David goes to speak up again, but another woman talks over him this time, her voice loud enough to draw an irritated glare from some of the library’s actual patrons behind her back. “But what about psychological help?” she asks, staring intently at Aegis. “If the PRT can’t stop you from getting involved in dangerous combat situations, do they at least offer psychological evaluations? I think that would be a very necessary part of the Wards program.”
“We do—“ Aegis tries to speak, but the woman sitting beside the other woman speaks up this time, loud enough to drown out her companion.
“Yeah,” she says, her brows drawn together angrily. “Especially if the Wards programs is taking in vigilantes!” Your gaze snaps to Shadow Stalker, who has stiffened at the words.
Aegis frowns down at her. “The Wards program is open to all,” he says, his voice mild but his frown severe. “We work closely together with the Brockton Bay Police Department, and the broader criminal justice system of America, to ensure that all juvenile offenders are dealt with appropriately.”
You can recognize a non-answer when you hear one. The woman just shakes her head, but before she can say anything, Shadow Stalker steps up behind Aegis and taps him on the shoulder. She says something to him, not loud enough for you to hear; similarly, his response is too low for anyone in the audience to hear. Then she steps back, allowing Aegis to talk again.
“To refer back to your earlier question,” he says, nodding his head towards the woman who had been interrupted, “we do have a psychiatric program for the Wards. There are several therapists and psychologists on staff who are trained in dealing with the stresses of being a parahuman and joining the Wards.” He hesitates, looking back at Shadow Stalker for a moment. “We are all mandated to see a therapist once a week at minimum.”
Shadow Stalker nods at him, just once. He waves back, a small acknowledgement.
The question and answer session doesn’t last long after that; it was only scheduled as a half-hour session, though it runs a little over. You’re too distracted to really pay attention to anything more that they say. You file the words away in case you need to think on them later, but you’re too distracted with thoughts of Sophia right now.
As soon as everyone gets up and out of the chairs, you make your escape, moving just slowly enough to avoid drawing attention to yourself. You deliberately don’t look at Shadow Stalker any more, and you rein your emotion senses in so you don’t have to feel Sophia’s emotions any more.
You wish you hadn’t come here today.
Sophia is—could be—Shadow Stalker, a vigilante-turned-hero. That doesn’t bother you too much, except that you know that Shadow Stalker joined the Wards months ago, long before you were shoved in that locker. If Sophia is Shadow Stalker, then she must have been in the Wards when she did that to you. And that just doesn’t make sense. The Wards wouldn’t be so permissive as to allow their members to conduct ongoing bullying campaigns against other students at a public school.
They wouldn’t. They’re the good guys. They wouldn’t do that.
It makes sense, but it doesn’t. There’s so much that would be explained if she was the Ward, but it would raise so many more questions, too. Like… how would her supervisors have missed what she did to you? Why would Winslow still be such an awful school if it had a Ward attending it? And… why would a hero like Shadow Stalker let a nerdy girl like you hold her down and molest her?
It just doesn’t make sense. Your powers can do a lot, but you’ve been restrained with them.
Your thoughts are still swirling at night, when you’re laying in bed.
The longer you think on it, the more you think you’re right. It makes a lot of sense that Sophia is the former vigilante—it explains so many small things that you’d never thought about before. It also raises a lot more questions.
Luckily, you already have a date planned with her. It probably won’t do you much good to bring it up then, but you might be able to watch her, see if there are any more clues. Maybe some subtle questioning will give you the answers you’re after.
You do need those answers. It’s been distracting you all day, even though all you’ve been doing is working on Sophia’s lesson plans some more.
But now that you’re lying in bed trying to fall asleep, you have to try and dislodge those thoughts. You have something a little more important to think about—namely, what you’re going to do tomorrow.
You have a date with Victoria planned already, but you have much of the morning and afternoon free. You’ll just have to make sure that whatever you do, you keep it short so you can be home in time to meet with her.
