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dyrewrites · 8 months

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In Fog -- 1

Memories live in shaky breaths, in gasps and giggles, in screams and tightly held silence. The moments adored, the moments feared, all soon forgotten which lie in wait for peace, for quiet, when they can be felt full and complete, relived in visceral detail.

It was one such memory that took me then, standing at the edge of that long abandoned park, eyes jittering too fast to make out the rusted playground in all its growing shadows. I didn't need to see it. I knew its shape as surely as I knew my own. I remembered the curves of its slide, the jagged holes in its stairs, its broken bars, and its crooked playhouse.

It had changed over the years, as all things are wont to do, but still I knew it.

Then, as fog rolled in to pierce those familiar shapes with the eerie whites of its jagged fingers, slipping with such ease to fill the cracks my mind could not…I wondered if the park remembered me.

It answered, in its way. With a gasping breeze it fluttered the fallen leaves, toying with the weight of them as easily as it did the tail of my coat. We did not speak, the park and I, not in words. Yet we understood one another through the memories that followed.

In those memories I felt your hands—chill as ever against my cheeks–and we were together again, whole as we were meant to be, whole as we had been so many years ago…

THEN

Autumn stretched eternal that year, trapped in the mesmerizing in-between of burnt orange leaves and scattered rains, and we were trapped too. Unwilling, or unable, we had kept ourselves oblivious to the future overtaking us. We languished in our holding patterns, both so certain we could keep them, store them, to force our lives not to change with the season.

You were to leave after our final year at university, on the heels of your father, ferried to another city–another world for all the pain it caused me–while I remained in our sleepy town, living the same sleepy life.

I would have accepted it, you know. I would have cried and wailed and gnashed my teeth…but I would have accepted it. Perhaps not until filial responsibilities forced me into a business I had no head for and social mores locked me into a marriage of convenience, of expectation. Yet, I would. I am certain that I would…eventually, had I been given the option, had that night not ruined it all; ruined us both.

It began in the playground, as our worst ideas often did, with the two of us drenched in sweat and shame. The fog had rolled in thick that evening, chasing the passing storms of the weeks prior, in a fine white blanket that hid our sin.

We could not have known what rode it.

You were half-dressed in naught but underclothes, sinewy legs dangling bare from the lip of the playhouse as you worked to stitch the suspenders I had torn. Those hands bewitched me, so swift they moved, so precise and with the moonlight outlining all that I had tasted, they tempted me to more.

“The time?” You asked, pushing my lips from your shoulder, my hand from your thigh. And you giggled through it, a sumptuous giggle that I would ache for in the years to follow…

“Half-past planned, close to midnight,” I returned, with a hurt I feared beamed as bright in my eyes as it did in my chest when you parodied my pout.

“Walk me to the train?” Were the last words you spoke with your own voice; your own will.

We had enjoyed its cover and cool caress along our skin, and the dreamy way it scattered the moonlight, but all the while it had grown around us. And we missed how quickly it had risen, how much thicker, how much whiter…how solid.

It had you.

Before I could find the breath to warn you, it had you in its pale grasp. You wailed as thin tendrils coiled round your neck, as they sharpened into teeth too real to be fog. I fought it; of course I did, I would have fought the devil himself for you. But it had control of your muscles and I had only mine.

And so I lost. As I would again before the night was through, before the fog thinned with the rise of a warm autumn morn.

You see, my love…you left with it.

Not completely, not yet, but a sip of you dripped from the grip of those teeth–so white they were, so cold. Then that terrible white, with its terrible chill, lapped up that sip of you. It stole it, and in that one horrid pulse of its shapeless mass…it stole you.

We ran then. Me and the thing you were becoming, though not to our homes. Never there, neither had ever meant safety, but especially then. No, I urged you by your stiffening, cooling hands to another place, a place none would think to look for sinners such as us.

I sought a church.

Father William welcomed us with open arms, if a grave expression, as he had many a morning—and evening. We were not the only ones there for sanctuary but, at the sight of you, he bid the other leave.

With you lain on a pew too quiet, too still, and Sister Beth fetching cloths and cool water, I was forced to explain our circumstances.

“Fog,” I told the Father, “I understand the impossibility of it but it was fog that attacked us,” my voice betrayed me again and again, sputtering imprecise, stealing any hint of eloquence I otherwise strived for. Were you conscious, you would have teased. But I went on, as best I could, “At the playground, it lingers still and it…it took…”

His hand was steady, strong and far too warm on my arm, soothing even as my tears fell, “Fret not, child, you are safe now. We can deal with your friend.”

I had not looked away from your pallor, the mild shakes as Sister Beth wet your brow, until then. Father William, while kind and welcoming of us whenever we fled the rocks and fists of our peers, never asked why they spurned us. Nor questioned how we huddled so close when we hid.

“Father,” as much as I ached to, I could not form the question.

But I needn’t, as he smiled and answered it, “love is love in the eyes of the Almighty.”

Whether from anxiety, panic, grief, or all and more I laughed. It was quick and cut with Father William’s hurt look, but a laugh all the same. A brief release of what would build again, what would threaten to overwhelm. Then I spoke, perhaps too honestly, “I fear you are of singular belief in that, Father”

“Yes,” He nodded, watching you as much as me, “well, not all are open to the divine aspect of His love, unconditional as it is. But they will find it.”

“Until then,” I watched you as well, praying in my way that you were still the one I knew, the one I loved, “perhaps we keep that part of this between us?”

“Of course,” Father William nodded and tapped Sister Beth’s shoulder.

She tilted her head, her silence somehow louder despite the motion that overtook her hands. Swift signs, unknown to me, were shared with Father William—and returned—before she nodded and shuffled into a distant chamber.

“This is a known malady,” Father William explained, once she had gone.

“You know of the fog?” I asked, bewildered.

“Not it, no, but what it imparts,” Cryptic, his words, and I know now they were so out of fear. “But we can remedy it.”

His certainty rang hollow, and what he hid went ignored as I cared only for you to wake. But in that fitful sleep, swollen with all that hateful fog, you were changing, soon to blossom as something magnificent and terrible.

When Sister Beth returned to your side, it was with a vial in her delicate hands. A vial she popped. She nodded at Father William after, waiting for him to return it, hiding as he was beside me. The clear waters she flecked you with burnt to gray on your death-pale skin.

And they woke you.

Red-eyed and ravenous, a beast you became, if I ever knew one. Yet, yet your attack came so swift, so easy, not a drop of her blood hit the floor, until she did.

Then it dribbled in a shimmering red ribbon from her neck. I gawked, I must admit, entranced by its color, the way it pooled, that I missed Father William’s approach.

With a cross, pointed at its base, he lunged for you. And with a voice soaked in terror, he cried, “Back to Hell with you, demon!” and fell into the swift prayers we had heard through so many sermons.

I stood where you were, dumbfounded, lost, outside myself in all ways one could be. Unable, or perhaps unwilling, to see the monster you had become. Even as Father William’s prayers became wet and gurgled I would not register, would not accept.

Slow he fell, so slow, with you attached. Clinging to him as the starving beast you were. It was not clean, not swift, as Sister Beth had been. No trickling of life growing to pool like a blasphemous halo about his head.

No. As your teeth broke skin his life sprayed, then it burbled and poured until it dripped in thick, salacious rivulets down his chest. When at last he had no pulse to force it…he crumpled.

You turned then, drenched, eyes too hot and smiled.

At me, you smiled, with teeth too long, too sharp. And he painted you so dark, my love, so red his blood, virulent in its thickness, its agony. You shared it, running to me with it soaking you…and I allowed the embrace, the life-stained kiss.

Father William burned, salt-sick on your tongue and still I took it, devoured it. It was you, after all, I wanted to believe. Oh, how I wanted to believe. Beast, monster, demon, I cared not, so long as it was you.

“Darling, did you see?” Your voice echoed—as a scream through fog.

“I, I,” I saw it then, truly saw it. The blood, the life spilled so quickly, carelessly, on you, on me. Sense fleeting, but terror thick, I screamed, “What have you done!”

Your face so perfect, too perfect, eyes too bright beneath that stolen life, you stared at me, with all the innocent confusion of a scolded child.

