Heroid

Early Friday afternoon, the municipal airport just north of Steel Canyon…

“Jessie? Are you nervous?”

“Me? About what?”

“What we’re about to do.”

“Oh.”

“Well, I have to confess – I’m nervous.”

“You are?”

“Of course I am. I’ve never done it before.”

“Clint! You think I have? What kind of –? Wait, what exactly are we referring to?”

“Flying, Jessie. I’ve never been on an airplane. At least not that I can remember.”

“Oh. Hehe. I thought you were talking about…”

“About what?”

“Nevermind. Oh look! The sign’s on. Buckle up! We’re taking off.”


7:17 pm, Friday evening, a grand suite in a resort on a small island in the Florida keys…

“Oh. Wow! This is nice! The suite looks even better in person than it did in the pictures!”

“I knew you’d like it!”

“I love it!”

“I love you.”

“Oh you-- Did you tip the porter?”

“Generously so.”

“So…?”

“So no one will disturb us.”

“No one?”

“No one.”

“Good. I want me all to yourself this weekend.”

“Me too.”

“Um… I’d like to maybe… freshen up… or something. Where’s the shower?”

“Outside.”

“Outside?”

“Off the patio. I was assured it was private though.”

“But… outside?”

“And there’s a hot tub.”

“Where?”

“Um... Looks like it’s out on the patio also.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Clint… I… It’s just that… I’m not sure I’m ready for that… I mean it’s romantic and everything, under the stars and all… but…”

“We’re used to living in a place where people can fly overhead at any time.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, let’s see what we’ve got inside…”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like a—“

“No worries, love. Just let me have a quick look-see in the master bath-- Ohhh… double-wow.”

“What is it?”

“Come see?”

“Ohhh…”

“Shall I draw you a bath, Miss Eagle?”

“You may draw us a bath, Mr. Smith.”


9:05 pm, Friday evening, on a moonlit dock…

“No! I can’t handle it! Eww!”

“Just try… one time.”

“No!”

“Just put a little in your mouth – you might like it…”

“Eww!”

“Jessie…”

“It’s—it’s got… tentacles!”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea that Ika Shoga Yaki meant ginger-marinated squid.”

“It’s all right… just… get rid of it?”

“No problem… There. I’m sure some underprivileged shark will be happy to get that.”

“Good luck to it!”

“You’re so darned cute.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you.”



“Clint…?”

“Jessie?”

“Forgive me?”

“I’ll forgive you, but if the chef finds out we messed up his ‘Moonlight Dock Romantic Dinner’ by throwing that squid away…”

“That’s not what I mean. You know what I mean.”

“Oh.”

“I chickened out… After all this…”

“Darling, it’s our first night. No use in rushing things. The bath was special, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. It was… mmm.”

“It was for me too. So, no apologies. For anything. All weekend. Okay?”

“I love it when you call me ‘darling’."

“What?”

“You called me ‘darling’ just now. It gives you a… Cary Grant vibe.”

“Jessie, Jessie, Jessie.”

“You nut.”

“You say that, but you love my Cary Grant vibe.”

“I love your vibe.”

“My vibe, vibe.”

“Your vibe, vibe.”

“I like our vibe, vibe too.”

“How much do you think this ‘Moonlight Dock Romantic Dinner’ cost you?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m really not hungry all of a sudden and we can order pizza from room service later…”

“Later… after…?”

“…later. After.”

My first thought was to get in touch with the civilian contacts that heroes throughout the city use to gain info on criminal activity. But it would take too long to get that network going. I really probably should have told an adult at the Rock, but that might just open a can or worms I’d rather keep closed.

So, I broke into Nita’s room and borrowed some personal items.

My friend Ben is an apprentice sorcerer. I’m betting that he can divine Nita Jones’ location. Unfortunately, I’m betting with Nita’s life.

Ben’s room is one of the strangest places I’ve ever been. In one corner of the room there is a shrine to Star Trek, which he exclaims to be the greatest science fiction epic ever made. (And not the Star Trek with the bald captain. He idolizes the Priceline Negotiator captain.) His shrine has models of the starship Enterprise and action figures of the crew, some of them are well played with.

His bed occupies another corner, and a set of bookshelves filled with old sci-fi and fantasy books and probably a couple hundred dvd’s of classic movies occupies another.

The remaining corner looks like something out of one of his fantasy novels. There is a table, the top of which is covered with various bottles and flasks, a crystal ball, and what looks like a small distillery setup. Underneath the table is an oaken chest and a stack of leather-bound books. Oh – and there’s a skull on the table top also. He won’t tell me if it’s real or not.

“A brush? I asked you to bring me one of Nita’s personal items.” Ben holds it up and looks at it with some disappointment.

“I figured it would be ‘personal’ enough.”

“Underwear would have been better.”

“You have a girlfriend.”

“I know. But it still would have been better.”

“For you.”

“For the spell.”

“I don’t see the difference.”

“You’re not an up and coming major mage, either.”

“Just do the spell-casting, you perv.”

Ben shuts up and does this odd transformation from my smart-allec friend to erudite young wizard. I’ve seen him do it before. It’s almost like he’s really two different people.

He takes a clean beaker and drops the brush in it. Then he takes one of the bottles and pours some dry, reddish powder in with it. He takes the beaker and places it over a Bunsen burner and the reddish powder quickly liquefies so that it looks like the brush is sitting in a small pool of blood.

After a moment, Ben takes the beaker from over the flame and offers it to me.

“Drink this,” he says.

“What?”

“Drink it.”

How can I refuse? I feel responsible for Nita’s current plight. I take the container and raise it to my lips.

“Stop!” Ben shouts and grabs my hand. He’s grinning.

“What?” I’m confused.

“I just wanted to see if you would do it.”

He’s back to being my smart-allec friend.

“What you have to do,” he explains, “is just use it like a dowsing rod.”

“A dowsing rod?”

“Look,” he says and takes the brush out of the beaker, dripping red liquid on the stone floor or his room. “You just hold it in your hand and you can feel it pull…”

He hands me the brush, staining my hand red. I grasp its handle firmly, and indeed, I can feel it pull gently toward – what? the north? northeast?

“Want me to come with you?” Ben offers.

I don’t even have to think.

“Please do. And put out a call for Jessie and Jen – see if they can come too!”

Yes, I think we’re going to need the backup.

“Idiots!”

That’s the umpteenth time Dr. Verkovian has yelled that. His men are trying to kill me, and they keep botching the job.

I’ve been strapped into this electric chair for two freakin’ hours while his crew is trying to figure out why no juice is getting to this cap on my head. Before that they had me in a gas chamber, but there was a leak in the seals, and some sort of weird temperature inversion caused a pressure drop in the room outside it and all the cyanide went outside. Three of them dropped before they realized what happened.

These Council guys, they’re known for being pretty up on their game. Dunno why they’re screwing things up so bad. It’s pretty funny though.

I wish they would unstrap my hands while they work. My nose itches. I also wish I had on something more than this stupid dress because it’s cold in here.

“Out! Out!”

Uh-oh. Wonder what he’s up to now? He’s sending all his men out of the room. Now he’s coming this way. Gyah. This guy is so creepy. He looks like he hasn’t seen sunlight in like, years. And he’s got these big bony hands.

“My sweet,” and yeah his voice is creepy too, “I hope this debacle has not diminished your opinion of the competency of the Council. I can assure you, we are quite efficient normally.”

“I’m not disappointed at all. But if you’re done with me, I’d like to go. I have a report to write before tomorrow.”

He gets right in my face and I can tell that he had General Tso’s Chicken for lunch. Wow. Mad scientists go to Chinese buffets. You learn all sorts of things when you’re a superhero.

“I’m afraid you will not be going anywhere. Though my tests have failed to function, I think our previous encounter proved your abilities adequately enough.”

I roll my eyes.

“I have plans for you, you see. So young… so vital.”

All right – now he’s really getting creepy.

“I have a machine designed just for a young lady such as yourself. I call it – the Exciter!”

Okay. That’s it. I have got to pull my hands out of these straps… Ow!

“You see, your youth, your vigor… My machine would burn an older person to a charred husk in a matter of hours. But you shall last days – perhaps weeks!”

Ow! Owowowow!

“The Exciter shall bombard you with pain, driving you to your physical limits, thusly activating your healing powers! And then that healing shall be ‘broadcast’ to specially equipped troops, thereby creating an invincible, unkillable army!”

And, yes, he does go, “Bwahahahahahaaa!”

