Celene Fisher is a fifteen year old girl who lives alone in a house at the edges of Happy Harbor. She goes to school, but doesn't really make friends. She's happy though, here and far from her parents. Sometimes, when someone bumps into her, she feels harder than she should, but that's just the overactive imagination of teenagers. She doesn't do sports or exercise, but is always in shape, no matter how much or how little she eats. Nobody has seen her parents, apparently they're always busy at their jobs in Gateway city. But nobody really cares all that much, she's just a normal girl living in Happy Harbor.
Trans-Human Hero
- Thread starter HelereTheAce
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Statistics (5 threadmarks, 6k words)
User Total HelereTheAce 5
Transition 01
- Pronouns
- She/Her
CONTENT WARNING FOR THIS CHAPTER:
DEPRESSION
GENDER DYSPHORIA
SUICIDAL IDEATION
DEAD-NAMING OF A TRANS PERSON
TRANSPHOBIA (MENTIONED)
MUTILATION AND BODY MODIFICATION (CONSENTUAL)
I'd known since I could first think that my body was wrong. I'd look in the mirror, seeing parts that shouldn't be there, looking at my father and feeling horror in my gut at what awaited me. My parents, George and Heather Fisher, were... closeminded on many issues, and after a particularly memorable screaming session by the two of them I learned to never bring up my feelings (I later learned it was called Gender Dysphoria) in front of anyone. They were, other than that, good enough as parents. We had a nice home, Dad had a good job working for the local bank and my mother was a hot-shot prosecutor with Pearson & Graham LLP.
I was fifteen, and my puberty had begun. I had trouble eating, talking to friends, reading. Whatever. Anything I enjoyed, I just... couldn't anymore. Every time I looked in the mirror, every time I saw my face I wanted to scream and cry and smash the reflection. But I didn't, I just stared at my nightmare, and it stared back with dead, grey eyes. That night I debated just... ending it, before the face in the mirror started growing hair, before I was so far gone into 'adulthood' that I could never fix it. I didn't, obviously. I went to sleep as normal, but normally, I don't dream.
That night though, I dreamed. Of metal with a layer of synth flesh, hairless and soft. A beautiful face, my face, without my father's strong jaw, wearing makeup and happy eyes dancing with light. A body that is distinctly not male, not shaped in a way that makes me want to vomit every time I look down. I saw the schematics for the machines that would do this, the medications I'd need to manufacture to survive the process, the exact alloy that my limbs would be made of, the synthetic blood I'd need. I knew, I knew that if I worked quickly, scrounged everything I could, sold my game stations and collectables and everything else that my parents wouldn't notice, I could make it. Every scrap of allowance saved, every penny I found on the sidewalk, doing busywork for the neighbors, for my friends, their parents, whatever it took.
I'd be her, soon.
-
It took me months, months of torturous waiting and working and saving, of ignoring the face in the mirror and of saving every scrap of money and selling everything that could make money. I bought the parts I'd need in bits and pieces, renting out a cheap storage shed to store them in. My father praised my newfound work ethic, praising me for 'finally manning up'. I wanted to scream, to tell him that every time he called me Jacob, or 'my boy', or praised my masculinity I wanted to fucking die, but I just pleasantly smiled and agreed with him. It would be over soon. I'd be her soon, and everything would be ok.
My friends had tried to keep in contact with me, tried to cajole me away from my work, but eventually they stopped trying, stopped coming around. Stopped talking to me at school, except to approach me and try to get me to tell them what's wrong. How could I tell them, after how my own parents had treated me? I couldn't trust any of them. I wish it was different, I wish I could still have friends, but I needed to get this done.
Soon, my bank account had five figures, and I was able to get everything I'd need. Most of the components were surprisingly cheap, a few of the more expensive items could be bought in parts for far less and re-assembled. The shed I'd rented was enough to store everything, but I couldn't do my work there. I scouted the docks out, looking for a warehouse or something that still had power but wasn't actively used. It took two weeks to confirm, but I'd found one.
On the day of finally becoming the girl I saw in my dreams, I left a note. Obviously framed as a suicide note, because if I didn't survive this, at least I wouldn't be stuck in this... this prison of flesh and a future of agony every second of every day. I told my former friends that it wasn't their fault, let my parents know that I love them, and I drove the shitty pick-up I'd bought off of a shady asshole, filled to the brim with the parts I'd need to build the machine, to the warehouse. Empty and powered, though not for long. I'd looked it up, and the power would be shut down in a week.
I didn't need a week, just today. I got to building, feverish and shaking, every part placed with a supernatural precision despite that. The wires, the frame, the computer, the limbs that would replace my own. Artificial torso, artificial skull, legs and hips and a chest and everything that I knew I was always meant to have. A vat full of the synth-flesh that I'd been shown in my dreams, cybernetic eyes as grey as my own, lips a natural pink and a cute button nose. a soft jaw and freckles that had faded from my own face with time.
Finally. Finally it was time. I'd become the girl from my dreams, or I'd die trying.
-
I was unconscious for the entire process, anesthesia applied by the machine before it cut away the old me, and began to replace it with the new. I know the exact process it would have taken, the grotesque measures it had to take to make me her, but I won't describe most of them. A mesh around my brain, cybernetic implant that would totally cease the production of testosterone and induce the production of estrogen. My skull cut away and replaced in pieces, my blood replaced with a synthetic compound that performed all of the same functions without any of blood's vulnerabilities. Arms and legs taken and replaced, Synth-skin carefully applied. Nails added to hands, to toes. Face carefully applied and eyes replaced with the new ones.
Eventually, I woke up. Opening my eyes, I smiled and giggled, a distinctly feminine sound that shot a thrill of joy through my entire body. A hud took up the edges of my vision, as a test I thought of what time and date it is. [10:31 PM / June 1st / 2010] flashed in the top right corner of my vision.
I carefully got up from the table and walked over to the mirror I'd placed against the wall, staring at myself. It, it was the girl in my dreams. It was me.
I heard a dripping sound, and realized I was crying. I didn't realize I'd be able to cry. I broke down sobbing, joy overwhelming any composure I might have had. My old life was gone, but whatever comes next can't be worse.
DEPRESSION
GENDER DYSPHORIA
SUICIDAL IDEATION
DEAD-NAMING OF A TRANS PERSON
TRANSPHOBIA (MENTIONED)
MUTILATION AND BODY MODIFICATION (CONSENTUAL)
I'd known since I could first think that my body was wrong. I'd look in the mirror, seeing parts that shouldn't be there, looking at my father and feeling horror in my gut at what awaited me. My parents, George and Heather Fisher, were... closeminded on many issues, and after a particularly memorable screaming session by the two of them I learned to never bring up my feelings (I later learned it was called Gender Dysphoria) in front of anyone. They were, other than that, good enough as parents. We had a nice home, Dad had a good job working for the local bank and my mother was a hot-shot prosecutor with Pearson & Graham LLP.