Then you laughed, loud and full and echoing.

“Why, I ate them of course,” You said, casually, as if they were any old snack, “but did you see how quickly?”

Grabbing me by the hand, you hummed then and led me in a dance down the aisle, through Father William’s blood. Faster and faster you spun, lifting me with such ease, such grace.

“You always fawned over my strength, what do you think of me now?” You asked, spinning me round and round until all became blurs of color—red, all red.

I had no answer. Exhilarating as the touch, the energy radiating from you, all that confidence I once envied magnified to impossible degrees…it was beautiful. You were beautiful. But you were not you, not quite, something else spoke through you, looked through you. It wore your skin and spoke your words but it was not you.

And the hunger. Oh, my love, your hunger. It knew no end and you, you knew no restraint. Part of me, small, petty, took perverse comfort in your continued devotion. No matter how you changed, how deep you sunk into whatever had poisoned you, those too-bright eyes burned for me alone.

As they did then, surrounded by the remains of your ravenous hunger.

“I await your answer, darling,” That echoed voice cooed, trickling as icy syrup along my skin, “What do you think of me now?”

Terrifying, enchanting, impossible, “I do not know…” A lie, surely, but only just...I knew to be afraid.

But you saw more, heard more, more than even I knew then, and you laughed. Echoed and rich it sang and I spun in it. My head, my heart, my sense all spun. You held me close, too close, teasing my neck with lips softer than reality, lips that hid weapons. Sharp teeth that had bit, torn, devoured—would again.

“You love me still,” You told my neck, my cheek, the soft flesh of my ear, “you want me still.”

Forgive me, my love.

Slathered then, painted so dark and red in all that loss and pain, I should have pushed away. I should have begged, pleaded, demanded perhaps. But part of me, too eager for the lie, wanted you however I could have you. It was not you, could not have been, not with the gaiety in which you slaughtered Father William, Sister Beth—would slaughter more.

But rational thought did not apply on that cold, blood-soaked stone.

No, it had to be you, my love. It had to.

Otherwise, who was I, what was I, to have succumbed?

#writeblr #writing #horror #tw: blood #in fog #novella #horror romance #in fog rough draft

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iihauntedmuffinii · 2 months

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A Breath of Fresh Air (The Boys Fanfic)

SUMMARY

Daphne Bennett is a psychiatrist for kids in the foster system. She relies on her powers to help her clients unlock their traumas and emotions in a safe space. Unlike most superheroes, her powers come with a price. She is losing control of her body's health and mental state and sadly, her usual tricks aren't working. When the fluctuations in her powers are too painful she decides it's time to try and find a cure. A cure that she thinks resides center focus on The Seven. Through odd circumstances she is placed near the famous superhero team and their loose cannon of a leader, Homelander.

I have a Spotify playlist associated with the story, so if your interested, and don't care about chapter title spoilers I recommend checking it out.

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST:

CHAPTER FOUR: Second Wind

His emotions tumble into me wave after wave and I’m drowning in a memory, lost to the physical realm once again. His mindscape was darkness and nothing else. I was floating amidst the dark waves barely able to keep myself above water.

“Black Noir!” I scream out into the nothingness. The abyss that looked down at me gave me no sign of hearing my pleas. The waves tossed and turned me around, spinning me underneath the depths until I was dizzy. I surface back up, struggling to breathe through the sloshing depths. “Please! Black Noir! Speak to me, Noir!” I scream out into the nothingness once more.

The nothingness doesn’t speak back. It feels like an eternity before a flicker, a sparkle, streaks across the black abyss above me. Memories wash over the sky as if I was watching an old movie in a theater. Sitting in a comfy seat with a bag of popcorn at my side, nice thought, but instead I was drowning in darkness.

The memories unfold with precise clarity.

“Erving! Erving! Gosh, where are you Erving…” A clear melodic voice yells out across Buster’s Playhouse, the children playing all around her didn’t help the search. Her son is not anywhere to be seen from her perspective. The playhouse setting is exactly what'd you'd expect from a children's playhouse to be. Full of colorful games and mascots that were dancing their own tunes. Cheap pizza and ice-cream cake served at every table. It was a dream location for a child's birthday party. Though for Erving this dream will soon turn into a nightmare.

Erving can hear his mom calling for him. Struggling to find him. When his mom brought Erving to Clint's birthday party--without a direct invitation from said birthday boy, she never thought that would matter. Erving's mom didn't know how cruel children could be. Erving knew the invitation was only given to him because his cousin Benji was invited, and that only made it more awkward for him. He didn’t know anyone but his cousin and the mascots at Buster’s Playhouse. His mom and aunt just wanted shy Erving to break out of his shell.

Erving wanted to introduce himself to the birthday boy, Clint. He was so cool. He had a skateboard and his mom never let him get a skateboard. She always complained about how they were deathtraps on wheels, but Erving just thought his mom's prerogative was to worry about everything . Erving still imagines how cool it would be to be friends with someone who can ride a skateboard. Benji thought he was cool too. Benji talked about Clint all the time and now seeing him in person Erving can see why.

Those happy thoughts of being friends with such a cool kid were bashed into bits the moment he was pinned on the floor of the ball pit by the birthday boy himself.

“Stop! Stop! Please, I can’t breathe!”

“Aww, little baby is going to cry in the baby ball pit!”

His heartbeat grows wild and his breathing slows, time stands still, for little Erving. He feels his body move before his brain can comprehend what’s happening. As if possessed by instinct he grabs the boy's grubby hands and clenches them so tightly he can feel the bones crack beneath the skin. The birthday boy screams so high pitched and full of pain it causes his voice to crack. Erving throws him across the pit and the birthday boy falls head first into a sharp corner of the ledge. His head slams, a resounding crack echoes across the room making Erving go still.

Clint’s body was stuck firmly to the ledge, laying half in the ball pit and half out. His skull fragments and flesh deeply morphed around it. The skin connected to the nape of his neck and head was visibly peeled open, layers of folded skin revealing a gaping bloody hole within. The blood was pooling over, spitting sporadically and splashing wildly covering walls, the colorful ball pit slowly turning a dark shade of red. A blink and the entire room turns the same shade of disgusting red .

Erving’s eyes grow wide and he finally feels like he’s regained his breath. His irises’ blow out and his nostrils flare, but he makes not a single sound. His instincts take hold of him and he scrambles out of the ball pit and up the twisting red slide. He slips over and over as he climbs up the winding slides, leaving blood smears in his path.

He doesn’t know how but he’s made it to the far back of the tunnels where the window attached to the tube system was. It showcased all of the cast from Buster’s Playhouse. He couldn’t focus on any of those details at this frozen moment in time. He tightly put himself into the fetal position, trying to become as small as possible.

“I’m okay, I’m okay, everything is okay…” Big fat teardrops stream down his face without Erving’s consent. His tiny hands grip his knobby knees so tightly his knuckles grow pale. The blood spackled across his body sang to him. Reminding him of what he’s done. What Erving didn’t know was that it was about to get a whole lot worse.

“It’s okay, Erving. You didn’t mean to hurt Clint. You were just trying to protect yourself.” The recognizable and boisterous voice from the iconic titular character Buster spoke. The voice sounded like it came from right beside him, but as he looked around no one was there. But that wasn’t completely true.

There was a highly detailed mural framed by the window connected to the slide tunnel, and the mural was a cute depiction of Buster with all of his pals. Erving blinked past his tears and stared hard at the mural, not looking away for even a second. Not even when he heard the screams of people down below. Someone found Clint.

“It’s okay Erving, we know you didn’t want to hurt Clint.” Buster’s voice was more clear this time. Looking now straight at the mural he could see that Buster’s mouth was moving. “We all know you wouldn’t do harm to anyone on purpose.” The cartoon character, Buster and all of his animal friends nodded along with that statement. Erving eyes turn into saucers and his mouth drops open not able to hold in his gasp.

“R-Really?” Erving's tears stop as he gently touches the window. Blood smears across it blurring the mural's visage.

“Erving, you're a nice and funny kid. You wouldn’t hurt anyone, would you?” Buster asks him with cheer and happiness radiating from the mural.