By the time I figured out Nita’s mediport patch might have activated, it was too late. I waited inside the hospital entrance in case she hadn’t come out yet, but after twenty minutes, I knew she was already gone. I tried to hail her comm, but received no reply. The staff at Chiron didn’t take kindly to having some teenager quizzing them about a “hero” passing through. Do you have any idea how many mediport events they process on any given day? Ask them about a specific one, and they will be glad to tell you.

So I’ve lost her.

Bloody hell.

The hospital lobby isn’t the best place to try to collect your thoughts. People – heroes and civilians – are constantly going back and forth. Sometimes one of the more well-known of the city’s champions passes through and causes a small commotion of whispers, shouts, and autograph hounds.

I could really use some help here. Someone the staff might take seriously. Someone who might be able to get access to today’s mediport history. It seems that today only rookie heroes are passing through.

I’m on my own.

“Excuse me?”

I’ve got to be careful; the floor receptionist is already losing her patience with me.

“What is it this time?”

“Do you have a computer I could use?”

She looks over her glasses at me.

“Down that hallway –” she points, “second room on the left.”

I find the small office. It’s nearly empty, no file cabinets. No huge desk. Just a rolling, armless office chair and a small table with an almost-but-not-quite-out-of-date PC tower and a square LCD monitor. I plug my micro-cam into the USB port on the back.

I’ve been recording Nita, hoping to catch her “powers” on camera, to find out if she’s really indestructible. I have a theory, and if I managed to capture today’s incident on video, it might provide the proof I need.

There. I see it. The fake mugging victim’s shot hit directly into the quiver full of explosive arrows. The odds were very small that Nita Jones could survive the explosion, but she did. She beat the odds.

I play it back slower and freeze it. The weapon wasn’t a firearm at all – it was a teleport ray. Half of Nita’s quiver vanished before the ray accidentally detonated the remaining arrows. Even so, the blast should have been enough to kill her before her mediport activated. But as the teleporter dematerialized her quiver, its contents spilled away from her, opening bare inches of space in which to create a concussion wave which pushed her ahead of the fireball. It gave her the fraction of a second she needed for the mediport to take her away before being blown to pieces.

Her power is not that she is indestructible. It’s not that she heals instantly. It’s not that she cannot die. Nita’s power is that she is superhumanly lucky. I bet that time in the Council base, that Dr. Verkovian’s gun misfired. That’s why she walked away from that without a mark.

The Council is efficient. If they had this trap set, they probably had the possibility of mediporting covered just in case. That means they had an agent waiting in this hospital.

If I’m guessing right, she is somewhere in a Council base under the care of Dr. Verkovian. He thinks she can instantly heal or instantly resurrect. He’s going to test her for that.

I hope her luck holds out.

((For inquisitive minds, this ties in with what's going on here.
))

GreenAngelofMercy: I see you.
SlippedMyMind: hi!
GreenAngelofMercy: Whatcha dooooin’?
SlippedMyMind: drinking a chocamocha shake.
GreenAngelofMercy: Where’s mine? >
SlippedMyMind: come on down to Spanky’s Boardwalk and you can share mine.
GreenAngelofMercy: Come here and bring it with you.
SlippedMyMind: can’t. using the wifi here.
GreenAngelofMercy: Why? We have wifi here.
SlippedMyMind: noidnoid.
GreenAngelofMercy: …?
SlippedMyMind: that’s a pair o’ noid.
GreenAngelofMercy: LOL!
Why are you noidnoid?
SlippedMyMind: prying iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii
GreenAngelofMercy: Now you’re just being silly.
SlippedMyMind: don’t want anyone to see me booking here – http://www.littlepalmisland.com/
GreenAngelofMercy: Oooooooh! Is that it!?!
SlippedMyMind: yep.
GreenAngelofMercy: Oooooooh!
SlippedMyMind: package deal. flight down. boat out. three days two nights. suite.
GreenAngelofMercy:
SlippedMyMind: scuba diving on saturday and sunday.
GreenAngelofMercy: Who’s gonna have time for scuba?
SlippedMyMind:
GreenAngelofMercy:
SlippedMyMind: they also have this –
http://www.littlepalmisland.com/Litt...ctivities.aspx
GreenAngelofMercy: Ooooooooh! I guess we’ll have to come out of the room some time…
SlippedMyMind: inxay on the oomray!
GreenAngelofMercy: Pft! First rule of spying – if you try to hide stuff, people notice. You’re better off just doing things nonchalantly out in the open.
SlippedMyMind: that will be great comfort when you’re making my funeral arrangements if your dad finds out.
GreenAngelofMercy: You should worry more about my mom. Both of them. But we’re not going to get caught.
SlippedMyMind: i hope not.
GreenAngelofMercy: We’re not.
SlippedMyMind: hope not.
GreenAngelofMercy: Punch yourself in the arm for me.
SlippedMyMind: ow! darn! that hurt!
GreenAngelofMercy: Did you really?
SlippedMyMind: have i ever lied ot you?
GreenAngelofMercy:
SlippedMyMind: confirmed.
GreenAngelofMercy: …?
SlippedMyMind: we’re booked.
GreenAngelofMercy: I love you.
SlippedMyMind: i know.

Christmas was miserable.

Of course, when people asked me how my holiday had gone, I replied, “Wonderful.” But It wasn’t. It was, as I said, miserable.

Jessie had invited me to spend Christmas with her and her family, and I did visit with them for a while. Her sisters looked at me the way I look at puppies, with that, “Oh, how cuuuute,” face.

The adults though… Well, I am dating the baby, so to speak. I think they assessed nothing “cute” about me.

No one made me feel unwanted, mind you – or excluded for that matter. Perhaps the problem was all with my own perceptions. Or perhaps seeing Jessie with so much of her family reminded me of the blank slate that is my own past. Maybe it was some event etched upon my soul from any one of my forgotten holidays past. More likely though, it was the plan.

Wait, make that – the Plan.

You see, after nearly killing myself, then making Jessie go through excruciating pain in order to keep me from dying; after almost getting kicked out of school; after sitting through ungodly boring, embarrassing hours with my therapist; after being looked at as if I’m some emo punk by the boys, and some emo dream by the girls; after all that, I still had no idea whether or not Cassi had conquered her demon, or even where she might be. Every day I attempted to find her. Every day. And where once we had some sort of connection, a something that let us find each other no matter where in the city we might be – that connection seemed lost. Other people would see her, talk to her, but not me. Never me.

I flirted briefly with the idea to call Mrs. Kinsolving and ask her about Cassi, but I hadn’t divulged Cassi’s predicament to Mr. Kinsolving, and if Cassi hadn’t told them, was it my place to do so? But then, what if she was in mortal danger?

The problem with having no memory is that I had nothing to compare the situation to. No previous experience of any kind. Nothing before I came to Paragon City.

And it was that kind of thinking that inspired the Plan.

One night, a few days before Christmas, I met with Jessie in her room at her SS8 and we talked. We do that a lot. I love to hear her voice, her laugh. I’d like to think that I’ll never forget the sound of her, but I could. I could forget her so completely that she would be a stranger to me.

Have I mentioned that I am mnemonically challenged?

Months ago, when I woke up in that Creycare clinic, the doctors tested me and determined that my amnesia is total. My long-term memories are wiped, and on my own I have no short-term memory. Yes, that’s exactly what that means. I have no memory, and no ability to make new ones. Basic things like language and knowing how to get dressed – those things remained, along with a few odds and ends of social awareness – familiar songs for instance – but beyond that… nothing.

I maintain my memory through the use of an experimental drug called Zelpelerpine. I have to inject it every day in order to remember who I am, where I am, what I do – all of the things that make me, me. My very identity, I owe to medication. (Didn’t you wonder why I would have a hypodermic needle in my utility belt?)

This condition is something I had managed to keep hidden so far.

So, I sat on Jessie’s bed and explained all this to her. I was afraid. I mean, how can I tell her that she is the world and all its wonders to me in one breath, and then with the next say that if I miss my meds for a couple of days I’ll forget her entirely? How can she trust me like that? How can I ever ask her to commit herself to me when I rely on a drug to remember the color of her eyes?

She took it well, considering, which only made the next part harder to tell her.

This was the Plan: I would quit taking the Zelpelerpine until I lost my memory. After that, someone – perhaps my friend Ben Kirby-Love – would re-medicate me so that I would start to make new memories again. And someone – and for this I would likely have to enlist extra help – would have to make sure that the very first girl I met afterwards would be Cassi Nova. Only then would there be a good chance that I would fall in love with her and thus meet the possessing demon’s conditions.

Under no circumstances could I risk seeing Jessie again.

It was a good plan. It was a terrible plan. It was a plan that could work.

We agreed that we would wait until New Years, and if no other solution presented itself, then we would do this. We would give up our love for the sake of our friend.