I was fifteen, and my puberty had begun. I had trouble eating, talking to friends, reading. Whatever. Anything I enjoyed, I just... couldn't anymore. Every time I looked in the mirror, every time I saw my face I wanted to scream and cry and smash the reflection. But I didn't, I just stared at my nightmare, and it stared back with dead, grey eyes. That night I debated just... ending it, before the face in the mirror started growing hair, before I was so far gone into 'adulthood' that I could never fix it. I didn't, obviously. I went to sleep as normal, but normally, I don't dream.
That night though, I dreamed. Of metal with a layer of synth flesh, hairless and soft. A beautiful face, my face, without my father's strong jaw, wearing makeup and happy eyes dancing with light. A body that is distinctly not male, not shaped in a way that makes me want to vomit every time I look down. I saw the schematics for the machines that would do this, the medications I'd need to manufacture to survive the process, the exact alloy that my limbs would be made of, the synthetic blood I'd need. I knew, I knew that if I worked quickly, scrounged everything I could, sold my game stations and collectables and everything else that my parents wouldn't notice, I could make it. Every scrap of allowance saved, every penny I found on the sidewalk, doing busywork for the neighbors, for my friends, their parents, whatever it took.
I'd be her, soon.
-
It took me months, months of torturous waiting and working and saving, of ignoring the face in the mirror and of saving every scrap of money and selling everything that could make money. I bought the parts I'd need in bits and pieces, renting out a cheap storage shed to store them in. My father praised my newfound work ethic, praising me for 'finally manning up'. I wanted to scream, to tell him that every time he called me Jacob, or 'my boy', or praised my masculinity I wanted to fucking die, but I just pleasantly smiled and agreed with him. It would be over soon. I'd be her soon, and everything would be ok.
My friends had tried to keep in contact with me, tried to cajole me away from my work, but eventually they stopped trying, stopped coming around. Stopped talking to me at school, except to approach me and try to get me to tell them what's wrong. How could I tell them, after how my own parents had treated me? I couldn't trust any of them. I wish it was different, I wish I could still have friends, but I needed to get this done.
Soon, my bank account had five figures, and I was able to get everything I'd need. Most of the components were surprisingly cheap, a few of the more expensive items could be bought in parts for far less and re-assembled. The shed I'd rented was enough to store everything, but I couldn't do my work there. I scouted the docks out, looking for a warehouse or something that still had power but wasn't actively used. It took two weeks to confirm, but I'd found one.
On the day of finally becoming the girl I saw in my dreams, I left a note. Obviously framed as a suicide note, because if I didn't survive this, at least I wouldn't be stuck in this... this prison of flesh and a future of agony every second of every day. I told my former friends that it wasn't their fault, let my parents know that I love them, and I drove the shitty pick-up I'd bought off of a shady asshole, filled to the brim with the parts I'd need to build the machine, to the warehouse. Empty and powered, though not for long. I'd looked it up, and the power would be shut down in a week.
I didn't need a week, just today. I got to building, feverish and shaking, every part placed with a supernatural precision despite that. The wires, the frame, the computer, the limbs that would replace my own. Artificial torso, artificial skull, legs and hips and a chest and everything that I knew I was always meant to have. A vat full of the synth-flesh that I'd been shown in my dreams, cybernetic eyes as grey as my own, lips a natural pink and a cute button nose. a soft jaw and freckles that had faded from my own face with time.
Finally. Finally it was time. I'd become the girl from my dreams, or I'd die trying.
-
I was unconscious for the entire process, anesthesia applied by the machine before it cut away the old me, and began to replace it with the new. I know the exact process it would have taken, the grotesque measures it had to take to make me her, but I won't describe most of them. A mesh around my brain, cybernetic implant that would totally cease the production of testosterone and induce the production of estrogen. My skull cut away and replaced in pieces, my blood replaced with a synthetic compound that performed all of the same functions without any of blood's vulnerabilities. Arms and legs taken and replaced, Synth-skin carefully applied. Nails added to hands, to toes. Face carefully applied and eyes replaced with the new ones.
Eventually, I woke up. Opening my eyes, I smiled and giggled, a distinctly feminine sound that shot a thrill of joy through my entire body. A hud took up the edges of my vision, as a test I thought of what time and date it is. [10:31 PM / June 1st / 2010] flashed in the top right corner of my vision.
I carefully got up from the table and walked over to the mirror I'd placed against the wall, staring at myself. It, it was the girl in my dreams. It was me.
I heard a dripping sound, and realized I was crying. I didn't realize I'd be able to cry. I broke down sobbing, joy overwhelming any composure I might have had. My old life was gone, but whatever comes next can't be worse.
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Transition 02
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Once I'd managed to pull myself back together, I knew that my time to figure out the future was limited. I honestly hadn't thought the ideas would work, that this would be the end of me, but no, no I was alive, alive and in a bind. I couldn't, wouldn't go back to my parents. Even if they believed I was their child, they'd try to find me 'help' try to find someone to 'fix' me, call me, ugh, 'Jacob'. When I refused, they'd get angry, reach out to some of the... less reputable people that they have contacts with. They're a banker and a lawyer, I know that they have unsavory contacts.
My name, though, my name is Celene now. I'll keep Fisher, it's an incredibly common last name, and hearing a teacher say 'Miss Fisher'? A dream come true. So, I need to get funds, fast. I need to get out of Gateway City, fast. With a thought, my direct connection to the internet let me search through every state for the laxest records-standards for students. Rhode Island, only needing immunization records and a phone call with parents. Whoever decided the standards should slip so much should be shot, but whatever it helps me now.
Funds? I still have three thousand dollars on me, and a truck that I... can maintain, sort of. The knowledge of the mechanics of my body kind-of transfers to maintaining automobiles. While I thought on this, I disassembled the machine, into smaller parts this time. My new body made it quick and easy, and I hummed a tune as I worked. My voice was high and pretty. I almost break down again, but I keep going with the thought that anyone could find me at any time. All of my blood and previous body parts had been incinerated, so nobody would think I killed 'Jacob Fisher'.
I'd bought new clothes that matched the proportions in my head before I'd come here, gotten weird looks from the cashier but I'd ignored him. The bra was a little difficult, but I figured it out. I looked in the mirror again, the cute shirt and swishy skirt I'd chosen matching the knee-high striped socks and nice shoes. My new hair was bundled in a pony-tail, completing the look.
Everything loaded in the truck, the things that had been incredibly difficult for me to move before I lifted with ease, I debated with myself on where in Rhode Island I wanted to live. Looking up major tourist destinations, I decided on Happy Harbor. Next to the city is Mount Justice, the old headquarters of the Justice League. I'd figure out the rest when I get there.