“No! No, I didn’t mean to…” His head is shaking back and forth, his tight knuckle grip does not relent.

“There, there Erving. We're here for you no matter what. That's what friends are for, right?”

“We a-are f-friends?”

“Of course!” This time all of the voices of Buster’s Playhouse joined in. The mural was still, and what Erving imagined to be moving wasn’t anymore.

“Erving! Erving, where are you?” His mother’s voice pierced through his skull with striking clarity. Looking through the window he had the perfect vantage point to see the chaos unraveling below him. Because of him.

Parents were running out with their children and others were screaming at employees. A police officer was already on the scene, and it looked like he wasn’t the only one now patrolling. His mother was in the center of it all. She had tears streaming down her face and she was clutching Erving’s bright red baseball cap, it was her only life line.

He knew what would happen when she figures it out. She would hate him. She would send him away and never talk to him again. That’s exactly what would happen. He was sure of it, and sadly, he was right.

He was found frozen in the slides by one cop, and the blood all over him gave them enough to know what happened. A kid who developed powers and killed another kid by accident. A horrible tragedy that was becoming more frequent these days. Sadly, Erving being black didn’t help his case when the authorities decided he was a public danger if untrained. So, he was to be separated from his family and shipped off to be trained by his sensei.

And he started his career as Black Noir off of the tragedy that was Clint’s murder. The black water washes over me but I can still breathe. My eyes open slowly and all I see is Black Noir.

Are you okay?

“I’ll be fine.” The coughing fits begin and the rattling of my lungs makes breathing feel like I’m being electrocuted from the inside. The blood spills out of my mouth before I can reach for my handkerchief. I lift half my body upright, ignoring the dizzy spell as I reach for my purse. I focus all my energy on finding my medication. I weakly grab the now almost empty bottle laying in an interior purse pocket and pop a pill into my mouth swallowing it dry. “Now, would you like me to call you by your given name or by your superhero title?” I refocus on Black Noir, needing to concentrate on anything but myself.

He doesn’t answer at first, instead he reaches slowly into my purse, and hands me my handkerchief. I take it numbly, not knowing how to quite fathom or respond to the kind gesture. I hold it dumbly in my hand, not moving to clean my face. He grabs it from me, making me flinch in surprise. He wipes my face with light sweet touches, I could barely fathom how strongly his aura oozed patience. Finishing his cleanup he hands me back the handkerchief placing it delicately in my lap. It was soaked in blood.

You can call me Erving.

“R-right, Erving, I’m sorry about this.” I groan out pathetically, an ache that has been slowly healing is back in full force. I needed to stop getting myself into these situations.

Why are you sorry? You were only trying to help.

“No Erving, I shouldn’t have invaded your mindscape, at least not without permission first! I could have hurt you or myself in the process. I don’t know how…” I couldn’t finish my word vomit before Erving interrupted that train of thought.

No! You didn’t do it on purpose. And I wanted you to see it. What happened right now only makes me more determined to go to therapy. I want to be better.

“R-really? I-I mean that’s great! I just didn’t know how’d you feel…” I move one step forward on wobbly legs like a freshly birthed foal. Black Noir, like a gentleman, grabs my arm and helps to steady me. Someone so isolated is now touching me and showing me attention in a public setting. That feels poignant. A show of trust that was rarely given out by Black Noir.

It was something to treat with utmost care. It's important to nurture rather than stifle these connections and I think Vought covets to destroy these type of healthy relationships. Not on my watch, not anymore. Black Noir–No Erving, was going to have a friend, a connection no matter what. That’s a promise I will make to myself. He holds my arm with such care, as if he was caressing a baby bird’s broken wing. His gentleness contrasted heavily with his dark figure and intimidating costume. But his bright sparkling aura gave his sweetness away.

I-I hope I didn’t scare you.

“You’d never scare me, Erving.” I whisper back, as quick as a cheetah on the hunt, not wanting him to fret for a second. We were in the elevator within a blur of people and time. Nothing quite felt real, and my powers felt off somehow. It felt muted almost. My extra dosage of medication plus overextending myself has made my powers fire back some odd side effects.

Good, that’s good. I scare most people.

“I know, Erving. You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to.” I squeeze his supporting arm trying to bring as much warmth as I could into a single touch. His aura flares to life, content with the invasion of my powers.

The elevator finally dings on the 99th floor and we slowly head to my office taking one step at a time. Passing the masterful portraits was intimidating every time, but the marble busts’ gave me goosebumps.

What you saw in my head was exactly how I remembered it, if not clearer.

“Before you ask, I don’t know how I did that, not exactly at least. I’ve only done it a few times and they have all been accidents.”

I haven’t remembered that time for so long. I think you somehow unlocked that within me. You are the key to remembering myself.

“I want you to be comfortable and safe when we talk about these things. But that means we can’t do the mindscape nonsense again until I can fully control my powers. I don’t want to hurt anyone.” I whisper the last bit more to myself. I shouldn’t have said it at all.

I believe in you.

I stop dead in my tracks, not before fully turning the knob to open the door of my office.

“Really?” The hope dripping from my voice and my eyes didn’t leave his figure for even a second.

I believe in you and nobody, not even you, can change my mind.

“Seems like you have more faith in me than, well, me.” I shrug, self depreciation seeping from my voice. Opening the door to my office in full cheer after Black Noir’s assurance I see Ashley waiting, sitting ramrod straight on the luscious couch. My good mood was dashed at the sight.

“What were you thinking promising those funds for—” Ashley pauses mid rant, her mouth gaping wide like a fish out of water. “Black Noir! Ah, I mean Daphne, why didn’t you tell me you were accompanied by the esteemed Black Noir?” Ashley asks, her tone dripping with venom. Trying to peddle back her planned scream session, I’m sure. Who knew toting around a member of The Seven would come in handy. Strike that from the record brain–do not use the client’s status to get Ashley off your back. That would be selfish of me, but tempting.

“He was just being a gentleman and escorting me back to my office. He also agreed to schedule a session with me,” I elbow Black Noir in the gut not caring if Ashley was staring. “Didn’t you, Black Noir?” I give him one more pointy shove. He nodded aggressively in Ashely’s direction. Her mouth opens and closes over and over for at least a minute.

“Well, okay. I will see you bright and early tomorrow Mrs. Bennett.” She grinds out, just barely able to hold herself together. Her aura flashes red in anger and the embers and sparks flared to life like a wild fire. The taste of burnt toast took over my senses making me wince in disgust. She scampers out of my office as if staying any longer would give her a rash.

“That went better with you around. Thanks!” I place my hand gently on his. I also wait for any indicator of him not wanting physical contact. He grips my hand tightly back, a sense of yearning for familiarity throbs within him. His strong emotional response flares his usually quiet soul back to life. The stars within his aura twinkles and dances so brightly it makes my head spin.

Anything to help. He gives my hand an awkward pat, not used to giving out affection, before closing the office door behind him. He tries to discreetly check the perimeters without me noticing. Always on high alert, it seems.

“I knew you’d be a helper. We need to schedule an appointment for you. I didn’t just say that just to get Ashley to drop her mouth on the floor.” I ran over to my planner at my abrasive desk. I grab my inkwell and pen looking back at Noir, who hasn’t moved a muscle since closing the door. “Erving, you can choose whatever time you need. You get first dibs by the way! No one else has set one up yet…” I stammer off, a bright red flush taking over my face for the oversharing.

Would Friday morning at 8am work? I have to go on a recon mission tomorrow, so I want to push it back to the end of the week.

“If you need to, we can always schedule it on the weekend. My schedule centers around you guys, not the other way around.” I want everyone to know that I’m serious about helping. It seems it’ll be difficult to convince anyone around here of that, other than Erving.

No, I would like Friday morning.

“Alright, I’ve penned you in and now your first official session is scheduled.” I couldn’t help but cheerfully sing those words. It almost felt like a miracle.

It's late. I should take you home.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Erving! I don’t even live that far from Vought.” I huff a stray curl out of my face as I hurriedly grab my bag and papers from my desk, readying myself to leave. As I scramble around the office, tidying up before leaving, I look up to Erving holding out his arm. Waiting for me patiently, still and silent like a statue. I sight before relenting and grabbing his arm, squeezing it tight, I gently steer him outside my office and towards the elevator.