We laid back and held each other, our legs thrown together like pick-up sticks, hinting at intimacies that might never be.

I fell asleep in her arms and didn’t care if I ever woke up.


Two days after Christmas, I was in Founders Falls, checking out a place called Elaine’s Bistro, thinking that perhaps it would be a good place to take Jessie on our last date.

Suddenly, as if there was a compass in my head seeking to find North, I felt a gentle tickle in my mind, a light, slight twitch that tells me where my best friend is. Cassi.

I shot away from the restaurant, flying away as fast as my telekinesis would push me, following that mystical GPS we seem to share. I found her sitting by a waterfall. She was just as powerful and awe-inspiring as the nature around her.

I set myself down softly beside her. She spoke first.

“How are you?”

“I think I should be asking how you are.”

“I'm alive. You and Jessie saved my life.”

“You... sound like yourself. Are you?”

“Me? Yeah. For the first time in a long time.”

“So the whole thing with the needle… it worked?”

“What you did and why you did it... no one else would have ever done that for me.”

She smiled. I had my friend back.


Now I’ve stuck the Plan far in the back of my mind, unused, one of the few things I hope to forget.

I can’t wait to tell Jessie!

Did I say Christmas was miserable? Well, it was, but New Year’s is going to be wonderful!

Happy ending? I couldn’t have made up a better one.

((I haven't forgotten this. Just, with the holidays and all, and the Winter Lord thing, I haven't had the time to sit down and write anything else.

So to those of you who are following this, thanks for your patience. ))

How--?

Oooof!

Gosh! I was fighting muggers one minute when I hear Smith call my name, and then the next second, I’m flying across a hospital mediport ward like I’ve been shot from a cannon!

It only takes me a second to realize I’m in Chiron Med Center. I’d heard about the place, but this is the first time I’ve been here. Of course, I’ve only had my mediport patch for about a week and so far, I’ve avoided having to use it. I think that’s pretty good for a rookie. Not that I really need it.

“Hey! You! Don’t move!”

I find my feet and stand up as the guys in white come running up with fire-extinguishers. Seems my back is on fire. I stand still and let them shoot me with their foam (teehee – that sounds dirty!), and when they’re done, I let them check me out (all right, mind out of the gutter).

Of course I know they won’t find anything wrong with me. When one of them says, “Incredible – there’s not a mark on her,” to which another replies, “What are the odds of that?” it only confirms the amazingness of my powers.

One of them tells me, “You’ll have to re-register your abilities, ms.”

I’ve already thought about that. So far, I’ve only registered my martial arts skills, and my archery skills. Self-healing power puts me in a different category altogether. I wonder if I I’m a mutant? Or maybe I stumbled onto some sort of magical thingamajig? I’ve picked up so many odd items over the past few weeks – Tsoo shuriken, Hellion medallions, Circle of Thorns crystals – all sorts of stuff. Who knows what might have triggered my powers?

The doctors and nurses finish buzzing around me and I’m left alone in the mediport ward. Well, almost alone. There’s one male nurse left. (Or maybe he’s an intern. Is there a way to tell?) Tall, blond-haired, with a long, narrow nose and a squarish jaw and cheekbones like a god. He’s cute! And young enough not to be too too old for me. Oh gosh! He’s smiling at me. Wow, he’s got nice teeth. If I weren’t a paragon of virtue, I might hang around and play doctor with him.

“Well…” Yeesh! I sound more like a teenage girl than a superhero. (Note to self: work on the “superhero” voice.) “I guess I should be going.”

His eyes are perfect blue. Dark, like the ocean, not light like the sky. When he talks, it’s like Bate Williams, the singer from Jommy Cross and the Slans, is singing just to me.

“You don’t have to leave,” he says, then looks at his watch. “My shift is over. Give me a minute to change and we can maybe head over to the Hungry Dragon? Have a steak and maybe a drink or two?”

A drink or two?

“But I’m too y—“

Think about it girl…

“But I’m not dressed… I mean my costume…” I point to the scorched fabric on my back.

He nods, understanding, then walks over and opens a panel in the wall. Behind the panel is a huge wardrobe full of clothes.

“It’s pretty common for you guys to come in here with your costumes half-destroyed. We keep a variety of outfits – nice outfits – for our city’s heroes. Can’t have someone like Cobalt Claymore or Soaring Valor walking out of the hospital in rags, you know.”

He pulls out a little black Tomi Dior number and a pair of simple but elegant black pumps. He hands them to me, then points to the ladies room door.

“You can shower in there. Take your time. I’ll wait.”

Wow. Just… wow.

((Things have been hoppin' in Smith's life since the last "Young Love" post. He's made lots of friends and shared lots of adventures, many of them with a beautiful blonde goddess named Cassi Nova. Life seemed ridiculously wonderful for a short while, but then life has a way of suddenly becoming complicated. Ms. Nova fell in love with Smith, even though he is deeply in love with Jessie Eagle.

How or why Cassi Nova has found herself in her current predicament (as described in the following story), only her player knows, but it had a profound effect on my favorite amnesiac teen hero.

Note -- The Mr. Kinsolving referred to is the headmaster of Maggie's Rock, where Smith resides and attends classes.))



"What were you doing? What drove you to do this?"

What am I supposed to say? I hate this. I really hate this. I didn't consider this when I shot an air bubble into my blood stream. The worst I thought could happen would be that I'd die -- not that I'd have to convince a psychiatrist that I'm not suicidal.

"Have you had problems with your girlfriend?"

This doctor doesn't have powers. She's no superhero. Plus she's old. How can she relate to anything I might consider a problem? But still...

"No."

Really. Until a few days ago Jessie and I were so happy together that our friends found it disgusting. I mean, most guys find something to complain about about their girlfriends. Some find lots of things. But not me. She's perfect. Brave. Funny. Beautiful beyond my ability to describe. I'm so lucky that she loves me. She loves me so much that she would give me up to another. It sounds paradoxical, buy you'd have to understand the circumstance.

"I'm entirely happy with Jessie."

Not a lie.

I hate how this doctor just looks at me over her glasses and flips back a couple pages in her notebook. What was it I said fifteen minutes ago that she's relating this to now?

"And you play soccer."

Soccer? Yes, I play soccer, but what does that have to do with anything?

"Yes. I play soccer. My school doesn't have a team, but there's a soccer club in Atlas Park that..."

"And you're a good player?"

"I... I like to think so."

I so do not like to brag on myself, but I'm an excellent striker.

"It's a contact sport."

"Very much so."

"And do you enjoy that aspect of it?"

"Ye-- what?"

What the heck was that about? Whatever. She flips forward through her notebook. I'm ready to just get up and leave, but Mr. Kinsolving said I had to do this.

I could have avoided it if I had told him about Cassi, but I just couldn't. The Kinsolvings love Cassi like a daughter. How could I tell him that she's... What? Possessed by the devil? Which devil? She told me his name was "Ash", but really, which devil is he? Cassi's a daughter of the Amazons. Who is the Satan of Greco-Roman mythology? There's not a direct corelation. Whoever it is seems to have her in his/its thrall until Cassi's true love rescues her. A classic fairy-tale curse. And I don't mean that in jest.

"Tell me... Smith...?"

Every time she says "Smith" she looks back to the front of the notebook to look for my first name, then remembers I don't have one. It's the only part of this whole "counselling" thing that I find at all amusing.

"Tell me, Smith, about your best friend."

"My best friend?"

"Every young man your age has a male companion with which he bonds. Tell me about yours."

Cassi is my best friend. I love her dearly. I admire her strength. Her sense of duty. Her humility. I mean... she's a goddess! She could be so above us all. But as strong and indestructible as she is on the outside, she's struggling and fragile on the inside. She recently broke up with her girlfriend, and though they're still friends, I can tell Cassi's lonely. I wish I could help her. I wish I could find her somebody to love. But, the thing is, Cassi's in love with me.

"My best friend is a girl I know... Cassi Nova."

"Your best friend is a girl?"

She flips back to the soccer page again. Yes. Soccer is a contact sport. Yes that's part of the fun of it. No. I'm not...

"...happy, Mr. Smith?"

"What?"

I wasn't listening.

"Would you describe yourself as happy, Mr. Smith?"

"I... Yes. Yes. I would."

Which until very recently was as true as true could be.

"Then why did you do it? Why did you try to kill yourself?"

Because if you'd heard that devil's voice coming from Cassi's lips, and seen the look on her face which made it look not like her face at all, and if you had heard her when she said she couldn't fight him/it...

"I... I was under stress..."

"Stress."