-[11:13 AM / June 4th / 2010]
I'd stopped at a small-town diner in Kansas when the first hazard of my trip across the United States reared it's ugly head. Or showed his ugly mug, more like.
"Everyone on the ground, NOW! This is a robbery!" A portly man in a balaclava waved his gun around threateningly, though, I noted, with the safety on. Intentional, or no? Regardless, I dropped to the floor with everyone else. I could take a bullet and walk off without any real injury, but nobody else in here can.
"Ok, ok, t-take whatever you want from the register, just don't hurt nobody!" The old lady who apparently ran the place opened the register and began handing the guy everything, conveniently keeping his attention off of the rest of us. Brave lady.
The man on the floor next to me, handsome with a square jaw and piercing blue eyes, looked concerned for the lady, and for everyone else in the diner. His eyes passed over me and he froze for a second, before his gaze continued. Maybe he's surprised at how young I am?
Once the guy had gotten all of the money from the register, a paltry 1,234 (I counted every bill, thanks computer-brain) he sprinted out of the Diner and peeled out of the parking lot, zooming down the street at way past the speed limit. The diner exploded into noise as everyone dialed the police all at once. I, on the other hand, was making myself scarce. I don't have a license, or a valid ID, and I really don't want to run from the cops in a shitty old beater.
"You going to be alright miss?" The man from the diner was waiting by my truck. Wha?
"Oh, uh, yeah. Just need to get going, got a lot of road left to go, y'know?" The man's face broke into a genial smile.
"Heh, yeah I can understand that. Mind if I ask where you're heading?" I considered answering him for a moment and decided: what's the harm?
"I'm going to, uh, Happy Harbor, Rhode Island." The man seemed to think for a moment, then snapped his fingers in realization.
"Where Mount Justice is?" I nodded, fishing my keys out of my pocket and unlocking my truck.
"Look, Mr, uh..."
"Kent, Clark Kent miss." Was his answer with an easy smile.
"Mr Kent, I really gotta get going." Please don't try to keep me here, pleeeeaaaase.
"Oh, sorry miss. Have a safe trip now!" Phew. He gave a wave as I drove away, and I waved back. What a nice guy.
-[3:02 PM / June 7th / 2010]
I'd stopped in a couple different towns on my way to Rhode Island, barely managing to make the gas last until I'd reached this latest town, some pleasant coastal village in Massachusetts. I was so fucking close to Happy Harbor I could almost taste it. Refilling the gas and stopping at a local restaurant, I thought about what I'd have to do. Fake a new pair of parents over the phone. Easy, I can 'deep-fake' voices without even a hint that they were fake. Records were harder. A home? really difficult. I'd have to try and hack some criminal's bank account or something to get the funds to cash-buy one. I need one with a basement, somewhere I can preform further modifications of myself.
New ideas occur to me quite regularly, and I'm able to extrapolate from them very easily. I don't know if I'm just a savant with cybernetics or if something else is going on, but they're legitimately good ideas. A taser in my palm, enhanced musculature to further augment my strength, stuff I, again, need money to get the supplies for. Fuuuuck.
Still, goals:
Get to Happy Harbor
Find a place to hide the truck
Enroll myself in the local high-school (Why? because I still need an education, and I want to have friends again. Maybe. We'll see.
Take pictures of Mount Justice
Somehow buy a house
Get supplies to make my body better
Alright, Celene, get to it, stop staring at your half-eaten sandwich. With a heavy sigh (still sounds very feminine eeeeeeeeeee) I got up and fished my keys out of my pocket. On the road again and all of that.
My name, though, my name is Celene now. I'll keep Fisher, it's an incredibly common last name, and hearing a teacher say 'Miss Fisher'? A dream come true. So, I need to get funds, fast. I need to get out of Gateway City, fast. With a thought, my direct connection to the internet let me search through every state for the laxest records-standards for students. Rhode Island, only needing immunization records and a phone call with parents. Whoever decided the standards should slip so much should be shot, but whatever it helps me now.
Funds? I still have three thousand dollars on me, and a truck that I... can maintain, sort of. The knowledge of the mechanics of my body kind-of transfers to maintaining automobiles. While I thought on this, I disassembled the machine, into smaller parts this time. My new body made it quick and easy, and I hummed a tune as I worked. My voice was high and pretty. I almost break down again, but I keep going with the thought that anyone could find me at any time. All of my blood and previous body parts had been incinerated, so nobody would think I killed 'Jacob Fisher'.
I'd bought new clothes that matched the proportions in my head before I'd come here, gotten weird looks from the cashier but I'd ignored him. The bra was a little difficult, but I figured it out. I looked in the mirror again, the cute shirt and swishy skirt I'd chosen matching the knee-high striped socks and nice shoes. My new hair was bundled in a pony-tail, completing the look.
Everything loaded in the truck, the things that had been incredibly difficult for me to move before I lifted with ease, I debated with myself on where in Rhode Island I wanted to live. Looking up major tourist destinations, I decided on Happy Harbor. Next to the city is Mount Justice, the old headquarters of the Justice League. I'd figure out the rest when I get there.
-[11:13 AM / June 4th / 2010]
I'd stopped at a small-town diner in Kansas when the first hazard of my trip across the United States reared it's ugly head. Or showed his ugly mug, more like.
"Everyone on the ground, NOW! This is a robbery!" A portly man in a balaclava waved his gun around threateningly, though, I noted, with the safety on. Intentional, or no? Regardless, I dropped to the floor with everyone else. I could take a bullet and walk off without any real injury, but nobody else in here can.
"Ok, ok, t-take whatever you want from the register, just don't hurt nobody!" The old lady who apparently ran the place opened the register and began handing the guy everything, conveniently keeping his attention off of the rest of us. Brave lady.
The man on the floor next to me, handsome with a square jaw and piercing blue eyes, looked concerned for the lady, and for everyone else in the diner. His eyes passed over me and he froze for a second, before his gaze continued. Maybe he's surprised at how young I am?
Once the guy had gotten all of the money from the register, a paltry 1,234 (I counted every bill, thanks computer-brain) he sprinted out of the Diner and peeled out of the parking lot, zooming down the street at way past the speed limit. The diner exploded into noise as everyone dialed the police all at once. I, on the other hand, was making myself scarce. I don't have a license, or a valid ID, and I really don't want to run from the cops in a shitty old beater.
"You going to be alright miss?" The man from the diner was waiting by my truck. Wha?
"Oh, uh, yeah. Just need to get going, got a lot of road left to go, y'know?" The man's face broke into a genial smile.
"Heh, yeah I can understand that. Mind if I ask where you're heading?" I considered answering him for a moment and decided: what's the harm?
"I'm going to, uh, Happy Harbor, Rhode Island." The man seemed to think for a moment, then snapped his fingers in realization.
"Where Mount Justice is?" I nodded, fishing my keys out of my pocket and unlocking my truck.
"Look, Mr, uh..."
