I broke my <3k word rule for this one >_<
Metamorphose
I bit into my chicken wrap and my eyes closed. Buttered wheat tortilla, moist chicken with a lightly seared crust, juicy bacon, crispy iceberg lettuce, spinach, tomatoes and Dad's own special honey mustard dressing. I used to think that his wraps were just okay. I'd eaten enough of them for lunch or dinner that it just became that one uncomplicated thing Dad could make reliably that was tasty, and trust me, after you eat enough of something you tend to get sick of it.
I hadn't even finished my wrap and I was wishing there was more. Savory was doing the same thing to my taste buds that sweet did: overwhelm. I don't think I could get sick of Dad's chicken wraps anymore. I was even reluctant to swallow, just wanting to keep the flavors on my tongue as long as possible. I found myself wondering about all the foods I'd taken for granted, like sodas or pizza. What would they taste like to me now?
What if I had something truly decadent, like cheesecake?
Eventually, I swallowed. I was actually
sad to do it. I grabbed a bit of trail mix and found my eyes closing again as the white chocolate chip hit my tongue with the salted peanuts and dried cranberries. "Oh my god."
I think I could actually get addicted to food.
"That good, huh?" Dad asked, eyebrows raised as I went digging for another white chocolate chip, this time with walnuts and cashews. The almonds smelled bitter, and those I avoided. His face was still a little pale. By his lunch was the printed summary of my medical report. It covered the basics of the differences, but was mostly focused on what it meant for me. At the bottom of each page was a bolded, enlarged red message: If
any complications arise, please call this
emergency number!
I nodded as I popped the nut and chocolate mix into my mouth. "Delicious."
I had to try ice cream.
Dad looked around the cafeteria. It was a lot emptier than it had been the last time I'd been here, but that might not be my fault. It was almost lunch time. While there were a good number of troopers having the lunch special, many more had likely opted to go to their favorite eatery downtown or brought their own lunches.
That was what I was telling myself. A few of the windows that had cracked from this morning were covered in opaque plastic sealed with duct tape. We had a round table in the corner by one of the side doors. The thoughts of the troopers that were not familiar with me were a lot more positive than those who were. There were a few exceptions, but 'wary' was the word of the day.
As was 'volatile.'
Dad was gathering up courage. "Taylor, you know – "
"I know," I said. There were things about being human that are taken for granted. Right up until someone tells you, you aren't human anymore. That went further than allergens and nutritional requirements. Amy called me an almost viable new species, and I was the only one on Earth. "I don't want to talk about it."
My father deflated and the guilty twinge I felt almost physically hurt. I had to throw him a bone. "It doesn't change anything, does it?"
Dad smiled. Weakly, but it was there and so was the uptick in his mood. "It doesn't," he said firmly.
I knew it wouldn't, but hearing him say it had a stronger effect on me. There were downsides to having my powers. A lot of them. None of them really mattered to me at all. If I could be a hero and make a difference, have my Dad support me, then all of the technicalities of biology were just that.
Technicalities.
I smiled back at my Dad and took another bite of my chicken.
Yum.
Lunch time had ended, my Dad and I still at our table just talking about stuff like if I wanted to try going to Arcadia or be homeschooled and the lawsuit Dad was pushing against Winslow, when Armsmaster walked into the cafeteria.
I knew he was looking for me so I quickly swallowed my mouth full of trail mix. Even though I knew that was the reason I had even swallowed in the first place, I caught myself with my hand back in the bag grabbing more as the hero approached our table.
"Mr. Hebert," he greeted my father politely and nodded to me as I gave in and ate the last of the trail mix. "Taylor."
Chewing, I just nodded back.
"Anything I can help you with?" Dad asked him. "I thought you weren't going to start testing her for another hour."
"The schedule has not changed," he admitted with a bit of impatience he couldn't hide from me. He was on a time limit, and wanted to get tasks done quickly. "However, there is one of her apparent abilities that she has yet to repeat: the material she created at Winslow High. I have secured permission for an excursion out to the site and see if she," he turned to me. "You can remove it so that classes can resume."