Gosh. How do I explain this? Yes, I was under stress! Cassi said she is under this... this thing's control until her One True Love -- which in this instance is me -- devotes himself -- myself -- to her entirely, forsaking all others.

Jessie and I talked it out. She told me that if it saved Cassi, she would understand (which only made me love her more). And I tried. I found Cassi and told her that I loved her.

It wasn't a lie. I do love her. I love her very much. She is and will remain my best friend. I am devoted to her in that respect.

But whatever entity that has mastered her knew how I really felt. When pressed, I could not deny my feelings for Jessie.

I could not.

"You got stressed out and used a hypodermic needle to shoot an air bubble into your vein."

Yes. I did.

"Yes. I did."

"What kind of stress were you under? You're not telling me anything about the situation. What were you doing when this... this urge came over you?"

What was I doing? I was ripping out my hair and screaming! Cassi -- or the entity that seemed at that moment to fully possess her -- told me I had failed her. He/it humiliated me. Made me feel helpless. Worse, made me doubt that Cassi could overcome him. I had to do something desperate that would force Cassi to fight -- to exert control if even for a moment. So I took a spare needle from my belt pouch and... well... you know what I did.

It wasn't like it was a huge risk. I knew Cassi could become dominant if only long enough to get me to Jessie. And I knew that Jessie would heal me, though it would take a huge toll on her. But it would be worth it if it showed Cassi she could fight against this thing!

"I can't tell you exactly what was going on and who was involved. I... I just can't. You understand?"

"Of course."

"But I can tell you that I felt utterly defeated. Humiliated. Desperate."

"And this involved a female?"

I nod before I catch myself. And then I don't say anything. Which makes my nod look that much worse!

Oh, do not do that! Don't you dare turn back to the soccer page!

"Have you ever had... feelings... for other boys?"

Argh!

Of course I didn’t really mean it. I believe that no one should ever really be “on your own”. The world is a big, scary place and we all need someone to watch our backs. Which is exactly what I’m doing, anonymously, from a distance.

She’s not really bad, you know. She’s better at the hand-to-hand stuff than I am. And with her weapons -- sword, bow, shuriken – she’s very proficient. But she’s not quite up to the skill level she needs to be at to survive as a costumed adventurer.

I had worried that she would immediately return to that Council base to prove herself. If she had, I was entirely prepared to go to the adults and explain the situation. Perhaps get Mr. Jake involved. But Nita seems to have enough sense to start slowly, with common muggers.

Take the three she’s facing down now. She began with a hail of arrows (she’s using those barbed, venomous arrows like Mrs. Kinsolving uses, which makes me wonder if she hasn’t been raiding other people’s equipment), and now, with two criminals incapacitated, she’s beating the third into submission with her sheathed katana. None of the three had a firearm, only knives.

The mugging victim (a middle-aged lady in a business suit) is doing what she should, staying put on the sidewalk and letting the “hero” do her work.

I’ve been following Nita all week (today I had to skip Trig to do so! Gyah! My grade! My grade!) and I must say she’s been doing rather well. Every time she has faced ranged weapons of any kind, she’s led off with an explosive arrow or a flare, then moved in quickly before the gunmen could recover. It makes me wonder if she has as much faith in her powers as she claims. Probably just as well. Even if she heals herself, I still wouldn’t want to see her take two barrels to the chest.

At this rate she will make a name for herself long before I do. Perhaps she should change her hero name to something besides “…and Jones”. Perhaps I should be her sideki—

Wait… there’s something odd about the mugging victim. I didn’t notice before because the muggers had the woman surrounded, but her shoulders are rather wide, and her jaw very square for a female. And… she’s got an adam’s apple!

I’m not the only one who’s been keeping tabs on Jones!

“Nita!”

She doesn’t hear me!

“Nita!”

The “woman” has a weapon in her hand! I fire off a psi-snipe, but either I miss or it doesn’t have an effect!

“NITA!”

She hears me this time and turns in the direction of my voice. Stupid me! The real threat is to her back now!

The person on the sidewalk raises the weapon and fires! No! The quiver! The explosives! NO!

I see Nita’s Are-you-following-me? scowl. I see the flash. I see the fire.

Then she’s gone.

I’m feeling so awesome. I’m going to be like a female Statesman! I just have to learn what triggers my powers and learn to control that trigger and then I’ll be invincible! But right now I’m ready to give up. My “friends” have already given up. Seems like I’m the only one who believes in me.

“Try it again,” I say. I try not to sound too demanding.

They all look at me. Nobody moves. The golf club and the aluminum baseball bat are leaned against the wall and they’re all just looking at them like they’re afraid to pick them up.

“We’re done,” Jessie Eagle announces like she’s in charge or something.

My anger rises and I say “Aw, come on!”

“Done,” she says again.

“You can be done! The rest of us can keep trying! I don’t need you here anyway! You’re only here to heal me if I get hurt bad and I can do that myself!”

“Then why haven’t you done that yet?”

“Maybe it’s because none of you are really getting into it!”

They all just look at me. I am kinda battered, but nothing serious. I really think it needs to be serious.

I look to CryoJen – the only one who actually took a solid swing at me (and left a huge bruise on my upper arm) – and say, “You can swing at my ribs this time! My head even!”

Jen looks like she’s thinking about it, but a look from her boyfriend, Ben, and she shakes her head, “no”.

“Jessie’s right,” Smith says, “It’s over.”

“What am I supposed to do then? How am I supposed to learn to use my powers?” Gosh, I sound so whiny.

“Do what we should have done to begin with – tell Mr. Kinsolving.”

Smith is so gosh-darned straight-arrow, it’s infuriating.

Ben, the only one of the bunch with any sense about him at all says, “But we’ll be in trouble if we do.”

I hold up my arms to show off the bruises to drive his point home. Jessie, being the smart alec that she is, heals them. I give her a look and she gives me a look, and I swear if I ever get the chance I’m gonna…

But then Smith sighs and I know he’s beginning to weaken, so I decide to not go upside his girlfriend’s head.

“Look,” he says, “this isn’t working. None of us are going to hit you hard enough to cause serious injury.”

I sooo like where I think he’s going with this.

“And I’ve seen you shot, point-blank, only to show no visible signs of a wound just minutes later. I know you have powers…”

Say it! Say we’re a team and we’re going to develop my abilities in real-life combat situations!

“…and I think that only if the threat is real, will they manifest…”

Smithy, you are the most awesome partner ever.

“But you’re on your own. I will not be responsible for you. I will not watch you throw yourself in the line of fire just to prove your powers. Sorry.”

Then he and his friends walk away.

Smith, you #@#$$@%^&&@#!

((Special thanks to LadyA for allowing Smith's girlfriend, Jessie Eagle, to come to the rescue. Thanks for your post, LadyA! ))

I was awake, aware, but there was a disconnect between my brain and my body, I guess even between my brain and my brain. My psi powers, my motor functions – all were shut down. I wanted to rescue Jones and escape, but I was helpless to do so. Sure she was a pest, a meddler, a muddler, but she hardly deserved to die for it.

Why, oh why, of all the lies she could have come up with did she tell him she was unkillable?

When he put that gun to her chest, I felt my mouth go dry. I couldn’t shout. My voice was as incapacitated as the rest of me. I was useless – worse, I was responsible for her being there, at least I felt so at that moment.

I tried to close my eyes as he pulled the trigger, but I could not so much as blink. Jones’ eyes went wide, and if she screamed I didn’t hear it. I didn’t hear anything except the explosion.

The room shook and I swung violently in my chains, which snapped, and sent me crashing into Jones and Verkovian. At the same time the lab’s heavy steel door went flying across the room, taking out most of the Council soldiers and scientists. A cloud of dust and smoke roiled up and I was now not only deafened, but I couldn’t see as well. However, I was surprised to find that I could move now, my mind suddenly clear.

I floundered about trying to find Jones. I had to get her out of there. I couldn’t hear for the loud ringing in my ears.

Then a voice said:

“Come on, Clint! I’ve already got her!”

Now I understood – my mind cleared, my hearing healed. Only Jessie calls me Clint.

With my hearing restored the sounds of chaos flooded my senses. Kit, Jessie’s voltaic pet was wreaking havoc among those Council still standing. And Verkovian was shouting in desperation, “Where is the girl? Did you see if she healed?! Where is she!?!”

I followed Jessie out of the lab and into the corridor. Jones was with her, the flimsy tights she wore for a costume ripped to embarrassing shreds. Despite the impropriety, I found myself checking her nearly naked chest for a gaping bullet wound. There was not one, no doubt thanks to Jessie’s amazing healing powers.

The sharp tak tak tak of boots on concrete told us that reinforcements were on the way. I looked at Jones with the obvious question on my face.