"Kent, Clark Kent miss." Was his answer with an easy smile.
"Mr Kent, I really gotta get going." Please don't try to keep me here, pleeeeaaaase.
"Oh, sorry miss. Have a safe trip now!" Phew. He gave a wave as I drove away, and I waved back. What a nice guy.
-[3:02 PM / June 7th / 2010]
I'd stopped in a couple different towns on my way to Rhode Island, barely managing to make the gas last until I'd reached this latest town, some pleasant coastal village in Massachusetts. I was so fucking close to Happy Harbor I could almost taste it. Refilling the gas and stopping at a local restaurant, I thought about what I'd have to do. Fake a new pair of parents over the phone. Easy, I can 'deep-fake' voices without even a hint that they were fake. Records were harder. A home? really difficult. I'd have to try and hack some criminal's bank account or something to get the funds to cash-buy one. I need one with a basement, somewhere I can preform further modifications of myself.
New ideas occur to me quite regularly, and I'm able to extrapolate from them very easily. I don't know if I'm just a savant with cybernetics or if something else is going on, but they're legitimately good ideas. A taser in my palm, enhanced musculature to further augment my strength, stuff I, again, need money to get the supplies for. Fuuuuck.
Still, goals:
Get to Happy Harbor
Find a place to hide the truck
Enroll myself in the local high-school (Why? because I still need an education, and I want to have friends again. Maybe. We'll see.
Take pictures of Mount Justice
Somehow buy a house
Get supplies to make my body better
Alright, Celene, get to it, stop staring at your half-eaten sandwich. With a heavy sigh (still sounds very feminine eeeeeeeeeee) I got up and fished my keys out of my pocket. On the road again and all of that.
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Transition 03
- Pronouns
- She/Her
-[9:02 AM / June 10th / 2010]
I'd arrived in Happy Harbor two days ago, and I'd spent the time since trying to get everything set up. My truck was covered with a tarp and hidden in an old underground lot that nobody uses anymore. I'd been practicing my 'hacking' skills near constantly, breaking into as many secure, but not too secure, systems as I could. Things like Dark-web criminal networks, a fast-food chain HQ's internal systems, that sort of thing. I still haven't decided WHO I'm going to get my money from, because well, nobody knows where the Joker gets his money, and I don't think I'd survive for long if he found out I stole from him.
The other good option was some incredibly wealthy politician or CEO's private bank account, but they probably had the resources to track me down, no matter that they'd be tracing it back directly to my brain. Maybe? Hm. I penetrated the private systems of Santa Prisca in seconds, and took a gander at their funds and their sources. So, so many were completely unlisted, or put in an 'anonymous donations' from 'generous wealthy citizens'. Santa Prisca is a known drug state, and they don't exactly have top-tier hackers working for them. Skimming a couple hundred thousand off of the top would hardly be noticed, so that's what I did. My brand new account with 'Happy Harbor Credit Union' was inflated by 800,000 dollars, the money passing through so many dummy accounts that even I'd have trouble following it, so I'm sure Santa Prisca can't find it.
Now, for a house. The property prices are fairly low in the area, thankfully, so now I just have to figure out how to buy some. I don't think anyone in their right mind is going to sell to a teenager, and I'm fairly sure that I can't just hack my way into a land deed. Those are kept strictly offline for good reason, even if that reason is incredibly inconvenient for myself. What the fuck do I even do...huh. No, but... damnit, this might be my only option. It's an incredibly bad idea.
Fuck it, it's worth a shot.
A dial tone sounded in my head, and a harried, but familiar voice answered
"Clark speaking." Please be as nice as I thought you were please.
"I'm not sure if you remember me, I'm the girl from the diner, uh, Celene. I, uh, need some help?" God I sounded kind of pathetic.
"Oh, uh, hi! What do you need help with?" Ooh, he sounds willing now, but...
"I, uh, need, need an adult to buy, er, property for me? In Happy Harbor?" The line was silent for a solid five seconds before I heard sudden belly laughter on the other end. Better reaction than I expected.
"I, oh wow, uh, I'm, give me a sec." He kept trying to talk though his laughter, and I had to hold in my own giggles. His laughter is dangerously contagious.
"Ok, right, Celene. You need me to buy property for you, in my name. I'm guessing you've already got the funds for it?" He sounded like he'd... done this before? Uuhhhh
"Y-yeah?" His quiet chuckles echoed through the line
"Alright, I'll call you back in just a minute, I have a friend that's really good at this sort of thing and I just need to get his opinion on how we're going to do this." And he hung up on me. Did. Did I just ask a mob boss for help?
-[12:43 PM / June 12th / 2010]
Clark had gotten back to me after half an hour, and explained that he'd buy the property with my money, but that his friend would be the one funding whatever I was going to build on it. I'd tried to argue with him on it, but he'd just said
"Celene, I'm pushing myself by making you pay for it at all, you ain't going to convince me to make you build the place out-of-pocket. You're a kid, enjoy the money while you've got it" and, well. I couldn't really argue with his logic there, though I was still weirded out by the fact that he just so happened to have a 'friend' that could pay for whatever home I wanted built no questions asked. I became more sure by the day that I'd accidentally befriended a crime lord. Oops?
I'd explained to the foreman (Waynetech? What the fuck kind of friends does Clark have?!) that I needed a two-story house with a spacious basement, a kitchen, a bathroom and three bedrooms. He'd built plenty of houses before, so I trusted his judgement. For now, I'd booked a near-permanent room at the local motel and waited. I was getting an itch to improve my cybernetics, I know that my reaction times can be faster, my arms stronger and my body even less breakable, but I have to wait.
So instead I'd set up my schooling though my very convincing and real sounding parents 'John and Jane Fisher.' I don't know if the school actually bought it or not, but I was enrolled for Sophomore year at Happy Harbor High School and sent a list of classes as well as electives I could take. I chose computer programming and the Cooking class (Jacob, cooking is a woman's job and I'll hear no more of it!) as my electives for the year, and was assured that if I wanted to change them for my junior year I could.
I read some fiction from the local library, intentionally turning down my processing speed so I could actually enjoy it. I even went to the local ice-cream shop and enjoyed myself. I heard some of the locals whispering about me, the new girl with apparently rich parents. The local speculation was that I was gay or something and that they'd sent me away in shame which, if my parents had been wealthy enough to do that, they might have. So, fair? Anyway, I wasted the days away, until on the first of July I was told by the foreman that the house was finished and furnished. What?!
-[10:13 AM / July 1st / 2010]
"And here's the master bedroom." The foreman gestured towards the room, and I took a step inside. It was perfect. The walls were a soft pink color, the bed a queen size, a nice, fancy oak dresser, a makeup cabinet with a built in mirror. Woah. He'd already shown me the basement (Which had way more plugs than I thought reasonable. I mean, I needed them, but they didn't know that!) the kitchen, the bathroom and everything else, so this is just the icing on the cake!