Entering the lobby with Black Noir on my arms feels rather odd. The few warry employees and random stragglers there also seemed to think it was odd, giving us a wide berth. I can feel all their eyes on us as we slowly walk out of the building, it has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up.

I call for a Taxi ignoring people walking past us with their phones out, not caring to ask for permission to get a photo. People walking by stopped abruptly gawking at the dark shadow standing behind me. I quickly–comically shove Black Noir into the Taxi before we cause an accident from the public spectacle.

“Where to?” I give him my address and he floors it ignoring the both of us, like a true professional.

You are uncomfortable.

“I’m not adapting very well to the new job requirements, I guess. You know, all the attention and publicity really isn’t my thing.” I begin to aggressively scratch at my arm as I try to get the goosebumps to go away.

Understandable. It’s something I always wanted, I think. I can feel it almost. Like I wanted to be seen.

“Do you remember that feeling coming from somewhere specific?” I ask quickly, jumping at the opportunity to discuss his improving mental status. Maybe jarring his root memory helped him unlock parts of his brain he couldn’t previously see before. That's at least one theory. The taxi driver coughs loudly interrupting what seems like a crazy conversation to an intimidating, silent shadow. My face turns bright tomato red.

“Um, you’ve arrived.” The cabbie coughs out gruffly.

“Thank you!” I give him a large tip and push Erving out of the cab as if he couldn’t get out by himself. On the sidewalk outside the entrance of my building Erving gives me his arm again. We intwine arms like the Wizard of Oz crew-minus the other two and walk up to my floor. Luckily for me it was empty of any prying eyes. The neighbors were either at home asleep or out partying, or maybe doing something illegal. The safest neighborhood it is not, my wrecked furniture and stolen Bose can attest to that.

Entering my apartment felt like entering the heavens. I’m finally home. I’m sleeping in my bed and taking a shower. I only dropped by quickly to grab some stuff and clean my ruined apartment, but I haven’t been able to sleep at home since I’ve been kidnapped. Two and half weeks ago. It feels longer.

I sigh dreamily, not able to hold it in. I’m just happy to be home.

I turn the switch and my string lights light up the room with a warm glow. The lights intertwine with the plants inside the mason jars, which were repaired and now strung up across my ceiling. The ragged and torn curtains are now replaced with new brightly colored orange drapes. My ruined rugs were now replaced with expensive knitted material of military green shade. Where the stolen TV was now a fancy new projector screen paired with an already installed projector resides. To put the cherry on top of this Trading Spaces miracle is a large L shaped tangerine colored couch. The couch was flush against the wall of the open floor plan, sitting directly across the projector screen.

I gasp out feeling my heart speed to an unstable pace. From the entrance way I could see a little folded card and a vase of white roses on my kitchen counter. I drop Erving’s arm running to the card not able to focus on anything but the note.

Dear Daph,

Your Father and I have been worried about you and visited your apartment last night. You weren't there, your father and I decided it would be best to check in and we used your extra key. Your Father suggested it! To my astonishment your apartment was a mess. Almost all of your belongings were gone! Did you know about this?! We knew this area was difficult but we didn’t know it was outright dangerous.

We did not think further on it and we installed locks and extra security measures for your protection. I thought it would be nice to replace your old belongings as well, we know you have a lot on your plate right now. So, one less thing for you to worry about. But we would prefer if you moved somewhere safer, or just come back home, that's an idea!

No, wait, sorry! You're an adult; I forget sometimes. Before I write on and on and on I wanted you to know you can always call us. We are always here when you need us and even when you don’t.

Love,

Your Parents

There behind the vase was a bottle of blue pills. Thank goodness, I have been needing a replacement. All of the worries I had resting in the back of my head now were lifted, all thanks to my meddling, caring parents.

Your place is very inviting. Once we got past the scary stairwell and your eerily silent neighbors. But your apartment is different…more ‘warm.’ I jump in the air forgetting Erving was there, he is standing still as stone not moving an inch from the entrance.

“Thank you for walking me home, Erving.” I walk across the apartment and stand in front of his silent figure.

I’m glad I did. If I’d known your neighborhood was full of so much crime I would have brought along some security measures. Your alarm system won’t cut it for serious threats.

“Well that’s reassuring. I’m just grateful I have any security at this point. I’m sorry, now I have to kick you out for my own health. I’m desperate for a shower and sleep.” I ramble on, faltering to a stop as Erving shakes his head.

Have a good night Dr. Bennett.

“You can call me Daphne if you want. Whichever you prefer.” I yap at his back on his way out, he stops, still and silent to the outside world.

Okay, I’ll see you Friday Daphne.

“Goodnight Erving.” I whisper back before he fully makes his exit, he was here and now he’s gone. If someone was listening on the other side of the wall they would think I was talking to myself.

I jumped at my opportunity in what felt like a long time to unwind. I run to the bathroom stripping myself from my clothes and jump into the shower. I needed to scrub the stress sweat away and sense of dread that Vought Corp emits, like a foul stench.

After turning into a prune from my well earned hot shower I put on my comfy pajama set that was much too large for my small frame. Just how I liked it. The pajama set is a pale pink shade and is fluffy all over. I lazily get out of the steamy bathroom and make a bag of extra butter popcorn. I finally have a chance to look at all of my social media, and it is as I expected. Flooded with messages and followers by the thousands. All from that brief interview, no doubt. I turn my phone back off. Maybe I shouldn’t have looked.

As the microwave does its magic I start to play with my brand new projector. All the streaming services were automatically set up with my accounts, thank god. I put on an old favorite my Dad and I watch every summer together. Red Thunder , a film the Payback crew performed in 1983. Classic cheesy American propaganda at its cheesy gooiest.

I run to my room to grab my large fuzzy pink blanket, wrapping it around myself to keep the night chill away. Grabbing a large glass bowl and throw in my buttery popcorn to munch on for the movie. A breeze chills my back, probably from my open sliding door that connects to the tiny terrace. I need to close it before the temperature drops to freezing.

“Am I interrupting anything?” I scream automatically dropping my bowl of popcorn, it cracks and shatters on impact and popcorn flies everywhere. I’ll be finding popcorn for months with the way it splattered in every direction. Now I have to deal with bugs! Speaking of nuisances.

“You can’t just barge into my home without asking for permission first. Not even a text? I thought you of all the Superheroes would have some sense of decorum!” I admonished without restraint, my no-nonsense tone clear, not surprised at all really that he would do this. He definitely has an issue with boundaries, honestly I think he loves pushing people to their limits.

“You never gave me your personal number.” He chuckles through his sardonic words, a smirk twist at his lips. He takes confident strides to a whole new level as he glides through my apartment. Each step was accompanied with a poignant and loud crunch, the popcorn now worse off. “Can’t fix everything with a nice shiny coating.” He whistles out as he gives my apartment a derisive once over.

His eyes were sharp as he took in the surroundings, readying himself for an attack, like a predator on edge. I don’t take my eyes off him, and he finally decides to acknowledge my presence. He gives me this scowl, this dark judgmental look that would strike me to my core if I wasn't such a self assured person. It was a stare that quaked no arguments and it told me he didn't approve.

“I see you can relate to that.” The insinuation was not lost on me, I would have to be an idiot to not see the insult. I’m not taking the bait, no matter how much he wants me to. He lazily lounges on my couch taking up all of the space by stretching himself across it. His aura was bursting and sparkling with confidence but the red tumultuous sand continues to turn and weave around him. It was so cutting and complex and it felt painful. His eyes don't leave me for a second as I slowly approach him, as if he was a starving mad dog.

“I’m sorry for not giving you my personal number, here.” I quickly write my number on a sticky note and push it into his hands. He looks stricken, and then like a balloon that has been released, deflates into my couch. That looks of defeat is bashed after a moment and he is suddenly on high alert again. All in a few seconds. His back is ramrod straight and his confident lounging is no more. His glare is as powerful as it was just a moment ago, and instead of provoking him I do something he doesn’t expect.