“I’m good. I’m all right,” Jones said.

We ran opposite the direction of the approaching bad guys and headed for the exit. Fortunately most of the Council troops seemed to be deeper into the base; no doubt they headed for the lab before coming after us which bought us more time. The few soldiers we met on the way out were no match for Jessie and me together.

Moments later, we’re here, catching our breath on a beach two hundred yards away from the base entrance. Jones is sitting, shuddering and sobbing. Jessie is squatted next to her and looking up at me worriedly. I kneel next to them.

“It’s all right, Jones,” I say. “I just hope you’ve learned your lesson. Playing superhero is dangerous. If not for the fact that Jessie healed your gunshot wound—“

“But I didn’t heal her.”

I’m sure Jessie’s pulling my leg.

“Sure you did – I saw Dr. Verkovian pull the trigger, point blank…”

“I can’t heal people of ‘death’ you know.”

Jones stops shaking and looks up at me. “You mean…”

I knew where she is heading, but I really don’t want to hear it. More, I don’t want to admit that it’s the only explanation.

“You mean… I really do have a healing factor?”

I really want to tell her she’s mistaken, but all I do is stammer.

“Wow!” she says, all traces of fear now gone and forgotten, “I really am a superhero! Awesome!”

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

I mean, I came prepared – flare arrows, net arrows, napalm arrows, C-4 arrows, two rapiers – but how does all that help you when like ten bad guys sneak up on you from behind. (And come to think of it, how did ten of them sneak up on me? It’s like they just… appeared.)

I really, really regret that I screamed. Not only because I embarrassed myself, but also because, well, it’s just not intimidating, y’know?

Also, I’m reeeeaaally having second thoughts about having Smith for a partner. When he came running down the corridor toward where all these big guys had pinned me down while they stripped me (weapon-wise, not my clothes – perv!) I figured we would team up and kick some bad guy butt!

But you know, I’m starting to think maybe Smith’s just not that good.

He came charging in and those guys dropped me and were on him like a pack of wild dogs. And then more came from behind him and I knew he was in over his head. His psi powers took a few of them down, and he was able to cloud the minds of a couple so that they wound up hitting each other, but there were so many… I focused my chi and joined the fight with only my fists.

Now we’re hanging on chains from the ceiling. Smith’s half-unconscious because they have to keep his mighty brain-blasts disabled. I’ve been awake the whole time of course because without my weapons and with my hands and feet bound, I’m not that much of a threat.

We’ve both been jabbed with needles and scanned with scanners and looked over by these weirdo Council scientists like we’re lab mice. This really skinny, gaunt one with grey hair and a Hitler mustache seems to be in charge. His name is Verkovian.

One of the under-scientists says, “He is more than baseline meta-human, but what else he may be we cannot ascertain.”

To which Verkovian replies, “What about the girl?”

All right. Go ahead and say it. Go ahead and say, “She’s nothing special. Just a girl. Just a normal girl.”

“She’s definitely baseline meta.”

What?

Verkovian comes over and looks at me like I’m an Aldomicci handbag and he’s got no credit limit.

“Meta…”

I’m – what?

“What kind of powers do you have, child?”

How am I supposed to answer that? I didn’t even know I had powers until now! What am I supposed to say? “I don’t know?” That would sound stupid. So I make something up. Something that sounds awesome and intimidating.

“I… um… have a healing factor.”

Verkovian points to the puncture marks on my arms where they had taken blood samples.

“What about those,” he asks, “why aren’t they healed?”

Think. Think.

“Because… um… it’s like there has to be like… a certain percentage of… um… damage.”

That sounded unconvincing, and now that I think of it, maybe a little stupid…

“Oh?”

Verkovian smiles and says, “You may be exactly what I am looking for. A self-healer. Unkillable. Someone with a talent for dying.”

Then he turns to this Council soldier and holds his hand out. When the soldier hands his sidearm over to Verkovian, I start to really worry.

Then he puts the gun against my chest and squeezes the trigger…

((Haven't had time to update. This is a bump. ))

I’ve been avoiding these guys, at least when I’m by myself. Jessie seems to think I’m plenty good enough now to take them on, but I’m not so sure. Maybe it’s just their reputation and their commitment to their cause. Or maybe it’s the fact that they employ the use of monsters in their assaults on Paragon City.

Either way, the Council is nothing to take lightly.

My friend Ben assures me that their vampires at least aren’t really supernatural creatures, but I’m not taking any chances. I’ve got cloves of garlic in my utility belt. For the werewolves, I’m carrying with me a silver dagger. Foolish, maybe, but I believe in being responsibly prepared.

The guards at the base entrance were neither sub- nor super-human. They were just Nebula soldiers. I considered activating the stealth functions of my uniform, but I figured I’d have to come out through the same entry point, and even if I did stealth my way in, then I’d still have this Dr. Verkovian to get out past them. My amazing mind snipe takes care of them both.

“Labyrinthine” – it’s a good word for Council bases. Not that I’ve been in that many. I’ve just heard about them. Several of my classmates and teachers have had adventures that took them to places such as this. But the twisting and turning makes it easy to sneak about, and if the doctor has any talent at all for being quiet, we should be able to get escape with minimal confrontations.

I probably should have brought the Alpha Teen Mega Meta Force with me (actually, the name changes every time we get together – we being Cassi, Skye, Metamite, and me – it’s just fun to think of us as some sort of super group), but a quick “locate and grab” is more easily accomplished solo (at least, I think so). The first few hundred feet of tunnels and rooms go smoothly, and so my decision to come alone is vindicated. I’ve seen only twelve Council troops in here – not an overwhelming number, not so many that I couldn’t fight my way out if I have to. But I’m hoping I don’t have to.

I turn a corner, and find myself in some sort of laboratory. There he is, two guards with only side-arms standing over him. I double-check the photo I was given to be sure, and then it’s time for my amazing mi—

That sound I hear is an alarm. They know I’m here, but… how? No time to ponder that now! No time for stealth either!

I go ahead and charge right in, taking a handful of sand out of a pouch on my belt and tossing it into the eyes of the first guard. I position myself so that both he and the doctor are between me and the second guard and throw several quick blows to his solar plexus. (And believe me, I haven’t forgotten how that feels.) He’s down on one knee trying not to retch, so I move on to the second guard. I hate fighting in close quarters. It involves using my powers not so much to addle or render my foe unconscious – I have to use them in a way that could possibly cause serious physical injuries.

It’s not so much that I think these fellows don’t deserve such abuse – I’m quite sure they do – it’s just that I’m afraid that some day I might really seriously injure someone. Disable someone permanently. Kill someone.

I use my TK to slam the second guard into the wall – hard! That doesn’t make him drop his gun so I do it again, except harder. When he starts to get up, I do it a third time. This time he stays put.

I grab the doctor by the sleeve of his jacket and say, “C’mon, I’m here to rescue you.”

Normally, when you rescue someone from a criminal organization they do their best to keep up (some succeed more so than others), but Dr. Verkovian jerked loose and said, “Did Vahzilok send you!? No matter! I serve the Center!”

Yeah, like that, like he’s some sort of madman.

Then he disappeared through a hidden door.

Aaaand now it occurs to me that maybe those guards weren’t guards after all, but rather assistants.

Forget him. The alarms are still sounding. I activate my stealth and rush toward the exit. The soldiers in the base are scurrying about like ants when their nest is disturbed. They’re looking for me, but hopefully, I’ll be out of the base before it occurs to them to use something besides their eyes to look.

And there it is – the exit. The two guards I took out are being assisted up by two more soldiers. I think I can get to the door and out before they realize what’s happening…

That’s when I hear a girl scream.

Star Strider Forces Registry
Name: Roy "HEROID" Kirby
Global Contact: @Heroid
Level of Classification: 50
Origin: Tech
Super Rank & Super Group: Leader of the Other Guys

Star Strider Forces Registry
Name: Blitz
Global Contact: @Heroid
Level of Classification: 24
Origin: Science
Super Rank & Super Group: Student at Maggie's Rock

That was awesome! I totally saved him!

Of course, he’s a boy and would never admit it, let alone thank me for it. But I did. I saved him.

Okay, maybe my approach was a tad off (and maybe my aim was too, a little), but if I put an extra hour a day into training, I should get even better than I already am!

I suppose I really should go to city hall and register and get my medi-port patch and all that, but then I couldn’t be mysterious. And I want to be mysterious. I want build up the suspense and have the newsboys shout my name – oh, wait… they can’t shout my name if I’m incognito. Ah well, then I want them to shout out, “Who IS this Mystery Girl!?!”