So what are you going to do tomorrow? Vote for 2 of the following options.
[] Dad has finished installing the windows in your new bedroom, and you have some more cash now. It might be a good time to call Emma over and go to the nearby thrift store. You might be able to get some of the stuff you need— rugs, curtains, and so on. Probably no time for furniture tomorrow, and it’ll cost more than you have now, but if you can get some of the furnishings in, things will begin taking shape.
— Success chance: Cannot be failed.
— General results: Emma will accompany Taylor to a thrift store, whereupon they will spend time looking for rugs, lamp shades and the other miscellania a new bedroom-slash-sex-dungeon might need. Emma will continue to feel validated by Taylor seeking her attention.
[] Charlotte, seeking attention after a lonely holiday spent ignored by the rest of her extended family, will call Taylor looking for Taylor to provide her with some sense of self-validation.
— Success chance: 80%
— General results: Charlotte will call Taylor, seeking her attention. Taylor will engage Charlotte in silly conversation, encouraging Charlotte to further associate Taylor with feelings of validation and happiness. Increases Charlotte’s Loyalty by 1.
— On a success: Charlotte’s family will continue to ignore her, allowing Charlotte to speak to Taylor for hours on end while sequestered in her bedroom. Increases Charlotte’s Loyalty by an additional point.
— On a failure: Charlotte’s mother will demand her attention after a little more than an hour, calling her down for lunch. Charlotte will regretfully end the all. No additional progress will be made.
[] Madison, having worked successfully under pressure in her father’s business, will arrive early at Taylor’s house to deliver her a small selection of hand-made treats—and hopefully earn some kisses in the process.
— Success chance: Cannot be failed.
— General results: A small, fluffy scene featuring Madison giving Taylor some sugary treats and Taylor treating Madison to some cuddles. Warm, fuzzy feelings abound. Slightly decreases Taylor’s stress levels.
[] You could text Aisha! Puzzling over Sophia is giving you a headache anyway—you need something to distract you. Why not one of your cute new girls?
— Success chance: 70%
— General results: Taylor will text Aisha, seeking to distract herself from the dual puzzles of Sophia and Victoria. Reminds Aisha that Taylor exists, preventing accruing a very small penalty (-5%) to further actions later in the holidays.
— On a success: Aisha, stressed after seeing a report on the news about the newly-formed team the Undersiders being engaged by Miss Militia again, will seize on the opportunity to distract herself. Increases Aisha’s Loyalty by 1.
— On a failure: Aisha will simply text Taylor back as she would any other day, during ad breaks in TV and while wandering around the house.
Stars
Omake: Stars
~~~~~
She remembered the last shuttle ever launched. January, 2003. She had watched, with classmates, as the live coverage counted down, and the tower of metal fell away to the power of the craft screaming its way into the sky. She had mocked and joked with the others, pretending that she was jaded to the sight, having watched at least two other launches before that, but couldn't quite hide the squeak of excitement as the camera struggled to track the trip into orbit. Despite the state of the world, children's dreams for the future could not be denied.
And then, with a strange flicker on the screen, the entire thing exploded into a white cloud, fragments spinning off, trailing fire and smoke.
The entire room had fallen silent, even as the teacher rushed to turn off the TV and distract the students from the image they'd just seen. Mrs. Green had struggled to herd the children away, even as she remembered a similar shock from her own youth. Nature's cruel reminder that there's no such thing as 'perfectly safe'.
* * *
It was two days later when the first reports started surfacing of something far more menacing than the dangers of space travel. An astronomer in Hawaii had gotten permission to use one of the older telescopes to keep watch on the newest addition to the earth's skies — the Simurgh — and he had noticed an oddity: it had moved. A casual flicker of one large wing, before returning to a restful pose.
Timestamping the event transformed it from an oddity to a forboding omen. The moment that the Simurgh had moved was the same moment when Columbia had exploded.