I turn away from the predator, give him my back and I try to dismiss that he's dangerous. I focus on my breathing while I stroll to my microwave to grab a bag of extra butter popcorn. Slow and steady steps across the kitchen tile.

“If you want you can join me! I just turned on Red Thunder . Do you like that movie?” I put the bag of popcorn in the microwave and let the miracle of modern tech work its thing. I finally look back at Homelander who I left stricken and stuck to the couch.

“ Red Thunder ? Aren’t you a little young to have seen that?” His grumbling revitalizes something that wasn’t there before. The usual angry red aura that clung to him faded to a paler shade for a flicker of moment and stills. The rumbling storm that was his soul quiets to just a murmur.

“All because I’m not as old as you doesn’t mean I don’t have good taste. I know a classic when I see it. Also, this is a childhood favorite of mine!” The microwave dings at my passionate declaration and I hurriedly grab the fresh popcorn. I choose to completely avoid the mess that was currently on the floor. This time I’m using a plastic bowl too.

Homelander hasn’t moved from the couch, and he didn’t look like he was getting ready to leave. So I’m taking that as some form of reassurance that he wants to be here. In some way or form. Or maybe he’s trying to figure me out by provoking me on my home turf?

“Mine too.”

The silence between us was not comfortable, but the movie helped. Then at my favorite moment I couldn’t stop myself from bursting out into a full on accent.

“At last, the famous American hero, Soldier Boy. You don't seem like much of a hero to me.” I quote in time with the movie, in a very bad Russian accent, mimicking the Soviet commander’s mannerisms.

“You wouldn't know a hero if they walked in here and blasted you in the face.” I quote back to myself, giving Homelander a real show. All the weirdness now out in the open. He shouldn’t be here in my apartment in the first place, so no point in getting embarrassed. His body is trembling? I'd bet he's shaking in frustration from my bad performance. I fully commit to the bit now embracing the possibility that just maybe Homelander was laughing at my antics.

“My name is Colonel Yuri Valisivich Kasimov, commander of Soviet forces in this sector. Where will the American weapons be delivered to the Afghan rebels?” My Russian accent has evolved into a derivative and thicker parody of itself.

That did it. Homelander spiels out in a low timbre of soft chortles. My serious expression and stiff stance falters. I can’t help but stare, eyes bug-eyed wide, in awe. His bright red dust devil of an aura clouded above his head lifts completely, for just one second. The aura shines, shimmers like an emerald, and the green color is so rich I feel lost inside a forest. The smell of fresh pine hints at something I can’t remember. Neither can he, I think. His bright smile transforms into a strained and forced grimace, trying to hide his authentic response.

“You weren’t kidding when you said it's your favorite movie.” He grumbles, crossing his arms and settling further into the corner of my couch placing his feet on top of my new coffee table. I offer him my bowl of popcorn, choosing to ignore his dark scowl. His furrowed brow and tight frown doesn’t waver as he grabs a handful of my delicious buttery popcorn.

“I told you!” I throw one into my mouth without missing. Homelander’s eyes widens a fraction and stares admittedly a second longer than what would be considered appropriate. Before he can say something rude I tune back into the film. “One man against the entire Soviet army. Who do you think you are? God?” My Russian guard caricature was full blown nasal silliness.

“No. God would have mercy. I won't.” Homelander replies through tight closed lips. Unable to stop himself it seems. His usual warm cinnamon flavor of control is now replaced by a bright citrus sweetness that feels happy. On instinct my powers control my body and I’m invading his personal space on the couch. I don’t notice I’m extremely close until his shadow feels like it can swallow me whole. His intense attention now focuses in on me. “Don’t look at me like that.” He grunts not giving me an inch as he stared down at me with derision.

“Looking at you like what?” I sit back quickly, feeling intrusive the more contemptuous his glare grows. His body is stiff ramrod straight again, like he’s back on the press junket and not sitting on my couch watching Red Thunder .

“There’s no one that understands my struggle. They only think I’m something to be controlled…like you.” He’s now muttering something under his breath but I can’t quite grasp it. His pupils are blown wide and I can feel he’s not here anymore, but deep inside his own head.

“I don’t think that about you.” I mimic his stance, going ramrod straight, puffing out my chest and tucking my chin in. Staring directly into his vacant eyes as I repeat, “I don’t think that about you. Whoever makes you think that way, yourself or someone else, they're wrong.” I ignore my better judgment on not touching a client without explicit consent and grab both his shoulders. I grip him tight with my bony fingers, forcing him to meet me head on. “I’m on your side.”

A sigh that was trapped deep inside his chasm of a soul releases and his stormy aura flares and shimmers, like it was taking its first breath after holding it for too long. His expression doesn’t give as much away. Still as a marble statue, like he was carved into my couch, but then he blinks.

“Shut up, I’m watching the movie.” He grumbles, and takes my blanket too, just to rub salt in the wound. He’s eating my bowl of popcorn now wrapped tightly in my large fluffy pink blanket. I sneakily put my feet under the little bit of the blanket he isn't hogging and we watch the movie in companionable silence. I snuggle further into the new couch enjoying the pleasant sound of action movie explosions and cheesy one liners lulling me to sleep.

I woke up with a start, hyperventilating and my heart pounding loudly in my ear, a rhythm that haunts me. The memories of running through a rainforest, the rain beating down on her skin, or was it his skin? The feelings of fear when a large black panther struck Black Noir by surprise and the rush of adrenalin and joy after a victory streamed through my blood like a warm embrace.

His fresh memories of his past were so visceral and survivalist centered. I have nothing to compare it to in my own life, and it all felt so raw . I don’t think entering his mindscape was the best idea, considering all of the side effects that come with it. The roller coaster ride of emotions and memories tumbling like a few loose bolts inside my aching head is the worst part.

Finally taking a real deep breath I take in my surroundings. My blanket sits comfortably on top of my lap and there is no Homelander in sight. No proof of last night other than my memories. The pounding headache throbs at the front of my forehead, reminding me to take my medication before I start the day. I jump from my couch, leaving my projector on as it drones about the local news.

I stop mid step to see the popcorn and shattered bowl still lay amuck all over my floor. Well, that’s proof of last night.

I jump over the mess pointedly ignoring the obvious hazard on my floor. I grab a bowl, milk, and cheerios as I pop a blue pill dry down my throat. I top it down by throwing a cup of black coffee into my cereal. Olivia calls me down right diabolical for doing this. I just think it cuts the middle man. I bring my bowl to the couch turning up the volume as the news anchors drones on.

“Breaking News has just been released this morning. A whistleblower inside Vought Corporations has documented proof that Superheroes are not born, but made. Vought has made a drug known as Compound-V, which they inject into infants –” The ringing in my ear is so loud I feel like I lost my hearing. The NNC anchor drones on more, and journalists around the panel join in the conversation on occasion.

“Vought needs to come out with a statement!” A reporter is screaming their head off, and others from all sides of the screen are critiquing Vought to some capacity. My body trembles and my cheerios grow soggy. I continue to stare blankly at my Tiffany blue bowl.

“H-How is this possible?” All my limbs feel numb and cold like I’ve been stuck under cold running water for hours.

“Guardians have to give permission to have their children undergo this pharmaceutical trial. There are also gag orders involved from what’s implied in the whistleblower’s statement.” The terrifying piece of information felt like I swallowed dark ice shards and the information was stabbing me from the inside. This coldness feels like a bubbling brew of poison inside my stomach, just waiting to burst and froth out of my mouth. It was too much to bear. I turn the projector off. The apartment is eerily silent.

The buzzing of my phone was loud and shocking in the empty silence. My phone’s sudden vibrating and ringing jingle alert went off for a minute straight without showing any signs of stopping. Finally, I force myself up off the couch and grab my phone from my bag.

Ashley Barrett

Of course. “Yes?”

“You’ve heard about the leak.”

“Yes, I did–”

“Good, I’m required to give you the day off for a ‘mental health’ recovery day,” I can hear her muffled guffaw before continuing. “to recover from this recent information. But, since you are our resident mental health expert I want you to check in on The Seven. Make sure to at least get me a verbal confirmation they’ll be at their scheduled media circuit tomorrow. Remind them they must keep their lines of communication open for Mr. Stan Edgar, if he chooses to address them. Did you get all that?” A mixture of strain and condescension mingling in her vocal cords like the beat of an annoying drum. I swallow the bile rising from my throat and rub the tears out of my bloodshot eyes.