And then after everyone is wondering who she is, I’ll go some place very public (and make sure the media is present) then I’ll whip off the mask, and say, “It’s just little ol’ me – Nita Jones! One half of the totally terrific duo, Smith and Jones!"

You still don’t get the name thing?

Whatever.

But he’s going to have to get over this ego thing. I mean… sidekick? Sidekick? If it was anybody else, I’d be really miffed.

But he’ll learn. I just have to be patient. And train. Lots of training.

By next week, I should be ready for anything.

Anything.

Gyah! Somebody shoot me!

Whoa – put away the gun there, it was just a figure of speech.

You know, I’m still new at all this hero stuff. It’s not like I have a reputation or anything. Say, “Here comes Smith,” to Frostfire and I guarantee he will not start shaking in his boots.

As I’m making my way back home to the Rock, I’m trying to sort this out. I’m not Statesman. I’m not Ascendant. Heck, I’m not even Encharger. Why in the world would someone…?

What’s that? To what am I referring? Let me tell you about my night.

It was a rare homeworkless evening. I probably should have used the free time to bone up on my Trig (I’m making a C in that class), but Jessie (my girlfriend) was busy with her dad (Commander Smersh) and I hate studying by myself (bo-ring). So I decided to go out and adventure a bit. (By “adventure” I mean heroing.)


Talos Island is my current project. The Tsoo and the Warrior situation is always on the verge of erupting into a full-scale gang war. The Warriors are an interesting bunch, well-trained and somewhat idealistic in a twisted sort of way. Too bad they use their lofty aspirations to rationalize some of he most brutal malfeasance in the city. And besides that, you have the Freakshow, a bizarre gang, whose members wield incredible power and are all pretty much insane.

About twenty minutes into my patrol, I happened upon a few Freakshow vandalizing cars in the hospital parking lot; two doing the actual vandalizing, and one standing at lookout. I never question the motivations of Freaks -- as I said, they’re insane – I just try to stop them from doing whatever it is they’re doing. I know better than to engage them physically, and so I dashed down a nearby alley where some dumpsters afforded me a cover from which to stage my attack.

Utilizing my amazing mind snipe, I took down the lookout. The other two didn’t notice him drop, so I decided to try it again. These two were just a bit further away than the lookout had been, and that short bit of extra distance robbed my mind snipe of some of its effectiveness. Instead of rendering my target unconscious, it just gave him a mild headache and pissed him off.

So now I had two angry Freaks charging toward me. To make matters worse, the lookout Freak was getting back up!

(I hate when I miss a shot.)

I turned to race away but somehow, for some reason, a group of Tsoo was performing a summoning at the far end of the alley.

My backup plan? Hold my breath until I fainted so that my mediport patch would take me to the hospital.

Just kidding. I’m a swimmer and somewhat of an athlete, so it would take longer to pass out from holding my breath than it took for the Freakshow to close the distance between us.

I did figure on my mediport patch getting activated pretty soon though.

Suddenly –

(Now I know when something unexpected happens rather quickly people use the word “suddenly”, and it’s used so often that, in my opinion, anytime it turns up in a retelling of any kind, it’s almost a cliché. But what else can you use? After all, “abruptly” and “unexpectedly” do not communicate quite the same idea.)

Suddenly, out of nowhere (yes, another cliché, I know) an arrow came flying toward the closest of the Freaks. It deflected off of the large metal pincer that served for his arm and ricocheted my way, drawing blood as it nicked my right ear.

The three Freaks and I all turned toward the source of the arrow. Standing on the top of a delivery van parked not far away was a girl dressed in black tights and a ninja mask. She held in her hand a common hunting bow such as you would find at any sporting goods store, and on her side she wore a sheathed katana sword.

“You could have put my eye out!” Yes, she had interrupted the for certain kicking of my behind, and all I did was shout at her.

I think she said, “Sorry,” and then drew her sword and leapt into charge on the alley.

The Freakshow left me and gave their attention to her. The sword was out of her hand before she had a chance to use it. Clearly she was a rookie (even more so than I) and I couldn’t let them kill her. There was no time for a prolonged fight. I had to do something desperate. I chose the lightest of the Freaks and telekinetically shoved him down the alley and into the middle of the Tsoo summoning ceremony.

Now the alley was full of both Freaks and ninjas and ninja sorcerers. The result was complete confusion. I grabbed the rookie and pulled her out of the alley. I clasped her hand tightly as we ran across the parking lot and up the hospital steps. Once we were safely inside, I said:

“What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

With the ninja mask, all I could see was her eyes.

“I was backing you up,” she said.

“If I need backup, I’ll call for real backup.” (Usually, I’m much nicer than that when dealing with people.)

“I am real backup. I saved you didn’t I?”

“Saved me? I came out of that scrap with only one injury – and you caused it!” I touched the wound on my ear and showed her the blood on my fingers to drive my point home.

“That was an accident,” (and at least in my imagination, I thought she looked a bit repentant under the mask), “And I still got you out of that situation.”

I looked her over. She was skinny. I’m surprised she had the strength to draw her bowstring.

“Are you hurt?” I asked.

“No.”

I looked her over again.

“Do you even have a mediport patch?”

“No.”

“Gosh! Are you crazy?”

“No,” she said, and at this point I could swear she was smiling under there. “I’m your partner.”

“But I don’t need a sidekick.”

“I didn’t say ‘sidekick’. I said ‘partner’.”

But before I could finish my question, she gave me a punch to the solar plexus, and while I was incapacitated, she ran out the door, and I haven’t seen her since.

But… a sidekick!

Somebody shoot me.

The Rock is not a huge school, attendance-wise. I wouldn’t call it “elite” either. As far as I know, Ms. Love and her staff have never turned away a student in need, either of a home or of an education.

It offers a “diverse course of study, with the normal subjects that one would find in any public school, but with special classes for students with special needs”, which is wordiness for “we’re mainly a school for kids with super powers”. Inasmuch as I can tell, Mr. Kinsolving, the headmaster tries to integrate the student body as best as he can, mixing classes to suit individual abilities and learning levels, going so far as to allow the “normal” kids to take the “special” classes so long as the class poses no threat to the student or vice versa.

My name is Anita Jones – Nita, they call me – and I’m a “normal”.

I wound up at the Rock after my parents were killed in some place called “Firebase Zulu”. I don’t know what that is, exactly. My parents were U.S. Marines, not superheroes. They weren’t supposed to both be in a combat zone at the same time. Then again, it’s like my mom used to say, “What part of Paragon City is not a combat zone? “ According to witnesses, they were zapped into nonexistence by a giant floating eyeball.

What’s that? Why didn’t I leave Paragon City and go live with my mom’s aunt in West Virginia? Duh. West Virginia. Hellooo.

So Ms. Love made a place for me here.

I’m not one of the Popular kids. Oh no. For that you really have to be not normal. What I’m saying is, you have to have powers. That’s not an official policy, and I’m pretty sure Mr. Kinsolving and Ms. Love take a dim view of that kind of classifying people, but let’s face it – in this town, having powers is like being a football star at a high school in any other city in the U.S.A.

So, like I said, I’m not one of the Popular kids.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t say I wasn’t popular -- just that I’m not one of the Populars. There’s a difference. Everybody knows that.

I take Advanced Pys Ed, one of the “special” subjects. Ms. Collette Valliant used to teach it. She’s on a leave of absence and now they have “guest” (as in, superhero) teachers come in, which is cool. It’s not what you’d call an “accredited” class, anyway. And sometimes they don’t let me participate, due to the fact that they’re afraid I might get injured during something like a “rooftop jumping” class (which looks really fun).

There’s this boy in that class named Smith. I know you’re expecting me to finish that sentence with, “… and I have a crush on him.” Well, I don’t. Not at all. For one thing, he’s got a girlfriend, Jessie Eagle, one of the most popular of the Populars. Heck, he doesn’t know it, but he’s probably got two girlfriends, if you ever notice how that Cassi Nova looks at him.

So, no, I don’t have a crush on him. Never entertained the thought. He’s too skinny for me anyway. (Now that Jericho Stone… meow! Oh, wait – he’s married. Can you believe that!?)

The thing with Smith is the name.

Get it? Smith? And my name is Jones? See? It’s perfect.

Smith & Jones.

You don’t get it? Well, I’m not going to spell it out.

So here am I, taking Advanced Phys Ed. I’m learning fencing, Tai Kwon Do, archery – all sorts of stuff like that. And I’m getting pretty darned good at it.

And when I’m ready, Smith is going to have a new partner for his extracurricular adventures. Criminals everywhere will learn to fear the team of “Smith and Jones”!

And I’ll become a Popular.