"Thank you so much!" I nearly hugged the man, but stopped myself.
"Was no trouble at all miss, mister Wayne's pet projects are usually a whole lot more messy than this, so a simple house is honestly a bit of a relief!" Mister, what? Clark's 'friend' is Bruce fucking Wayne? How scary of a mob boss is he?!
"Anyhow miss, I need to get going. Got to refurbish some old justice league base or somthin'. Have a good day now!" I barely got out a 'You too' as he left. Did I just accidentally indebt myself to the world's most powerful criminal?!
I'd arrived in Happy Harbor two days ago, and I'd spent the time since trying to get everything set up. My truck was covered with a tarp and hidden in an old underground lot that nobody uses anymore. I'd been practicing my 'hacking' skills near constantly, breaking into as many secure, but not too secure, systems as I could. Things like Dark-web criminal networks, a fast-food chain HQ's internal systems, that sort of thing. I still haven't decided WHO I'm going to get my money from, because well, nobody knows where the Joker gets his money, and I don't think I'd survive for long if he found out I stole from him.
The other good option was some incredibly wealthy politician or CEO's private bank account, but they probably had the resources to track me down, no matter that they'd be tracing it back directly to my brain. Maybe? Hm. I penetrated the private systems of Santa Prisca in seconds, and took a gander at their funds and their sources. So, so many were completely unlisted, or put in an 'anonymous donations' from 'generous wealthy citizens'. Santa Prisca is a known drug state, and they don't exactly have top-tier hackers working for them. Skimming a couple hundred thousand off of the top would hardly be noticed, so that's what I did. My brand new account with 'Happy Harbor Credit Union' was inflated by 800,000 dollars, the money passing through so many dummy accounts that even I'd have trouble following it, so I'm sure Santa Prisca can't find it.
Now, for a house. The property prices are fairly low in the area, thankfully, so now I just have to figure out how to buy some. I don't think anyone in their right mind is going to sell to a teenager, and I'm fairly sure that I can't just hack my way into a land deed. Those are kept strictly offline for good reason, even if that reason is incredibly inconvenient for myself. What the fuck do I even do...huh. No, but... damnit, this might be my only option. It's an incredibly bad idea.
Fuck it, it's worth a shot.
A dial tone sounded in my head, and a harried, but familiar voice answered
"Clark speaking." Please be as nice as I thought you were please.
"I'm not sure if you remember me, I'm the girl from the diner, uh, Celene. I, uh, need some help?" God I sounded kind of pathetic.
"Oh, uh, hi! What do you need help with?" Ooh, he sounds willing now, but...
"I, uh, need, need an adult to buy, er, property for me? In Happy Harbor?" The line was silent for a solid five seconds before I heard sudden belly laughter on the other end. Better reaction than I expected.
"I, oh wow, uh, I'm, give me a sec." He kept trying to talk though his laughter, and I had to hold in my own giggles. His laughter is dangerously contagious.
"Ok, right, Celene. You need me to buy property for you, in my name. I'm guessing you've already got the funds for it?" He sounded like he'd... done this before? Uuhhhh
"Y-yeah?" His quiet chuckles echoed through the line
"Alright, I'll call you back in just a minute, I have a friend that's really good at this sort of thing and I just need to get his opinion on how we're going to do this." And he hung up on me. Did. Did I just ask a mob boss for help?
-[12:43 PM / June 12th / 2010]
Clark had gotten back to me after half an hour, and explained that he'd buy the property with my money, but that his friend would be the one funding whatever I was going to build on it. I'd tried to argue with him on it, but he'd just said
"Celene, I'm pushing myself by making you pay for it at all, you ain't going to convince me to make you build the place out-of-pocket. You're a kid, enjoy the money while you've got it" and, well. I couldn't really argue with his logic there, though I was still weirded out by the fact that he just so happened to have a 'friend' that could pay for whatever home I wanted built no questions asked. I became more sure by the day that I'd accidentally befriended a crime lord. Oops?
I'd explained to the foreman (Waynetech? What the fuck kind of friends does Clark have?!) that I needed a two-story house with a spacious basement, a kitchen, a bathroom and three bedrooms. He'd built plenty of houses before, so I trusted his judgement. For now, I'd booked a near-permanent room at the local motel and waited. I was getting an itch to improve my cybernetics, I know that my reaction times can be faster, my arms stronger and my body even less breakable, but I have to wait.
So instead I'd set up my schooling though my very convincing and real sounding parents 'John and Jane Fisher.' I don't know if the school actually bought it or not, but I was enrolled for Sophomore year at Happy Harbor High School and sent a list of classes as well as electives I could take. I chose computer programming and the Cooking class (Jacob, cooking is a woman's job and I'll hear no more of it!) as my electives for the year, and was assured that if I wanted to change them for my junior year I could.
I read some fiction from the local library, intentionally turning down my processing speed so I could actually enjoy it. I even went to the local ice-cream shop and enjoyed myself. I heard some of the locals whispering about me, the new girl with apparently rich parents. The local speculation was that I was gay or something and that they'd sent me away in shame which, if my parents had been wealthy enough to do that, they might have. So, fair? Anyway, I wasted the days away, until on the first of July I was told by the foreman that the house was finished and furnished. What?!
-[10:13 AM / July 1st / 2010]
"And here's the master bedroom." The foreman gestured towards the room, and I took a step inside. It was perfect. The walls were a soft pink color, the bed a queen size, a nice, fancy oak dresser, a makeup cabinet with a built in mirror. Woah. He'd already shown me the basement (Which had way more plugs than I thought reasonable. I mean, I needed them, but they didn't know that!) the kitchen, the bathroom and everything else, so this is just the icing on the cake!
"Thank you so much!" I nearly hugged the man, but stopped myself.
"Was no trouble at all miss, mister Wayne's pet projects are usually a whole lot more messy than this, so a simple house is honestly a bit of a relief!" Mister, what? Clark's 'friend' is Bruce fucking Wayne? How scary of a mob boss is he?!
"Anyhow miss, I need to get going. Got to refurbish some old justice league base or somthin'. Have a good day now!" I barely got out a 'You too' as he left. Did I just accidentally indebt myself to the world's most powerful criminal?!
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Augmentation 01
- Pronouns
- She/Her
-[7:48 AM / July 2nd / 2010]
The moment the foreman was gone, and I'd gotten over the rampant criminality of the nice man from Kansas, I retrieved the truck from it's lot and dragged the machine's parts into the basement, reassembling it in a fraction of the time it took to build the thing in the first place. I don't currently have the materials for most of the modifications I want to do, though many were already on their way, so I had to make due with some minor upgrades. A pad system installed in my feet and my ankle, activated at will to make my footsteps silent and, if barefoot, increase my traction on the ground. Perfect for a stealth run, or stealth in general. A small improvement to my upper body's musculature, nothing compared to what I have planned, but enough to punch through thin steel in a pinch.