Almost unbidden, the notes of a melody from a dream started drifting through my head. "Yes," I said haltingly. A shiver went down my spine. "I think I can."
Armsmaster smiled. He had a nice one, proud and triumphant. His thoughts were just as proud. He was going out of his way to build a rapport with me, not because he liked me in particular although it seemed like he didn't dislike me, but because he could see the writing on the wall. My powers were strong enough to have gotten the Chief Director to pull strings and Armsmaster was very driven.
He didn't see me as a stepping stone. There wasn't any malice there. Just calm, calculated practicality.
I fought to keep my composure as I stood up from my chair. I crumpled the plastic bag filled with crumbs of nuts in my hand and stalked to the garbage can. Armsmaster, the hero, he was using me. I dropped the bag into the trash. Yes, he was but he also hadn't deceived me yet. I let out a breath. Before Costa-Brown, I was just a parahuman that had caused the city to panic and he wanted me to believe him. That I was not at fault, just another victim. I wanted to believe in him now too.
The second breath was easier as the knot in my chest reluctantly eased. I drew myself back into the only person's head I was in, was myself. For a moment, the world felt like it was too quiet without the buzzing murmurs at the edge of my awareness.
It felt lonely.
"I'm ready to go," I said as I walked back to the table. Armsmaster nodded and already started walking out. I lingered.
"My hero," Dad said with a smile. "See you when you get back."
I bent down and gave him a quick squeeze before rushing off after the Protectorate hero.
___________
"I checked out a single transport van," Armsmaster told me as we walked the corridors leading to the front entrance. "I am hoping that you will be able to manipulate the material on site, however should it turn out that you can't, we have other options."
"Like?" I asked as the sliding glass doors parted. Just as he said there was a van parked out front in front of a construction crew dealing with the busted street light. When some of the men looked over, I bowed my head, feeling my face flush with shame.
"Removing that section of the wall." Armsmaster handed me what looked a lot like a Bluetooth ear bud with a soft gel hook to go around the ear and a small, thin microphone coming off it. "There is someone that wants to talk to you."
I took the earbud and put it on. It felt a bit weird, but whoever made it also made the hook too shallow to really dig into the back of my ear. It was quickly warming against my skin and seemed to adjust itself. The discomfort passed quickly.
"Nice to meet you, Taylor," a woman said. I halted before the opened back of the van and shot Armsmaster a look as he got on his motorcycle. "I am Dragon."
Oh. Shit. "H-hi."
"Hello," she laughed and I felt my face burn. "Armsmaster told me of what you two were going to try, and I wanted to ask if you would mind me sitting in? The material you made has fascinating properties."
Dragon was calling the stuff I made fascinating. I woodenly got into the van and closed the door as I thought about what to say without giving in to the urge to gush all over her. That was damn hard to do. My hero worship was fluttering in my stomach like moths trapped under the palm of my hand. Armsmaster works with Dragon? He told Dragon about me?
"Idon'tmind!" I bit my tongue to stop from saying anything else.
"Great," she said warmly. The van started up and began to pull away from the PRT building. "Is there anything you might be able to tell me about the material?" She checked her enthusiasm. "Or want to tell me?"
"Music," I blurted out.
"Pardon?"
I bit down on the knuckle of my index finger. I needed to get a hold of myself. "When I think about it," I forced myself to breathe between each word. "Music comes to mind."
"Any kind of music in particular?" She sounded genuinely curious, but a prickling feeling of 'wrong' started to creep up on me.
"No, it has something to do with the extra sense I have." The van went over a bump. "It's more like I'm playing notes with my power, or maybe the vibration or pitch is what is important?" That sounded right. "I'm almost sure that's what it is."
"Interesting. Have you made any more?"
I frowned as we stopped for a light. There was nothing wrong with her voice, or anything. I decided to ignore it.
"No. I was told no unauthorized power testing." On one hand, I had to only look at the ruined bathroom on the first floor to see that Piggot had been completely justified in telling me that. On the other, technically speaking my ability to read minds was discovered via 'unauthorized power testing' and there was absolutely no harm in it. How could they hope to
test what I could do if I had no actual idea of
what I could do?