It’s been five months since I woke up in that Creycare clinic in Independence Port with nothing but the clothes on my back, a note, white hair, and a case of amnesia. Wild when I think about it. Five months, and I still don’t have any memories of my past, just vague impressions of living by the sea, probably on an island.

But why should I worry about my past? My present is great! I’m going to a great school (I mean, for an orphanage – can’t let Ms. Love hear me call it that! – the Rock is pretty darned awesome!). I’m becoming semi-popular. I’m dating the prettiest girl in school. I’ve joined the Liberty Soccer Club in Atlas Park.

Oh, and I’ve got superpowers. That means I get to hang out with the Superheroes.

In Paragon City, if you’re not a superhero, you’re a victim. Simple as that. The only thing there are more of in this town than superheroes are Bad Guys, and the bad guys are always out to get you. Don’t get me wrong – the bad guys go after the superheroes too, but the superheroes can do something about it. If you’re just a regular run-of-the-mill human being, then you’re pretty much out of luck. Unless a superhero comes along to save you.

That’s what I do.

I’m not much for capes and masks mind you. Don’t see much point in hiding your identity when a decent private eye could probably figure it out anyway. Capes and masks are a vanity thing, I think. They make for a dashing figure and look good on CNN. I wear body armor made of some sort of synthetic material that refracts light and makes me hard to see. It’s got some bullet-proofing also. (Though probably the proper term would be “bullet-resistance” since those things still sting like H-E-double hockey sticks.) For the record, my body armor is somewhat form-fitting and stylish, and would also look good on CNN, but it’s functional and that’s the main thing.

Back to what I do. I’m a superhero. Yes, me, the Boy with No Name, alias, Smith.

I chose the name Smith because, at the time, I was a bit irritated with the superhero registrar. The note in my pocket told me that I had been given powers, that I would know instinctively how to use them (which had proven true) and that I should immediately look into registering as a superhero – that if I did that, it would open doors for me, which, in fact, it did. The registrar seemed to think my name should be something like “Psi-gun” or “Mento-blast” or something silly like that which would lend itself well to licensing.

“So, what is your name going to be, then?” the registrar said, obviously frustrated at my refusal of a colorful name.

“Smith,” I said.

“Smith?”

“It’s an alias.”

"What's th' matter, kid?"

Smith (no first name -- it's an alias) looked up from his textbook to see Mr. Kirby towering over him.

"What makes you think something's wrong?" Smith asked.

"Well, either somethin's buggin' ya, 'r yer practicin' readin' upsides down."

Smith glanced down at his history book and, yes, indeed it was upside down. He really wasn't studying -- he needed a quiet place to think, and had come to the meditation garden in Maggie's Rock for that very reason. That it was Mr. Kirby who was interrupting his ponderation was particularly irksome. He had heard about the school's head of security and his "advice". He seemed to think that all teenagers were slaves to their raging hormones, and worse -- the big man couldn't bring himself to talk about sex outright. Mr. Kirby was known for the most inappropriate euphamisms imaginable.

Smith smiled pleasantly as he crafted a lie that might send the unwanted company on his way.

"I'm meditating, sir. An upside down book is sort of like 'white noise' in that respect -- it helps you clear away unwanted sensory stimulations."

Mr. Kirby's posture straightened and his chest puffed out, and Smith knew that he had somehow said the wrong thing.

"Well, kid, lemme tell ya," Mr. Kirby began (and Smith realized that his plight was now hopeless; he was about to experience the wisdom of the mighty HEROID first hand), "Sounds ta me like meditatin' ain't gonna fix yer perdictament. I mean... sensual stimulation... Yer gonna have ta... How kin I put this?... Yer gonna have ta take yer problem in hand so ta speak."

"Wait, sir -- I think you --"

"I think I git where yer comin' from kid. I wuz a young'un once m'self. An' lemme tell ya, when yer yer age an' ya got all these perty girls around, yeah, it can git ta yer head an' make ya misfire, if ya know what I mean."

Smith had no idea what he meant, and didn't want to think about it.

"What I mean is -- yer thinkin' 'bout some girl ya like, an' next thing ya know, yer math class is half over an' ya didn't even know ya wuz in th' classroom."

"Well, I --"

"But I'm gonna tell ya a secret kid -- one that got me all th' way through eleventh grade. Ya don't need no washin' machine ta do yer laundry."

"What?"

"Ya don't. It's like ships. Ya don't wanna mess up a fine ocean liner on 'er maiden voyage -- ya kin just work with a tugboat 'til yer a little older."

"Wait.. what?"

"Jus' remember -- NASA don't launch a rocket everyday, an' you don't need ta neither. Temperment in all things, jus' like Ben Franklin said."

"What?"

"What's 'er name, kid?"

"Whose name?"

Smith tried to make sense out of the conversation, but he couldn't. He had a vague feeling that he should be uncomfortable, embarrassed, even offended, but mostly, he was just befuddled. That's why her name slipped out of his lips before he could shut his mouth.

"Jessie."

"Wait... Jessie Eagle?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ya mean yer sittin' here havin' desirable thoughts 'bout li'l Jessie?"

"Well, sir, she's fift--"

"I knowed her since she wuz a runt! An' yer havin' impure ideas about her?"

"No! I -- we -- I mean she's my -- We're just dating!"

"Lissen, kid. I'm gonna give ya one las' piece o' advice. If ya make a move on 'er. If ya... try an'... an'... well, y' know what ya better not try! 'Cause if ya try it, well... I don't wanna make no outright threats here, 'cause I'm givin' ya th' benefit o' th' doubt, but her poppa Smersh, her Uncle Shinsekter, an' me, well... we don't take kindly ta nobody messin' with our Jessie. Got that?"

Now it made sense. Mr. Kirby thought that he was going to try to...

Smith stood up straight and tall so that he could come as close to eye level with Mr. Kirby as he possibly could.

He looked up at the big man and said, "My feelings for Jessie are my business, and my thoughts about her are my own."

The veins in Mr. Kirby's neck began to stand out.

Smith continued calmly and confidently, "I understand that there are many here who love her and are concerned for her welfare and future well-being -- I among them -- but she can't be treated as if she is a helpless child. She's been in the thick of mortal combat. She's seen things that other girls her age could not imagine -- demons, alien monsters, evil warlords -- and fought them and won. Don't you think she can handle any unwanted advances from a bantamweight like me?"

Mr. Kirby scowled down at him for a moment and Smith was sure he was about to be clouted. Instead the scowl gave way to a big grin, and Kirby clapped a huge paw down across Smith's shoulder.

"Ya know, kid -- yer all right."

Smith almost collapsed from the force of the pat, but managed to stay on his feet and stammer out, "Thank you, sir."

"Yeah," Kirby said with a laugh, "Yer all right. Don't gotta kill ya after all."

Smith relaxed and when Mr. Kirby turned to leave, he sat back down beside his book.

"Kid?"

Smith gave Kirby his attention again.

"Yes, sir?"

"Some free advice -- don't try that 'standin' up like a man' thing with Shin -- he'll cut yer legs off at th' knees."

June 14, 2008

Dear Diary,

First off, I swear to never try to self-medicate again. It didn't work. It just made things worse and now Gina won't talk to me and people look at me like they wonder what I'm going to do next. It's like I'm a one-girl Dawson's Creek or something.

Ah well. I guess I can't blame them. The meds reacted with the chemicals in my body that give me my powers and made me a little nutso. As if I wasn't a little nutso already. But when you do something to lose someone's trust, you have to win it back. I just need to quit doing those kinds of things over and over. I'm finding out there's a big difference between leading a cheer and leading a mutual survival group. It's not the words you say that inspire others to keep going, to reach the goal -- it's your actions.

At least Lily is talking to me again. Things are still tense, but they're going to get better.

It's good to be keeping a journal again. I don't know what drove me to throw it away like I did. I felt rejected by my friends and my girlfriend and like there was no hope for me. It was like I wasn't really the same person who had started the journal, and I didn't like the person I was becoming.

But today I got to do something that made me feel like, yeah, my situation's changed, but I'm still me, and maybe the universe isn't against me after all. Maybe it's even just a little on my side.

There was this man, and he talked to a certain person that I sometimes do errands for and he needed this young guy kidnapped and brought to him safely. So this certain person I do errands for sent me a message that he wanted me to do it because -- and these are his words -- "You care wether or not a 'package' arrives in good shape." Which means that some people he hires for errands don't care if a kidnap victim gets killed or something when they're trying to take them.

I needed help (and I thought it was just a good excuse for us to be together without *being together*) so I asked Lily to help me. She's street smart and stuff and pretty soon, she found out where someone matched the young guy's description was hiding out.