“Y-yes, of course, I’ll call them all right away.”

“Good, give me a report by the end of the day.” She hangs up before any more words can be exchanged. Breathe, just breathe. I shakily dial the first number I put in my phone, Homelander and call him. I get the dial tone three times before I give up and leave a voicemail simply inquiring about his well being. I thought maybe that bonding moment last night would foster something friendly, but maybe not.

Next I call Erving–labeled as Black Noir in my phone’s contacts. He doesn’t pick up. Damn, was he going out on a retcon mission the night before? He didn’t specify when he was going just when he would be back. Ugh, I knew this would be fruitless but I call Stormfront.

“Hello, this is Stormfront’s assistant Tammy. How can I help you?” A dull monotone voice I assume to be female actually answered.

“This isn’t Stormfront’s personal number?”

“No, this is Stormfront’s main line if you want to schedule an appointment with her, if it fits in her already very busy schedule.” She says through a bland nasally accent I couldn’t decipher.

“Ah, well tell her Dr. Bennett called to check in on her. I want her to know if she needs anything or a time to talk–”

“Got it. I will tell her the therapist called to ask about scheduling a counseling appointment.”

“Don’t you know her schedule? We can workout a–”

“Thank you Dr. Bennett but I have to run all the call-ins by Stormfront. I will contact you again if Stormfront agrees to an appointment.” The audacity of this stonewall of a woman.

“Stormfront told me she wants to schedule—”

“I will tell her about you calling, okay. She will choose to move forward how she likes from there. Have a good day!”

“But–” The dial tone replies back to my weak plea. How pathetic. Stormfront seems to be thinking she can get herself out of therapy by steamrolling me with her team of interns. Well, I’ll find a way.

I call Queen Maeve next and it goes straight to voicemail. Not surprising. I call A-Train and I’m hung up on in the middle of a ring. I call again and the pattern repeats. These people are more opposed to therapy than cats are to a running bath. Somethings gotta give. I call Starlight, my last hope.

“This is Annie.”

“Hi, Annie it’s Daphne or Dr. Bennett if you’d prefer.” I clear my throat pushing through any of my ingrained apprehension for forcing therapy. “I’m checking in on everyone. After the recent news, a lot of people who have powers may need a person to talk about such a life changing revelation.”

“You have powers too, Daphne. The news came out only a few hours ago and you're calling us to see how we feel? How can you possibly ask us when you probably don’t even know how you feel!”

“Y-your right I called at a bad time. I’m so sorry. Please, call me if you need–”

“No, I’m sorry Daphne. I didn’t mean to snap and you're right it's just a bad time right now.” She’s quiet but firm in her interruption.

“No, no, it’s my fault for not thinking about how hard this could be for all of you. I should have at least worded it more tactfully.”

“No! Daphne, you have powers too and I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You're just doing your job. I'm sorry for my outburst. I think I would like to schedule an appointment, actually.” She softly whispers that last part, sounding like she could hang up any moment if I didn’t word this exactly right.

“When would you be able to come in?”

“Next week will be great. Monday morning at 9am would fit my current schedule. If anything changes I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you, please take time for yourself when you can.” I hung up the phone hoping she took my words to heart. Her reminding me of being just as much a part of the people that may need to talk to someone about this–I instead ignore that agonizing thought and keep moving. I move without full control looking over my large portfolio of contacts. I landed on one name I haven’t seen in a long time. My body presses it without my mind letting me second guess.

“Hello?” A shy sweet voice, sounding raspy as if it hasn’t been used often comes from the line.

“Hi, Marie. I know I haven’t called in a while, but with the recent news out I wanted to check in on you.”

“You call me on all my birthdays and send me cards for every Holiday. You do more for me than most adults around here ever do.” Her muttering voice fills with disdain when talking about the Red River Institute, which is valid. I don’t only think that because I was laid off based on budget cuts. There are many factors in why I don’t like the Red River Institute.

“Well, I think we need to sit and talk in person for once. How about it, kid?”

“As long as you promise me you won’t call me kid.”

“Okay, fine. They grow up so fast. I’ll pick you up and we can take the subway together.”

“Daph, I can meet you at the restaurant without you chaperoning me.”

“Right, right.”

“So, where do you want to go?”

“A Jitter Bean coffee and breakfast sandwich sounds amazing right now.”

“I can go for a coffee.” Marie’s noncommittal affect is still her usual tone of choice.

“Are you free now? We can get brunch before the lunch rush takes all the good seats. The Jitter Bean not too far from the institute would be better for you, right?”

“We can go to any Jitter Bean you’d like. I don’t mind. The Institute doesn’t care how long I’m out. The curriculum around here isn’t strict–they care more about our nightly curfews anyway.”

“Right, I forgot about their strict evening curfew. Let's meet up in thirty then.”

“Alright, see you there.” I hang up the phone and hurry to get ready. I choose to ignore the messages and calls coming from my phone–unless it was work related. Family and Olivia were something I was going to deal with later.

I throw on a basic white blouse and sheer eggshell colored cardigan to layer on top. My form fitting blue jeans and mauve flats were all I had the remaining energy to pair my top with. Anything else would be too much for me today. I put my hair up in a pink scrunchie to get my messy curls out of my face and I quickly grab my bag before vaulting out the door.

I’m back out in the thrumming city. The crowds of blurring emotions filtering through me felt exhilarating. And horrible. The strong jumble of emotions that were impossible to decipher left a muddy sour film on top of my tongue. The blood rush giving me a quick high also left me winded and light headed. This all struck my body within a few seconds. I stumble leaning outside my apartment building, trying to catch my breath. Cold sweat ran down my brow and I could feel my bouncy curls fizz out from the humidity. Taking a deep breath I call for a cab and the ride there is peaceful.

My phone buzzed and my family's name flashes on my screen over and over again. I ignore them. I need space before I can even think about talking with mom and dad. The texts from Olivia were only growing by the hour. A decent pace for Olivia. I just don’t know how to talk to Olivia about my powers at all. I barely told her about them yesterday, and now I’m supposed to feel comfortable talking to her about this ? I need space from all of them to think.

“We’re here m’am.” The cab driver piped up cheerfully, not sounding annoyed at all, for once.

“So sorry.” I whisper out desperate to just be away from the small space. I scramble out of the cab and see an old Jitter Box I haven’t been to in years. Not since my first job in the foster system–involving kids who have powers and criminal-records. The idea of a kid with powers at some point discovering my secret was a worry I had every day. The job was also grinding in every sense of the word.

The amount of children that end up in even worse situations was very high, and the statistics haven't changed. It would be amazing if they were given a chance to integrate into society, rather than be imprisoned. It still makes my blood boil thinking of the psych department being one of the first to be eliminated for budget cuts. My internship was out the window and I had to start somewhere brand new. It was also difficult leaving a lot of my patients.

Marie was always one of my favorites, and has so much potential to do great things. Her lack of faith in my field also always gave me a kick in the butt to try and help her. She is an abstinent one though, that’s for sure.

The more decrepit version of the Jitter Box from my memories seats an older Marie sipping on a cup of black coffee. She sat at a booth at the front with a nice window view. Seeing her in person after all these years feels like I'm traveling back in the past. Seeing her mature growing self in contrast to my memories of the brave preteen has me choking back tears. I quickly wipe them away with my sheer sleeve and push myself to go inside. No one was inside but the cashier, the cook flipping burgers in the back and Marie at a booth. When she sees me enter she waves at me awkwardly as if unsure on how to socially participate at all. Has she grown shier since I last saw her? Her maroon silk like aura that wrapped around her like an ever twisting ribbon was bouncy as ever. Her aura was unique in the way it moved and swayed, but stayed consistent like Marie herself. She is not so withdrawn as to hide her aura, yet.

I throw my arms around her, giving her as much of a bear hug as I can pull off. She holds her breath and her maroon ribbon aura tightens taut around her as if to shield her from my touch. I pull back quickly not wanting to push it.