So, the augmentations plugged into the surgery machine (I really need a better name for it. It'll come to me.) I lay down on it and breathed in the anesthesia. It won't be anywhere near as gruesome as the initial augments, but I'd still rather not be awake for it. I passed into unconsciousness, dreams of further schematics presented to me in my sleep.
-[01:32 PM / July 2nd / 2010]
The augmentation surgery had taken half of the day, though most of that was re-applying the synth skin and the system sextuple checking for any errors in the installation. You could never be too sure. I hopped off the bench, and as a test activated the stealth-system ankles. Immediately, my grip on the floor was solid, though I was still able to lift my feet with ease. I began running, and even without further augments to my leg muscles I nearly doubled my previous top speed, making no noise as I moved, unless I hit a wall and let out a sudden squeak of alarm, which, to be clear, did not happen.
The new musculature was harder to test, because if it didn't do what I'd expect I would have just broken my hand and had to spend another half a day repairing it. So, I didn't test it. It'd be useful enough for defending myself against anything that might happen until the new supplies came in. After I was done testing myself, I made my way upstairs and made dinner with the ingredients that had, apparently, come with the house. What the fuck.
Anyway, being able to follow recipes literally in your brain with machine-like precision made lunch an easy prospect, and after I was done eating my hand-made quesadillas I debated with myself what I should do. Go out and visit the town, maybe see if I could make some friends? Tempting, but I don't think I'm ready for that kind of close relationship yet, maybe never. Library was sounding good though. So, packing up what I'd used to make lunch, cleaning the dishes (I'm not a slob) and making sure I remembered shoes, I set out for the library.
-[07:53 PM / July 2nd / 2010]
Someone is following me, and I don't know why. Sure, I'm new in town and I'm, forgive my bluntness, definitely attractive, but it still seems like a really weird thing to do to follow a girl home. Thankfully I reached the house before whoever was following could catch up to me, and I took a couple of long range photos with my eyes to study later. They were blurry as fuck, but maybe I'd get something out of them, like if it was a guy or a girl.
Locking all of the doors and windows with my connection to the house's security system, then double checking manually, I went to bed in my sinfully comfortable queen sized and dreamed of modifications.
-[09:22 AM / July 3rd / 2010]
The first of the parts I'd need arrived early this morning, but the rest won't arrive until tomorrow at the earliest. At least that gives me the chance to start assembling the vastly improved musculature. So, in my basement workshop, I got to work. With my tiny tools and perfect precision I quickly finished this section, though it looked as rough and incomplete as it is. Oh well.
I double checked my schedule in my head, and nodded. I'm good to go to the library again. It might be faster to do it in my head, but I'm reading for pleasure, not to get it over with. Walking down the street in my new (cute) clothes, I couldn't help but smile. It was nice to just... live, like this. A normal(ish) girl in a normal town, going to the library without anyone giving me side-eye. A passed a group of teenagers, said hello, was greeted back, and that was it. None of the crippling anxiety I used to have when talking to strangers, none of the socially crippling acts of trying to cover or hide as much of my body as possible.
I think I love it here
-[02:03 PM / July 3rd / 2010]
The last of the parts I'd need had finally arrived, and after a short round of signing papers for the delivery man, I rushed down to the basement to finish working on the enhanced musculature augment. The part for my left arm was already almost finished, but I still have to get the torso, right arm and legs done. So I got to work
To anyone watching it might seem almost magical what I was doing, turning fairly normal products and some expensive Wayne-tech derived materials into state-of-the-art cybernetics, but I knew what I was doing the entire time, and if asked could write down the exact schematics for them. But I wasn't, obviously I'd never let someone else down here, and I won't, because that's a very good way to get myself kidnapped and made into a cybernetic-supersoldier producing slave to whatever government or criminal cartel nabbed me.
The enhanced musculature augmentation will let me moved faster, hit harder, and prevent things like getting punched by one of the many super-strong maniacs from crumpling my cybernetically enhanced body like tin-foil. Triple-checking the parts, any defect at all will have devastating consequences later, and making double sure that the process was programmed into the augmentation machine correctly, I placed the musculature within it's reach and lay down. Like before, the anesthetic was applied directly to my face and I fell unconscious before the process began.
-[04:22 PM / July 4th / 2010]
The augmentation process had taken the rest of the day, and most of the next, but as I got up from the table, I could already feel the difference. Every movement was smoother, something I'd have to work on because somebody would eventually notice that I moved with elven grace, and, grabbing a piece of scrap metal, bending it easily, my strength was definitely improved. The biggest concern was my synth-skin tearing if I have to exert far more strength than it's meant to handle, but as long as no civilians see I can just replace it after whatever caused me to use that strength is no longer a problem. Now, with nothing else to do, I went upstairs and turned on the news. I could just watch it in my head, but I feel like doing it the normal way feels better, for some reason.
The Justice League was fighting some wizard named Wotan (Thats... a really unfortunate name. Is that intentional or? Because a nazi wizard is definitely someone who'd want me dead) and there was a short news blurb about a fire at the Cadmus facility in Washington DC before it returned to footage of the fight. Seeing that there wasn't really anything of interest on, I turned off the TV and went to make myself dinner.
-[11:27 / July 5 / 2010]
"Mind if I come in?" Superman was at my door. And he looked really familiar...
The moment the foreman was gone, and I'd gotten over the rampant criminality of the nice man from Kansas, I retrieved the truck from it's lot and dragged the machine's parts into the basement, reassembling it in a fraction of the time it took to build the thing in the first place. I don't currently have the materials for most of the modifications I want to do, though many were already on their way, so I had to make due with some minor upgrades. A pad system installed in my feet and my ankle, activated at will to make my footsteps silent and, if barefoot, increase my traction on the ground. Perfect for a stealth run, or stealth in general. A small improvement to my upper body's musculature, nothing compared to what I have planned, but enough to punch through thin steel in a pinch.
So, the augmentations plugged into the surgery machine (I really need a better name for it. It'll come to me.) I lay down on it and breathed in the anesthesia. It won't be anywhere near as gruesome as the initial augments, but I'd still rather not be awake for it. I passed into unconsciousness, dreams of further schematics presented to me in my sleep.
-[01:32 PM / July 2nd / 2010]
The augmentation surgery had taken half of the day, though most of that was re-applying the synth skin and the system sextuple checking for any errors in the installation. You could never be too sure. I hopped off the bench, and as a test activated the stealth-system ankles. Immediately, my grip on the floor was solid, though I was still able to lift my feet with ease. I began running, and even without further augments to my leg muscles I nearly doubled my previous top speed, making no noise as I moved, unless I hit a wall and let out a sudden squeak of alarm, which, to be clear, did not happen.