It figures! We almost killed him while breaking into his hide-out!?! The blast of heat Lily used to finish off the door blinded him! If he had been any closer, it might have fire-flashed him into a pile of ashes!

So, anyway, I used my powers to cool him off and help him feel better. (Lily said some really rude stuff while I was doing this, too! It made me mad, but I figured she owed it to me for the whole going nutso thing.) And then as we were getting ready to leave, he asks this question:

"WHAT COLOR IS YOUR SKIN?"

I thought, Wow.

Then he asked me again, and I told him, "Blue."

Then he got this -- angelic is the word that comes to mind, like he'd had an epiphany or something -- look on his face and says, "I have something for you."

And then he handed me the diary that I threw into the ocean!

Gosh! You know, stuff like this just doesn't happen! It's like there's really a god or something. Maybe I need to talk to that nun.

So anyway, it turns out that the man who wanted this young guy kidnapped was his father who was a big mucky muck in the Family, but had somehow ticked off Recky-poo and now the Spiders were after him. Something about shooting a couple of them. So the daddy and the mom were going to amscray to Europe and send the boy in a different direction because if the long legs of Arachnos caught the parents, they at least wanted their son to live.

Pretty good parents for mobsters, if you ask me.

But their son didn't want to be separated from them. His eyesight had returned and he made this whole big scene and Lily and I just kinda stood there and looked around the room while the family did the drama thing.

Then the father did this weird thing. He pulled out this big hypo and stuck his kid in the arm with it. The kid just sort of went veg. He collapsed and his father caught him and laid him down. Then he gave us our pay for retrieving his kid and offered to double it if we could get the kid to Paragon City.

Seems that that's about the only place where the father felt like Arachnos wasn't strong enough to find his son. He told us the kid would wake up soon enough and that we'd better get going. He jotted down some stuff on a note and stuck it in his son's pocket, then he gave us all our money. It was a lot.

Well, usually I go to Paragon City to make "bank withdrawals" but this time, Lily and I went on a mission of mercy. We put on some nondescript street clothes and paid a little of that money to get on a little fishing boat that could get us to Port Indy. After the hospital turned us away -- seems like they had their hands full with all the capes coming in -- we found the next best thing: A Creycare clinic. I took out that note and jotted down a couple more things that I thought might help him when he woke up.

Now I have my old diary locked away in a safe place and I'm starting a new one. I think writing this stuff down keeps me sane. Better than meds do anyway.

I just hope that boy makes out all right in the big city.

"Don't you think that was overkill? The poor thing -- you probably scared him to death."

The voice was soft and young and vibrant and feminine and full of caring.

"F___ it. You do things your way, and I'll do things mine."

The second voice -- also feminine -- was hard, and though it was also young-sounding, had an underlying courseness that spoke of whiskey and tobacco and the back rooms of pool halls.

Mick lay in the darkness and waited for the lights to come on. His eyes hurt and his face burned and after a few moments he remembered the fireball that had erupted through the doorway and wondered if the lights would ever come on again. At this point he wasn't even sure if his eyes were closed or open, so he just tried to remain motionless and listened as the two females chatted between themselves as if he wasn't there.

They were there to "collect" him for a "client". He was supposed to be collected in good condition. This was a point of dispute as the soft-voiced one thought that "good condition" meant uninjured while the course-voiced one thought that it meant simply "still breathing".

"Be still," the soft-voice said, though Mick wasn't sure she meant him until a cool hand touched his blistered forehead.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Sometimes we forget that civillians can get hurt by our actions."

"Whatever," the other one said, then with an audible smirk added, "Why don't you give him a ____ ___, that would make him feel better."

The temperature of the hand on his head dropped considerably at the remark, but then returned to a comforting cool.

"Don't mind her. She's..." The sentence ended with a sigh.

The course voice muttered something that Mick was sure was full of expletives and brokeness.

There was something between the two females -- a soured friendship? something more? -- that seemed familiar to Mick. He almost felt as if he should know them. He worked up his courage to speak.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"Friends."

"Yeah. Right."

"My name's Mick."

"I know."

"Your name will be mud if you don't get your [censored] off the floor and come with us."

"That's enough!"

"You carry him then."

Without further prompting Mick struggled to his feet, the soft-voiced one's cool hands helping him up. There was still no hint of his sight returning, so as soon as he stood, he put out his hands to feel his way around. His right hand touched something soft.

"Why you, smarmy little perv..." the course voice said. "I'll kill you for that!"

"Stop! He didn't mean to! Can't you see?" Here the soft voice paused for a moment and he could feel cold breath on his face.

"See what? That he's getting his jollies by groping you?"

"No... that he's blind."

"I'm still not going to carry him."

"I'll help him along."

"Fine, but if you two don't keep up, I'm going to leave you to the Spider patrol that was heading this way."

A cold hand clasped around his shoulder and pulled him close to a soft, chilly body.

"Come on. She doesn't bluff and if you're as hot an item as we were told, I'll need her backup."

Suddenly Mick's mind cleared even if his vision hadn't.

"Wait," he said to the soft-voiced, cold-handed one, "What color is your skin?"

Mick crouched in the back of the abandoned bunker. Sounds like thunder from beyond the blast door caused him to flinch uncontrollably with every resounding boom. Someone had discovered him -- probably followed him during his last excursion to the dumpster behind the Blue Cafe -- and had called the Informant Hotline. Suspicious behavior among people with powers was monitored. Suspicious behavior among normals was squelched.

He wrapped himself in his threadbare blankets and awaited the inevitable, clutching the diary to his chest.

A teenage girl's diary. Such a small, seemingly insignificant thing. There were probably millions of them in the world, most penned by mundane girls living mundane lives, writing mundane entries. But this girl was different. She was blue. She was beautiful. She had powers. She was somebody. Whatever fate he met, he deserved. She had tried to dispose of the book in the surf. He had retrieved it and violated her privacy, negated her intentions. If a couple of Wolf Spiders crashed through that blast door and killed him, it was his own doing.

And what had he to live for? The day the two men from Y.I.K.E.S. had visited his home, he had lost everything he had ever known. He had charged out of his room, leapt up, and kicked one of them in the head. If the man's head had been a soccer ball, it would have been the best kick Mick had ever done. He had followed through by grabbing the diary out of the man's hand. After that he had run out the door, leaving his mother and father to face the remaining agent. The sharp report of gunfire told him all he needed to know. For two weeks he had lived in this bunker, living out of dumpsters and drinking collected rainwater.

He had finished reading the journal. The blue girl had high ideals -- ideals viral enough to spark a "youth movement" in the Isles. Lord Recluse might be an absolute dictator, but most of the soldiers of Arachnos still had children. In the loneliness of his solitude, her words had inspired him.

The worst part of it all was that now Arachnos knew about her. They would be watching her. If she stepped out of line, the wrath of Lord Recluse would come down on her and her friends and that, too, would be his fault.

The thunder beyond the door continued.

Mick turned to the back of the diary, where the "subversive" entries started. He ripped out a page, stuffed it into his mouth and started chewing. He almost choked when he tried to swallow it, but then remembered the plastic bottle of rainwater at his side. He drank a sip then ripped out another page. Then another. And another.

Even through the blankets he had snuggly wrapped around him, he could feel the temperature dropping. The blast door now alternately glowed red, then darkened and radiated cold. Then with a final boom, and a metallic groan, the door crumpled and fell off its hinges.

There were men in the house. Mick heard the voices as he woke up out of a dreamful sleep. He lay still with his eyes closed, listening, trying to hear what they were saying.

Father: Of course I understand, but do you really think this is neccessary?

Male Voice 1: He is young, and at an impressionable age. This is for his own good.

Mother: But when I called, I thought...

Male Voice 2: You thought what, Mrs. Heller? That your son told you the truth in that he had not read this insurrectionist drivel? His very denial is proof of his guilt.

Male Voice 1: We must take him in for questioning. I can assure you he will not be harmed. We merely wish to find out what he knows about this subversive youth group, and to show him that Lord Recluse is most forgiving and understanding of the idealism of youth.

Father: And to turn him into one of you?

Mother: But if it is for his own good...

Male Voice 1: Mr. Heller, I assure you, the best interest of your family is all we are concerned about here.

Father: And if we don't cooperate?

Male Voice 2: It could go very badly for all of you. Your business could suffer. Your son could lose any chance he might have to move on to higher academia.

Father: *sigh* What do you have in mind then?

Male Voice 1: Our Benevolent Lord Recluse, in his far-sighted wisdom, has set up an organization to help troubled young people -- the Youth Initiative for Knowledge, Enlightenment, and Skill-building.

Father: Yikes!

Male Voice 2: Exactly.