“How’ve you been Marie?” I ask as I slide into the opposite seat. Her shy smile turns wide and sharp.

“How bout you tell me about your powers first and then we talk about me, hm?” Marie sips her black coffee, looking very pleased by flipping the tables on me.

“Ah right. Guess I couldn't get past that question. Ah, well, I’ve been keeping my powers secret since I was a child. Ever since my powers manifested when I hit puberty they were difficult to understand. My lack of understanding and control eventually led to an accident. That incident cost my family a lot and they had to cover for me in order for us to keep away from the authorities. Luckily, after the incident my family was able to help me control my powers and how to hide them from the public. Nothing more dramatic than that. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before.” I drop my eyes to the floor, twisting my hands together repeatedly. Anything but looking Marie directly in the eyes.

“I would have done the same thing if I was in your shoes.” A sigh of relief leaves my lips before I can hold it back. Marie chuckles at my obviousness. “I can’t believe you got away with it for so long. You're a terrible liar.”

“I know. I'm impressed with myself if I'm being honest.” I shrug. "So, how has the news affected you?” I ask without restraint, not wanting to divulge any more about my own past.

“It hasn’t affected me.” Marie sips her black coffee, she’s as unflappable as ever.

“The concept of us being made, rather than born hasn’t changed your perspective on anything ? Not your powers? Your parents? Nothing?” I continue to press waiting for any sign of a facial reaction. She was cold, still looking unbothered, and a little bored.

“My goal hasn’t changed.”

“I didn’t ask you if your goal has changed, I asked if the news changed how you felt about anything. Has it?”

“I don’t feel any differently, like I told you. How does it feel being a part of The Seven? Can you write me a recommendation letter for university?”

“Of course. You still aiming for Godolkin University, right?” I ask, letting her change the subject.

“I need a full ride to make this at all possible. A recommendation from someone working with The Seven could go a long way.”

“Don’t worry Marie, I'll write you a recommendation letter that will knock the socks off of that admissions office.”

“Thanks, Daph. That means a lot. Now tell me all about being in The Seven. ” She whispers the last part as if scared the empty Jitter Bean was filled with nosy people. I sigh loudly before adding a groan in there too. Marie’s laugh is barely held in by her hands, trying to cover her giggles. The waitress interrupts us, stepping up to our table in a cute blue dress uniform.

“How can I help you girls?” A thick accent, Jersey if I had to guess, and hips swaggering with every word.

“I would like a black coffee with a bacon egg and cheese crescent, please.” I pipe up quickly wanting that sweet beautiful breakfast sandwich as quickly as possible. The waitress’s dark orange aura fluttered in annoyance at my quick tone. She writes that down with a muttered assurance, waiting and staring pointedly at Marie.

“Could you turn the volume up?” Marie asks, her sharp eyes now focused on the TV in the corner of the small cafe. The waitress sighs loudly before doing so. CNN channel has been non stop filtering through journalists across all sources wanting Vought’s head on spike for the recent revelation. I mean that’s bad press no matter how you look at it. Oddly though CNN wasn’t talking about Superheroes being made not born.

They instead had live footage center focus at a beach. A beach not too far from where we were now. The exploded whale on the beach was a new and horrifying sight I didn't think I'd see in the daily news.

“Oh my god.” I mutter out gasping at the helicopter debris shown floating in the ocean. Three men confirmed dead from the terrorist attack.

“The attack is being led by a member of the Shining Light Liberation Army. He has destroyed whole city blocks with his telekinesis and has five identified murders attached to his profile. He is wanted on all accounts, and from our current reports The Seven has officially entered the scene.” The blonde news anchor with a deep soothing voice reported over the live footage. The Seven arrive in a dramatic style, all together like an actual team. All the infighting was not visible when all you could see was the colorful suits. The footage was all at a birds eye view.

“I believe the Deep beaching a whale but how’d it explode?”

“Was that the Deep?” I ask dumbfounded, squinting my eyes on the TV screen trying to decipher the pixelated footage.

“Did you know they were on a retcon mission?” Marie’s voice quivered with excitement she couldn’t hold back. She shakes my shoulders from across the table, trying to shake the words out of me.

“Of course not. I’m not nearly as important as you assume I am. I’m barely even a concept to them, an annoyance at most. Definitely not a part of The Seven , don’t let Homelander hear you say that.”

“Homelander’s touchy about you joining The Seven ?”

“I’m not a part of The Seven so there’s nothing to be touchy about. Now where is my coffee?”

“Fine, if you want to change the subject I will. Tell me what it’s like to work at Vought!”

“Um, it's definitely…impressive.”

“Impressive? That’s all you got to say?” With Marie’s derisive questions the waitress drops two cups of black coffee in front of us.

“How are you expanding your resume by the way? Other than strongmaning your elders, of course.”

“You will be happy to know I’m still volunteering at the soup kitchen. I kind of gave up on soccer, though. Didn’t want to break the news to you over the phone.” She shrugs, not seeming all that heartbroken over it. But that was Marie for you. If I didn’t have powers I would have a hard time reading her tightly held expressions. Her statements even offer many ways of interpreting, and she did all this on purpose. She holds everyone afar even the people she considers herself close to. I should check in on her more frequently.

“Well, I’m proud of you for taking your volunteer work seriously. If you tell me your schedule I could make some time to go to the soup kitchen with you, if you’d like?” I ask, hope obvious in my voice as I wrap my hands over hers from across the table. She smiles and squeezes my hands back. The warm tingle of content trinkles into my bloodstream, and I feel myself relax in what felt like a long time. Then things change.

I can’t hear anything as the world crashes around me. The Jitter Bean’s barely standing foundation is cracking and crumbling within a blink, plaster is falling from the ceiling and threatening to crush us. Marie grabs her bag and is immediately at my side looking for a safe path towards an exit. I grab her hand and focus every muscle in my body to push us out of this broken building.

The waitress wails as she is hit with a large beam that was previously attached to the ceiling. As we run past her I can see the waitress wasn’t breathing. Someone screamed from the back–the cook, but Marie held my hand tight not willing to let me go while pushing past the hot steam spilling from the broken pipes.

“You’re going to be okay, Daph.” Marie doesn’t give me time to respond before wrapping her arms around me and jumping through the steam and out the gaping hole that was the front entrance of the cafe. The steam was hitting Marie square in the back, but didn’t touch me. She yells out in pain as we land hard on the broken concrete. I push myself up from the cracked sidewalk and try to hold Marie as she lays on the ground groaning in pain.

“Oh god, M-Marie.” Her usual warm dark coloring has paled into an ashen shade. I turn her body to the side and she immediately howls out. The sharp guttural moans of pain coming from her lips before she takes in a deep breath. “I’m going to call for an ambulance, Marie. I will be with you the whole time. Don’t you w-worry.” Tears are falling down my face and I’m muttering her assurances as I can’t help but stare at her boiled back. Her back had layers of bubbles in her skin that oozed blood out by abundance, so much so that it was making me woozy.

The emotional bombs that were surrounding me didn’t help my concentration either. I shakily grab my phone and I’m calling for the nearest hospital, but Marie’s hand grabs my phone before I can dial the final number.

“D-don’t. Look again Daph, I'm healing.” She gasps out, barely able to grit out each word. She’s still strong even in such a dire situation. Looking once again at the mess of her back I can finally see what she means. The blood now was coagulating around each wound and it was healing at an impossibly fast rate. I didn’t know her blood powers gave her that much of a healing benefit; she must have been working on that for a while. She will be a great student for Godolkin University if I can get her out of this mess without further injury.

Marie’s coloring has returned and she doesn’t look like she was going to pass out anymore. She gets up more smoothly than could have been expected. I stumble to my feet grabbing her hand, making sure to not get separated until she’s safe. Finally looking at our surroundings we can see the whole west avenue street was caved in. A huge crevice that was so deep it led into what looks like the sewer system. Cars were half in the trench and other vehicles were abandoned or completely destroyed by the wreckage. The debris that fell into the entrance of Jitter Bean was not the result of the cave-in.