Chaos erupted on the news and online, rampant speculation abounded, and demands for government answers flooded every event. Thinkers and precogs had been brought in to consult with NASA, and the ultimate answer had hurt. This had just been a warning, a shot across the bow. It was a message that, from now on, mankind's path into space had been unilaterally revoked. They were trapped, on earth, with the Endbringers.
Some sought to deny the pronouncement, to prove that there were still ways for man to travel to and live in space. A scientist, Alan Gramme, worked with the failing remains of NASA, becoming famous for the ideas he had for creating self-sustaining biospheres, with goals of both ending world hunger, and gaining a foothold on the moon.
The Simurgh's second warning shot was not nearly so limited as the first.
* * *
"... Bailey! Miss Bailey! Can you please pay attention!"
Sherrel jolted upright, trying to pull her thoughts together, pushing away the memories of the past. She scrambled to figure out where in the lesson they were, even as the classroom around her laughed. Unable to answer the question, the teacher just scowled at her and moved on to the next student, leaving the girl hunched over and blushing in emarrassment.
She shifted her book, and a shiver ran down her spine. On loose pages were drawings. She didn't remember drawing them, but she knew they were hers nonetheless. Clean and precise lines marked the edges of a device designed to kill her and drown her in regret — a space ship. Grand, elegant, and fuel for her nightmares.
For years it had been her dream to travel to the stars, to fly through space in futuristic vessels, to hop from planet to planet, to seek out alien civilizations. Stories from the golden age, before the Golden Man appeared — cruisers and fighters and battleships, and both hope and war, but always with mankind striving to reach out to the limits of the universe. With the coming of superheroes, some thought that that future had been catapulted in front of them, simply waiting for the next Reed Richards to take that first leap forward.
And Sherrel wanted that so badly that, when it was all taken away, so decidedly and completely, her mind couldn't seem to accept the loss, until the day when it had opened up to something greater. Ideas pouring into her head, shapes poured out on paper. The greatest future that she could ever want — and never have.
Over the last couple weeks, since she had awoken to her own parahuman power, the urges had been getting stronger and stronger. The raw need to create. And that terrified her, because she knew that the only end to her creations was to be crushed and broken by Earth's self-appointed sentinels.
She barely slept at home, and had started to slip up at school as well. She was using extra makeup to hide the dark circles under her eyes, avoiding her family, and trying hard not to draw attention that might cause someone to recognize her power.
As class ended, she clutched her books to her chest, moving from room to room. Focused on shutting out the images that spun through her mind every time she looked at one gadget or another, she nearly tripped over a group of boys that were laughing and quietly passing a small plastic bag around. She only caught a glimpse, but the image of the tiny white pills was burned into her mind, remaining there the rest of the day.
Despite her grades, she certainly wasn't stupid. There was a lot of gang activity in the school, lots of peer pressure, and more illegal trade than any of the staff would admit. She had too much pride to give in to the Empire pushers, though. There was too much... hatred hanging over them. An uncomfortable sternness in demeanor, and the feeling that they'd ridicule her family background regardless of the color of her hair and skin. She'd need to be really desperate before she went to them for help.
But a nerd that tried to avoid the crowds got to see those who avoided the 'official' channels. Hanging around the edges were the losers and slackers, people who were far less likely to stress over following the 'rules'. Less straightlaced, more relaxed. And she most definitely needed to relax.
Out the back stairs of the school, and around some newly planted greenery, intended to give the school a fresh look, Sherrel's breath hitched as she saw what she was looking for. A vaguely handsome young man, with the arrogance only a teenager with too much money can show, lounged among several others, holding a sort of court among the disaffected youths of the school. Soon one, then another, noticed her presence, and in a moment they had all turned to look at her.
Sherrel shuffled hesitantly forward, and in a voice too high-pitched for her frame, asked, "Do— do you know anything that might help with... too much stress?"
The young man at the center smiled broadly, teeth practically sparkling. "Oh, I think I know exactly what someone who needs to... relax... might want to try."