The new musculature was harder to test, because if it didn't do what I'd expect I would have just broken my hand and had to spend another half a day repairing it. So, I didn't test it. It'd be useful enough for defending myself against anything that might happen until the new supplies came in. After I was done testing myself, I made my way upstairs and made dinner with the ingredients that had, apparently, come with the house. What the fuck.
Anyway, being able to follow recipes literally in your brain with machine-like precision made lunch an easy prospect, and after I was done eating my hand-made quesadillas I debated with myself what I should do. Go out and visit the town, maybe see if I could make some friends? Tempting, but I don't think I'm ready for that kind of close relationship yet, maybe never. Library was sounding good though. So, packing up what I'd used to make lunch, cleaning the dishes (I'm not a slob) and making sure I remembered shoes, I set out for the library.
-[07:53 PM / July 2nd / 2010]
Someone is following me, and I don't know why. Sure, I'm new in town and I'm, forgive my bluntness, definitely attractive, but it still seems like a really weird thing to do to follow a girl home. Thankfully I reached the house before whoever was following could catch up to me, and I took a couple of long range photos with my eyes to study later. They were blurry as fuck, but maybe I'd get something out of them, like if it was a guy or a girl.
Locking all of the doors and windows with my connection to the house's security system, then double checking manually, I went to bed in my sinfully comfortable queen sized and dreamed of modifications.
-[09:22 AM / July 3rd / 2010]
The first of the parts I'd need arrived early this morning, but the rest won't arrive until tomorrow at the earliest. At least that gives me the chance to start assembling the vastly improved musculature. So, in my basement workshop, I got to work. With my tiny tools and perfect precision I quickly finished this section, though it looked as rough and incomplete as it is. Oh well.
I double checked my schedule in my head, and nodded. I'm good to go to the library again. It might be faster to do it in my head, but I'm reading for pleasure, not to get it over with. Walking down the street in my new (cute) clothes, I couldn't help but smile. It was nice to just... live, like this. A normal(ish) girl in a normal town, going to the library without anyone giving me side-eye. A passed a group of teenagers, said hello, was greeted back, and that was it. None of the crippling anxiety I used to have when talking to strangers, none of the socially crippling acts of trying to cover or hide as much of my body as possible.
I think I love it here
-[02:03 PM / July 3rd / 2010]
The last of the parts I'd need had finally arrived, and after a short round of signing papers for the delivery man, I rushed down to the basement to finish working on the enhanced musculature augment. The part for my left arm was already almost finished, but I still have to get the torso, right arm and legs done. So I got to work
To anyone watching it might seem almost magical what I was doing, turning fairly normal products and some expensive Wayne-tech derived materials into state-of-the-art cybernetics, but I knew what I was doing the entire time, and if asked could write down the exact schematics for them. But I wasn't, obviously I'd never let someone else down here, and I won't, because that's a very good way to get myself kidnapped and made into a cybernetic-supersoldier producing slave to whatever government or criminal cartel nabbed me.
The enhanced musculature augmentation will let me moved faster, hit harder, and prevent things like getting punched by one of the many super-strong maniacs from crumpling my cybernetically enhanced body like tin-foil. Triple-checking the parts, any defect at all will have devastating consequences later, and making double sure that the process was programmed into the augmentation machine correctly, I placed the musculature within it's reach and lay down. Like before, the anesthetic was applied directly to my face and I fell unconscious before the process began.
-[04:22 PM / July 4th / 2010]
The augmentation process had taken the rest of the day, and most of the next, but as I got up from the table, I could already feel the difference. Every movement was smoother, something I'd have to work on because somebody would eventually notice that I moved with elven grace, and, grabbing a piece of scrap metal, bending it easily, my strength was definitely improved. The biggest concern was my synth-skin tearing if I have to exert far more strength than it's meant to handle, but as long as no civilians see I can just replace it after whatever caused me to use that strength is no longer a problem. Now, with nothing else to do, I went upstairs and turned on the news. I could just watch it in my head, but I feel like doing it the normal way feels better, for some reason.
The Justice League was fighting some wizard named Wotan (Thats... a really unfortunate name. Is that intentional or? Because a nazi wizard is definitely someone who'd want me dead) and there was a short news blurb about a fire at the Cadmus facility in Washington DC before it returned to footage of the fight. Seeing that there wasn't really anything of interest on, I turned off the TV and went to make myself dinner.
-[11:27 / July 5 / 2010]
"Mind if I come in?" Superman was at my door. And he looked really familiar...
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Augmentation 02
- Pronouns
- She/Her
-[11:30 AM / July 5th / 2010]
Superman had taken a seat on my couch, accepting my offer of a cup of tea and waiting patiently for me to be done brewing it. Why is he here? Why does he look so familiar? Taking a long, shaky breath, I returned to the living room and handed Superman the tea, taking a seat on the chair opposite him.
He took a sip, humming appreciably before speaking.
"I bet you're wondering why I'm here today." His voice tickled something at the back of my mind, but I ignored that feeling for now, I can figure it out later.
"Y-yeah, a little bit?" He smiled at me, bright and honest.
"So, to start, I'll set a little bit of a foundation here, alright?" I nodded and stayed quiet, waiting for him to go on.
"So, the Justice League has an... agreement with most Police departments in the major cities in the United States, that if there's something suspicious, an unusual death, serial murders with no visible cause, anything like that. We also have agreements with most online retailers, they monitor for unusual purchases that might be used to make what is, to quote the Flash, 'schizo tech'. Technology that shouldn't work, or works in a way that modern scientific consensus says it literally cannot. Do you see where I'm going with this?" Oh. Oh no. no no no.
"I, no, I can't, you can't take me back, I won't-" He interrupted me with a raised hand and a gentle smile.
"Miss Celene, I have no intention of sending you back to those who drove you to the extremes you had to take. You're an intelligent young woman with a bright future in front of her, and I want to help you succeed. Which is why I'm here." He set down the empty tea cup and leaned forward.
"We found you through our contacts, and after confirming that you weren't turning to villainy or hurting people, it was decided that one of us would approach you with an offer. My fellow members of the Justice League have decided that their apprentices are starting to grow beyond them, and have formed a sub-division of the League for them to grow into their own heroes. If you'd like to join them, the offer's open. I know that this is a lot to take in, so you'll have a week to decide either way." He slipped a piece of paper with a phone number on it out of his pocket, and handed it over to me.
Superman got up and opened the door, and I managed to stammer out
"A-alright. Uh, h-have a good day?" He laughed as he flew away, and why the fuck was it so familiar?!
-[12:24 PM / July 8th / 2010]
It had taken me three days to decide. To be a hero was to put my life on the line, to risk death nearly every day. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was fucking terrified. But I thought about all of the other kids like me, suffering in silence as their own bodies grew to be something vile and strange, with parents that either didn't care or actively sought to kill the part of their child that didn't make their parents happy. If I was a hero, a good one, a hero that everyone loves. I could come out. The thought was, horrifying and anxiety inducing, but. But for those kids, the people who suffered like I had. I'd do it, because someone had to.