People were screaming and running from an apartment building just a few streets across from us. If I squint hard enough I can see someone flying and twisting around the building. Crowds of people were scattered a good distance from the focal point of the ongoing destruction. In a blink a huge hole bursts from the apartment building with a resounding crack of thunder that made the whole street shake. Pieces of the building fall below and crash, making the crowd scream.

“We need to get out of here.” Marie grips my hand tighter as she mutters this under her breath. I nod silently agreeing, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the building. Marie doesn’t give me much choice as she drags me in a speedy fashion farther away from the destruction.

Sadly we didn’t get far away fast enough. Through a cloud of dirt and metal propelled itself with a human being attached. Landing not just a few feet from us. A black woman’s limbs were cracked and broken from all angles. Her neck was half decapitated from landing on a piece of shrapnel. Marie freezes at the sight now completely immobile. I stand between her and the dead woman blocking her view.

“Marie, you're not there. You’re not there anymore, Marie. Breathe. In,” I take in a deep breath, and through my powers I loosen her coiled tight aura “and out.” I repeat the loud breathing and she joins in as her shoulders finally release their tension. The screaming and thunder cracks don’t help completely soothe her panic attack, but it has helped her calm down a bit. “Are you feeling okay enough to get out–”

Black.

Everything is black.

Then I hear a voice. A voice I remember. It’s Marie. Her voice sounds far off and as if it was coming from under water.

“Daphne! Please, Daphne get up! I’m just going to get–”

I can’t hear anything again. It all feels rather fuzzy. The pins and needles sensation across my entire body was the first thing I notice in the numb darkness. Then it was the groggy ache that throbbed a terrible beat inside my skull. That is excruciating. I blurrily open my eyes and I’m laying down in a cot with an IV attached to my arm. Turning my head I could see I was inside a temporary hospital setting, and from what it looks like, was holding a number of homeless people. Lines with food and clothes being handed out is a big give away.

“I want to know she’s okay before I go but I have to be home before my curfew.”

“I understand miss. Hopefully your friend will be up soon, but she did receive a severe concussion. My advice is she get an MRI as soon as she can. Such injuries as hers shouldn’t be taken lightly.” The feminine and stern voice comes from the lady in the bloody scrubs.

“I’ll tell her.” Marie dismisses the woman completely and hurries to me with quick wobbly feet. “Daph, I’m so glad you’re up and okay. For a second I didn’t know how…” She left her sentence out in the air to be unfinished. “The field nurse says you should get an MRI after this. To make sure you don’t have irreparable damage, you know, the usual checkup.” She shrugs, trying to lighten everything with gallows humor. It helps.

“What time is it?”

“It just turned 5.” She checks her phone with a flicker of worry in her golden eyes.

“Marie, thank you for saving me a million times and hopefully we will be able to hangout under better circumstances,” Marie snorts at that “but go home before you get in trouble.” I lift myself up from the cot taking the IV out myself. Marie’s eyebrows twist up and her mouth turns down as if wanting to say something. I shake my head at her and she gives out a long sigh.

“Okay, just please get home safe. Take a cab as soon as you feel better.”

“I will. Now get going!” I wave my hands at her trying to push her away. She smiles, a real smile I haven’t seen on her in this entire time we’ve talked today. A smile of relief is better than no smile at all. She gives me a quick hug before running out the doors. She hopefully made it back in time without punishment. Red River Institute was quite harsh with punishments.

I sigh, and try to get up from my cot on my trembling feet. I grab a crutch that was left for me and can’t help but pat at the bandage wrapped around my head. I flinch back from my gentle prodding and feel pretty dumb for it. Catching my eye was the crowd of news press filming a makeshift stage in the center of the refuge. Center stage was my worst nightmare, Stan Edgar. He was a wearing a navy blue pinstripe suit that looked tailor made for him, which it was, and the fabric looks like it was ported here from Egypt. He looked healthy and pristine as if he didn't have a worry in the world. My blood goes ice cold and I kept stop myself from glaring at him. His polished perfect white smile takes over his face morphing him to look approachable, but I know what he is. A predator who's just got his kill.

He begins his speech with as much confidence as someone born with a silver tongue.

“I know the news about Compound V is a shock to everyone. As you can imagine, this has been a very difficult day for the Vought family. Our focus now will be to learn the truth. As I said we are conducting a robust investigation into Compound V, but let me be clear; I had no knowledge whatsoever. We believe it was the work of a small, disaffected group of scientists led by former Vought employee Madelyn Stillwell. But sadly, there are more important matters at hand. Everyone at Vought sends their thoughts and prayers to those families that were affected today. Though it is important to acknowledge that this tragic event could have been far worse; today’s attack underscores just how dangerous Super terrorists have become. And, at a time like this, America needs its heroes more than ever. We live in a dangerous world. Our brave heroes were already fighting terrorists overseas, but now, America faces this war on a different front: right here at home. These enemies will stop at nothing to infiltrate our borders and attack our citizens. Our superheroes are the last line of defense. And today, the death toll would have been much higher had it not been for the brave actions of our newest hero, Stormfront, who stopped the terrorist before he could take more innocent lives. I don’t want to imagine what would have happened if Stormfront hadn’t been there, but thankfully she was patrolling the border of New York when she heard the destruction taking place . Without hesitation she immediately swooped in and put herself in harm's way to stop this terrorist from harming any more people. America is truly blessed to have you, ladies and gentlemen, Stormfront.” Stan Edgar’s speech is pristine as he gives no leeway for a journalist’s intrusion. Every little loophole Edgar could possibly think to cover within thirty seconds was said.

He did it all with such a calm demeanor it made me feel ill. Looking at his face made my palms sweat profusely and the pit of my stomach burns with a cold fury I couldn’t bear. Like coals resting still inside my belly and burning through my intestines.

“Thank you. But we all know who the real heroes of this group are, right? The people you see behind you, the people who are struggling every day. So let’s give them all a hand.” She starts the round of applause and the people in the building join in. I clap along politely too trying to mask my inner turmoil. I take in the scene around me trying to ignore the press and Stan Edgar all together.

I notice Stormfront isn’t the only one of The Seven in the makeshift hospital and refuge for the newly homeless. Starlight is at the booth handing out water, but her shining bright aura that is usually impossible to miss is dim. She’s lost some of her light, but why? Looking to the opposite side at the exit where more people are being gurneyed in and out; Homelander stood at the edge of the scene. His whole soul screamed and raged, so much so the tornado that was his aura spins and twists so fast I can feel the winds whip at my mind. The power of his emotions and soul battered at me with such ferocity I'm lucky I'm still standing. Through pure willpower and one crutch I wobble my way towards the superhero. People gave him a wide berth, so even they could sense he was on edge.

I drag myself across the makeshift hospital to look him directly in the eyes but he’s hyper focused on the stage. He hasn’t noticed me. I cough.

“What are you doing here?” His eyes grows wide and his attention is immediately on me, so much power in a stare.

“I didn’t exactly book myself a room here, Homelander. I got in the crosshairs of the destruction and was brought here for immediate medical care.”

“Did you see what she just did?” His intense stare that felt like a natural force when directed towards me were now glaring back up at the stage.

“See what?” I can't help but feel discombobulated by his outright anger.

“The way she smiled at me, all smug. She knew I had called dibs on him and she still has the audacity to do that .” His hands were gesture energetically and the next moment he’s still as a statue. His writhing aura quivers and shakes, but the tornado was still. I couldn’t decide which was scarier. “

“What if I told you I know how to get your numbers to skyrocket by tomorrow.”

“I’d tell you you're full of shit.” He whispers derisively, glaring down at me with pure hatred I think incorrectly directed towards me.

“Come make pasta with me and I’ll tell you my plan.” This whole idea centers around him actually agreeing. The spur of the moment idea influenced completely around what happened today. Marie's words partly to thank for this brilliant idea. An idea so good it will help me help Homelander, while also letting Homelander think he’s getting what he wants. It’s so good it probably won’t work. But it’s worth a shot.

“What the fuck are you talking about? I got better places to be than listening to your hairbrained schemes.” He scuffs shuffling away from me, inching closer to the exit.

“The invitation is always open. If you want to hear my proposal, and also make pasta with me, then stop by.” I say before turning my back on him and hobbling away. Not letting him have the last words this time.

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