"I could understand that," Dragon said. "I'm sure your storms have put everyone a bit on edge."
"I can do more than storms."
"Yes, Armsmaster told me that as well."
He
had talked about me to Dragon. Wow. I felt really conflicted about that given my temper tantrum this morning. God, that had been stupid, hadn't it? I couldn't help it. I was just so angry seeing Sophia standing there, a
Ward had been one of my bullies.
What a joke.
"Did he say anything
positive about me?" I asked in a mock whine.
Dragon chuckled. "Well…"
________
Walking back through the hallways of my high school was an odd feeling. Just the other day, I had been running away from PRT troopers panicked, confused and buck naked. Now I was walking behind Armsmaster, considerably more clothed and not a fugitive. In a little under two days those two agents that had been guarding my locker would be out of containment. It was a little bizarre how quickly things changed.
Armsmaster held the door open for me and I walked in. My locker was in the middle of the hall, in between a pair of windows. Details that I had missed the first time were almost painfully obvious now. All of the windows in this hall were broken. They were covered up with corkboard and plastic. The fluorescent light casings were busted and it was colder here. They must have turned off the power to this wing and with school out, no one saw fit to fix anything.
Not with my locker there.
There was a sweeping crest of bone jutting out of the lockers. It had escaped my locker, crushing the ones on either side of it and growing up along the wall with a bit on the ceiling. Sharp, flat edges gently curled out and upwards, narrowing into points layer by layer. It was if someone had dipped a thin paintbrush into the bone and with a flick of the wrist painted it out. The edges at the end of the brush's width were almost translucent. It had an organic look to it, pockmarked with pits and no harsh edges.
"Do you hear that?" I asked.
Armsmaster glanced down at me. "What?"
"I'm not picking up any sound," Dragon noted.
It was like someone was playing a single note on a pan pipe a few rooms away. Muffled just enough that it was more an impression of a sound, subliminal, and easy to lose among other noises.
"The bone." I don't know what made me do it, but the next thing I knew I was singing the note. It echoed down the hallway and I cut myself off, mortified. "That."
"That," Dragon said through my ear bud as I dragged a hand down my face. "Was a perfectly pitched A4." She was smiling. I knew she was. "You have a nice voice."
I groaned out loud and picked up the pace until I was jogging, only slowing to a stop when I was within arm's reach of the bone. The note was still frustratingly quiet even though I was standing in front of its origin. Up close, the bone seemed to make the dream I had and the song more real. Armsmaster came up behind me with his loud, clunking steps.
"Look," he said, pointing at a ragged hole that led into the heart of the bone. "That is noticeably smaller than it had been last night."
"By roughly fourteen percent, yes, I see it," Dragon noted. "Self-repairing?"
I reached my hand out and paused. "Can I?"
Armsmaster gave me the go ahead, stepping back until he was behind me and by the wall. I closed the rest of the distance and gasped.
The bone was warm, pulsing. I became aware of its presence unfurling in the space between like a small leaf floating on top of water. Tiny channels, veins and blood vessels, circuitry in the circuit board, pipes carrying water and electricity perforated the real world as it bled potential.
As I stared at the bone I saw things like someone was carving ideas into my brain. Vehicles of different sizes, sleek and fast with crimson patterns from speeders to tanks, each one hovering over the ground. Giant colossus with spindly limbs and large heads powered by stars. Small planes that were all smooth curves and vicious wings. Guns from large artillery cannons to smaller pistols spitting spinning edged disks, energy weapons firing bright lances; longswords and spears encrusted in gems.
Then the vision changed, and I could hear singing. I saw buildings, beautifully bright towers and peaks above smooth, curved homes without a blemish on them. I saw people, tall and thin, in red armor with black and white detailing fighting against black skeletal machines. Giant ships drifting through space -
"Taylor!"
I snapped back, and the bone was just bone.
