension or something for casualties of parahuman abilities. As for me, it would mean no leniency. God, I hoped it wasn't permanent.
"And after?"
"Are you Taylor Hebert?" So they had figured me out. I nodded and the woman gave me a bit of a reassuring smile. "We'll get in touch with your father. He's been worried sick about you."
How my father would react to seeing me was not something I wanted to think about. My own reaction was bad enough, how much worse would it be to see him looking at me like I was a total stranger with his daughter's memories?
"Yeah, that would be great," I said, unconvincing even to my own pointy ears.
"When they arrive on site, you'll be invited to talk with Director Piggot and senior members of the Protectorate about your options."
What even were my options? I doubt anyone wanted a Ward that could mess with their heads, so what was left? Jail? I hadn't been clapped in handcuffs and had my rights read out to me, so I hadn't been arrested yet. And maybe. I chewed my lip.
Maybe they weren't going to. "My options?"
She shook her head. "I don't know all the details on how the department operates. I don't want to say something now that will be untrue later."
Fluid, I thought. I'm not sure why, but the more I thought
about that strange thought, the more I agreed. Set standards or procedures, the PRT troopers would know those even if just by precedent. I wasn't the only teenage parahuman in Brockton Bay, and I probably wouldn't be the last. Case by case basis? I knew there were a few rumors online about Shadow Stalker of the Wards. Her time as a solo vigilante and then why, suddenly, she was being debuted as a new Ward. Not sure how much I believed, but it made me think.
Thinking was good. Think more, feel less.
"You said, senior Protectorate members?" I couldn't kill the grin that formed on my face. "Like Armsmaster?" Of all the government sponsored heroes here in Brockton Bay, he was my favorite. No super strength, super durability or natural weaponry. Everything he accomplished, he built from his own two hands. How was that not awesome? I even had Armsmaster underwear!
Wait. No, oh god
, anyone but Armsmaster.
The officer's lips quirked. "No promises, but it is likely."
Goddammit!
I ducked my head, well aware that my face was probably a lobster red that wasn't going to fade any time soon. The trooper on my right chuckled and I could almost physically feel the tension break. I passed some kind of test. It was the Armsmaster thing, I guessed. Maybe they liked the guy?
No, because I did. Said good things about my inclinations. It would be different if I was a fan of, say Leet and Uber instead.
"Can I have names?" Came out of my mouth without my input. "I'm Taylor and I'm…calling you officer, trooper one and trooper two in my head and it's kind of…?"
The silence after my question only lasted a heartbeat. "Rodriguez," said the trooper to my right that had laughed earlier. He was about my height, tanned with dark eyebrows. No scarf, but he did have gloves on.
"Brabant," the man on my left said and he had an accent to go with it. I pointed a finger at him.
"You didn't pick that up in the Bay, did you?"
He flashed a pearly white grin at me. Lighter brown eyebrows, and he was bundled up. Scarf, head covering under the helmet, gloves and a turtleneck underneath the body armor. "St. Louis."
That was quite a way away. Brockton Bay was New England through and through. Maybe he got transferred for one reason or another. I really couldn't imagine anyone moving into this pit without a solid incentive.
"Bernard," officer finished. "Should be arriving any minute now." As if agreeing with her words, the van took a sharp right turn slow and then another right that went down a ramp. "Any more questions?"
A few. "How long was I…" I waved a hand in the air vaguely.
"Five days."
Better than I feared, worse than I hoped. That was nearly a week, Dad must be pulling out his hair by now. Had he reported me missing? Had the school been closed? Thinking of school just made me realize: everyone already knew. Someone must have known that I was missing from class, and when that bone started growing out of my locker, someone must have called it in. PRT officers arriving, quarantining the area with the police tape and troopers, it must have been a spectacle.
Emma probably knows I had powers. I would gladly sit in a cell if it meant I didn't have to go back to Winslow High.
Bernard's radio crackled. "We're ready for you, come on in. Stand by for parahuman escort."
The van whined to a stop and the back door opened. I was ready for the light this time, closing my eyes so it just shined through my eyelids before opening them again. The PRT personnel got out first. Rodriguez bumped my shoulder.
"Nothin' to worry 'bout."
Then I climbed out, focusing on just breathing. I could feel the knot of panic and paranoia threatening to bubble up from the pits of my stomach as I took in troopers wearing exoskeletons, riot masks and foam canisters on bandoliers. Something in my head popped, and I swayed. My hands shook. A year of constant bullying, being on the bottom of the totem pole had atrophied what little social skills I had. I always felt too awkward or embarrassed, or didn't belong.
For how strongly I felt now, there hadn't been a shred of that in the van. What
was that?
"Easy," someone said. I didn't recognize the voice.
I think I hated my loss of control just as much as I hated my mind fucking ability. More even, maybe. I took deep breaths, trying not to feel like I needed a paper bag. I – I needed a better shirt. I was choking.
"Can I get a new shirt?" My voice warbled. That's the only reason I noticed it too was different. Christ, did I have
anything left?
Think more, feel less.
"I can get you something," a female trooper I didn't know told me softly. Blonde, pale skin. "Follow me, please?"
We were in the basement of the PRT building. An underground garage with a sturdy steel door and holding the white PRT vans and a few interceptor cars. The officers I had rode with and the ones that I had…influenced had gone ahead. The only evidence were the keys, radios and wallets left behind in a plastic bin before the series of doors that made my skin prickle. I occupied myself with watching the walls and doors, taking in the white and grey paintjob over large bricks as well as the number of times we turned.
I got a small room. Bed, desk and a chair with an attached bathroom. I sat on the bed.
The blonde trooper came back with a large Miss Militia T-shirt and star spangled socks, as well as an Aegis hoodie that I took gratefully. She smiled at me.
"If you need anything, just press the button by the door, alright?" I nodded. Locked door, electronic, room was probably soundproofed? Had to be monitored, listening devices, hidden camera. The roiling pit hadn't calmed but I was keeping it in check.
Once she left, I put on my new clothes in the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. I raised a skeptical eyebrow.
Okay, that expression fit my new face really well, but so did a small smile. Alright. Okay. Fine.
I could do this.