But before that, I had one last augmentation to implant. It wasn't the most powerful thing, just a small augment, but I don't know if I can go into this without it. A small transmitter, keeping an up to date copy of my mind in a synthetic brain, completely unconscious and in a dream state, hidden in my basement, a new augmentation machine ready to fully re-assemble me in the event of this body's death. Was this cowardly? I don't know. I don't want to die, though, and this is the only thing I could think of to keep me alive even in the event of lethal damage to this body.
Looking at the phone number, I dialed it in my head, waiting.
"This is Batman. Am I speaking to Celene?" I swallowed a lump in my throat, suddenly grateful that he couldn't hear anything I didn't want him to.
"Y-yes, I'm Celene. I-I've made my decision." The line was quiet for a moment before Batman responded.
"You don't have to do this. This life is dangerous, Celene, no Leaguer has died yet, but many of my friends died before the League was ever formed. Are you sure about this?" Celene knew that the hero life was dangerous, she'd resigned herself to it, and made contingencies.
"I-I'm sure. Kids, the kids like me, they need, need to see that they can be, be heroes. Be pretty and successful, and know that no matter what anyone else says, that there's nothing wrong with them. I have to do this." I heard a heavy sigh through the line
"...Someone will be there to take you to the interior of Mount Justice in an hour. Welcome to the Team."
-[02:11 PM / July 8th / 2010]
I heard the knocking as I was putting the finishing touches on the second augmentation machine
"I'll be up in just a minute!" I really hope that they weren't going to be mad, but I had to get this done.
"Understood." A robotic voice echoed from upstairs, and I sighed in relief. It took me another fifteen minutes to finish. When I was finally done, and the emergency synth-brain was secured inside of the machine, I washed myself off in the basement shower and went up to greet my guest.
Red Tornado was standing in the middle of my living room.
"Greetings Celene Fisher. I am Red Tornado, I am to bring you to Mount Justice. Are you prepared to leave?" His way of speaking was pretty stilted and a little creepy, but he's one of the greatest heroes in the world for a reason.
"Yeah, I'm ready to go."
Superman had taken a seat on my couch, accepting my offer of a cup of tea and waiting patiently for me to be done brewing it. Why is he here? Why does he look so familiar? Taking a long, shaky breath, I returned to the living room and handed Superman the tea, taking a seat on the chair opposite him.
He took a sip, humming appreciably before speaking.
"I bet you're wondering why I'm here today." His voice tickled something at the back of my mind, but I ignored that feeling for now, I can figure it out later.
"Y-yeah, a little bit?" He smiled at me, bright and honest.
"So, to start, I'll set a little bit of a foundation here, alright?" I nodded and stayed quiet, waiting for him to go on.
"So, the Justice League has an... agreement with most Police departments in the major cities in the United States, that if there's something suspicious, an unusual death, serial murders with no visible cause, anything like that. We also have agreements with most online retailers, they monitor for unusual purchases that might be used to make what is, to quote the Flash, 'schizo tech'. Technology that shouldn't work, or works in a way that modern scientific consensus says it literally cannot. Do you see where I'm going with this?" Oh. Oh no. no no no.
"I, no, I can't, you can't take me back, I won't-" He interrupted me with a raised hand and a gentle smile.
"Miss Celene, I have no intention of sending you back to those who drove you to the extremes you had to take. You're an intelligent young woman with a bright future in front of her, and I want to help you succeed. Which is why I'm here." He set down the empty tea cup and leaned forward.
"We found you through our contacts, and after confirming that you weren't turning to villainy or hurting people, it was decided that one of us would approach you with an offer. My fellow members of the Justice League have decided that their apprentices are starting to grow beyond them, and have formed a sub-division of the League for them to grow into their own heroes. If you'd like to join them, the offer's open. I know that this is a lot to take in, so you'll have a week to decide either way." He slipped a piece of paper with a phone number on it out of his pocket, and handed it over to me.
Superman got up and opened the door, and I managed to stammer out
"A-alright. Uh, h-have a good day?" He laughed as he flew away, and why the fuck was it so familiar?!
-[12:24 PM / July 8th / 2010]
It had taken me three days to decide. To be a hero was to put my life on the line, to risk death nearly every day. I'm not ashamed to admit that I was fucking terrified. But I thought about all of the other kids like me, suffering in silence as their own bodies grew to be something vile and strange, with parents that either didn't care or actively sought to kill the part of their child that didn't make their parents happy. If I was a hero, a good one, a hero that everyone loves. I could come out. The thought was, horrifying and anxiety inducing, but. But for those kids, the people who suffered like I had. I'd do it, because someone had to.
But before that, I had one last augmentation to implant. It wasn't the most powerful thing, just a small augment, but I don't know if I can go into this without it. A small transmitter, keeping an up to date copy of my mind in a synthetic brain, completely unconscious and in a dream state, hidden in my basement, a new augmentation machine ready to fully re-assemble me in the event of this body's death. Was this cowardly? I don't know. I don't want to die, though, and this is the only thing I could think of to keep me alive even in the event of lethal damage to this body.
Looking at the phone number, I dialed it in my head, waiting.
"This is Batman. Am I speaking to Celene?" I swallowed a lump in my throat, suddenly grateful that he couldn't hear anything I didn't want him to.
"Y-yes, I'm Celene. I-I've made my decision." The line was quiet for a moment before Batman responded.
"You don't have to do this. This life is dangerous, Celene, no Leaguer has died yet, but many of my friends died before the League was ever formed. Are you sure about this?" Celene knew that the hero life was dangerous, she'd resigned herself to it, and made contingencies.
"I-I'm sure. Kids, the kids like me, they need, need to see that they can be, be heroes. Be pretty and successful, and know that no matter what anyone else says, that there's nothing wrong with them. I have to do this." I heard a heavy sigh through the line
"...Someone will be there to take you to the interior of Mount Justice in an hour. Welcome to the Team."
-[02:11 PM / July 8th / 2010]
I heard the knocking as I was putting the finishing touches on the second augmentation machine
"I'll be up in just a minute!" I really hope that they weren't going to be mad, but I had to get this done.
"Understood." A robotic voice echoed from upstairs, and I sighed in relief. It took me another fifteen minutes to finish. When I was finally done, and the emergency synth-brain was secured inside of the machine, I washed myself off in the basement shower and went up to greet my guest.
Red Tornado was standing in the middle of my living room.
"Greetings Celene Fisher. I am Red Tornado, I am to bring you to Mount Justice. Are you prepared to leave?" His way of speaking was pretty stilted and a little creepy, but he's one of the greatest heroes in the world for a reason.
"Yeah, I'm ready to go."
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