"Sorry." My hand had sunk into the bone and I pulled it out. I flexed my tingling fingers and gently touched the hole my hand had made. It was hard and smooth. This could be shaped, I realized. That was what the vision had been telling me. This stuff was malleable. I turned to look at Armsmaster. "I just got a lot of ideas for this."
Dragon made a noise. "You're a tinker too?"
Armsmaster was elated. He didn't smile, but the corner of his mouth kept twitching up. "What kind of ideas did you get?"
"Weapons." I licked my lips as I turned back to the bone. I decided to keep the full contents of the vision, of seeing people that looked like how I did now, spaceships and strange enemies to myself. I really didn't want to be called crazy right now. "Armor, tanks and speeders. Stuff like that."
"That's quite a mix," Armsmaster commented, pleased. "And it's all based on this material?"
"Wraithbone." I winced as soon as I said it. "That doesn't sound very heroic, I know. It was just something I came up with at the top of my head."
"Wraithbone," Dragon repeated speculatively. "Well, I like it."
"It's up to the Public Relations department," Armsmaster shrugged.
I will call it whatever I want. It's my power. I knew better than to say that out loud. "I think I can shape this."
I reached out again. No vision this time but the thousands of tiny channels within the bone lit up under my hand. This would not be like the time I blew out the bathroom wall, I knew. Then I had just pushed at the space and made it move. The bone seemed to be a siphon, reacting to me. I didn't have to move the space. I had to make the bone move.
It was a leaf on the surface of a pond.
I held my breath as I tapped that leaf. The wraithbone chimed, a sound I knew only I could hear. Nothing exploded. Emboldened, I leaned into it with my hand, reinforcing my movement with gentle taps and the bone collapsed in as I pushed at it. This felt crude, but it was working. I put both hands on the column rising along the wall and pushed down, imagining that I was pulling on a rope. Plaster and paint fell in dust and chips as the bone broke away from the wall.
"Amazing," Dragon said as I pushed the sharp edges into the main body of the bone leaving behind a smooth surface.
I laughed.
I reached up, standing on my tip toes and pulled the drooped column down slowly and merged it with the growing ball of bone. I started humming under my breath the dream melody as I worked. It was as if I had regressed in age and was playing with Playdough in Winslow's halls. The feeling I used to get when reading a good book or watching an interesting TV show, that kind of empty bliss as time flew by, came back with a vengeance.
I could spend all day doing this.
Too soon I was done. A large ball of bone that came up to my chest sat on the floor. It was a perfect sphere, but instead of rolling away as soon as I took my hand off it, it stood still on its single point of contact to the tiling.
Without the bone, there was just the crushed remains of three lockers. I stared down at my broken textbooks with stained pages. My back up pencils and pens were snapped into pieces. The filth my bullies had filled my locker with was on the floor, thankfully dried out with just a hint of a rotten smell wafting off it. I still made me gag. Suddenly exposed to the open air, earwigs, beetles and other bugs scuttled around, looking for cover.
I shuddered and turned away.
"Impressive." Armsmaster put a hand on the ball and gently rolled it. "It's lightweight. Self-repairing, malleable, conductive." He looked up at me. "I will have to ask you to let me use some of this for a few projects."
"I second that request," Dragon added.
I grinned, giddy. "Sure."
Together, we rolled the ball down the hall and out of the school to the parking lot where ramps were dropped from the back of the van. Rolling it in, I caught sight of Armsmaster's bike. My eyes swung back to my ball. My fingers tightened on the bone. I had enough, I thought.
I pointed at the bike. "Do you think I could borrow some of your designs for that?"
____________
There was a blond man waiting for me in the lobby of the PRT building.
He walked over to me with a small smile playing on his face as I stood there, frozen. A PRT tag was hanging from the pocket on his white shirt. There were black stripes on the shoulders and he had a black and silver tie on. He winked from behind thin-rimmed glasses.
"I heard through the grapevine that you might be working with us soon, hm?" He flapped his tag that read 'WEDGDGD Department – Specialist.' "I was in the area and got contracted to test you for the division. Watchdog, economic oversight department, Dylan Brandough."
His smile broke into a grin. "But my friends, they call me Number Man."
