2.17

“...Promise we are doing our utmost to respond to the threat these creatures pose, and we have made valuable strides in ending this once and for all. Any other questions?” Rory asks, decked out in Shield Warrior garb, standing up on a podium in one of the larger rooms in the USMC tower.

I’d tell him to loosen up a bit, but I’m not actually in the same room with him. Instead, I’m laying on the couch in our living area while the others go out and do a press conference or whatever.

I yawn. I’ve been torn between thinking of my leave as a good or a bad thing, but at the very least I’ve found I don’t do very well sitting on my ass. There’s only so much banging my head against the wall with that notebook I can do before I start going crazy.

Thankfully, I’ve got an appointment with one of the power technicians in about fifteen minutes.

Maybe I’ll get there early, beat up some of the test dummies they have lying around. I roll off the couch, dropping the remote onto the table and stumbling over to the elevator just outside. The normal one, this time.

I step in, press the button, and sleepily push past the knot in my stomach as I descend. It’s only as the doors open on the lower floors with a ding that I realize I’m still in my slippers.

Whatever. The walk to the testing grounds isn’t too long, and as much as I get some odd stares, no one stops me or anything. Even if they don’t know me personally, I think I catch a couple of them staring into — at, I guess, my eyes.

It’s almost enough to make me regret choosing an appearance that’s so flashy.

Too late now, anyway. I want help with my powers, but I don’t want to tell the techs everything. It feels disadvantageous, somehow.
The hall gets quieter as I approach the testing areas, and finally I reach one at the end that’s occupied.

Sort of. It’s just the one tech. The same one I saw earlier in my stay, actually.

I suppress a sigh. At least he’ll be succinct?

I knock on the glass sliding door, and he whips his head around. He blinks, waves, and fumbles with something in his coat before the door slides open with a whoosh.

Stepping inside, I notice he’s looking a little more haggard than usual.
“Yo. I’m here for a, uh. Consultation?” I say.

“Ah, yeah, it’s you. You’ve been a real pain in the ass for me, y’know?”

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing. Uh, I’ve got a couple new notes here, and a new classification, but did you have anything… specific you wanted to talk about?”

I huff. “Yeah. I need something calorie dense. It helps accelerate my healing.”

“Mhm, that checks out.” It does? “I can check with shipping and manufacturing, get back to you within a couple days. Anything else?”

Nothing I want to share with him. “You said something about a new… classification?”

“Oh, yeah. Congratulations, you’re officially a… class A-4XOX!” He says sarcastically. “The other guys think you’re a snowball, but I’m not so sure.”

“Snowball? How — okay, where are you getting all this? We met once.” I point out.

“All your movements as a member of the USMC are recorded, didn’t you know? No privacy for government jobs, heh.” He glances at the ceiling. “Oh, and uh, a snowball is a super whose powers increase in scale exponentially. It’s a colloquial thing. Snowball, cardhouse, mad scientist, y’know. They’re not official terms, but, well…”

He reaches over to his desk and pulls out a folder. “Here’s your reclassification papers, it should give you an idea of what I mean. Now, if there isn’t anything else?”

I take the folder. “...You think I’m a snowball?”

“Ha!” The tech barks. “No, the other guys in the lab do! I think it’s way too unlikely. The last real snowball we had was, god, Everyman, maybe? If you’re a snowball, I’ll eat my own hat.”

“You don’t have a hat.”

“I’m hedging my bets,” he says, half-winking like he doesn’t quite know how to do it. “Anyway, I have to get back to work. See ya, champ,” he says, standing and walking out of the testing chamber.

I open the folder. There’s a couple different files, most of which detail how I’ve used my powers since I joined the USMC, and the rest suggesting new methods to try.

I don’t even remember half of this stuff. I try to suppress the urge to glance at the ceiling.
I snap the folder shut and leave the testing room. I think I might need to be more careful.

—

The next few days are spent. Just spent. I work on the worksheets assigned to me, I jam in the corner with my guitar, I stare out at the concrete jungle laid out below the tower, tracing the circular line of impenetrable walls bordering this small patch of civilization.

I don’t take out the notebook. I have no idea whether they know about it, but it hasn’t been confiscated yet, and whenever I think about taking another look I can’t escape the feeling of being caught red-handed.

Instead, I’ve been subtly looking up biology facts on my laptop. I think I’ve hit a wall in terms of how strong I can make my muscles without crossing the line into inefficiency, but I still need some way to increase my output.

I can either take the efficiency hit and hope that those new calorie bars I asked for work better than I expect, or I can take a different route.
Realistically, I only need that kind of power in a very specific scenario. Maybe there’s a way I can store that power until I need it?

I go to put down my guitar before I remember how likely it is I’m being watched.

I’ll plan it out in my head first.

—

“Red. I would like to speak to you,” Rory says, stopping me on my way to the kitchenette for a snack. I’m in the middle of a worksheet, but I thought I’d take a quick break, anyway.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I’ve noticed — I’ve been informed, that you may be having an internal conflict with regard to your employment at the USMC,” he says, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

I blink. “I… guess? By who?”

He looks sheepish. “Rook asked me to speak to you. But —” he starts, seeing the frown on my face, “I do legitimately understand the feeling, and I wanted to help of my own accord.”

“...Okay.”

Rory sighs, looking slightly constipated. “When I first joined… when I first acquired my power, I was unsure of many things. The changes in my life — they were very sudden. I was in an accident — obviously,” he says, waving a hand, “and afterward, it felt as though my entire existence was uprooted, as if everything before then was only a… a dream.”

He shakes his head, and walks over to the cabinet, taking out a packet of tea. “I was so, so unsure. I was always asking questions, of my parents, of the lab technicians, of Rook. It was… difficult to tell what was correct — what was right.” He fills a mug with water, and drops the bag in, watching it float along the surface.

“The USMC has many resources at its disposal. It’s not… it’s not unreasonable to trust that they know what they are doing,” he says, popping the cup in the microwave. It’s a little unexpected.

And so is this conversation. I have trouble formulating an answer under his expectant gaze.

“I’ll… I’ll try to keep that in mind,” I settle on.

He nods, and smiles as the microwave beeps. “Well, I’m glad I was able to help,” he says, retrieving his mug.

I consider making myself a cup as well.

—

“So, I heard you went off and did something stupid,” Cooper says idly. I lean over the back of the couch and watch him mess around in a video game.

“I thought it was pretty smart,” I comment.

He shrugs. “I guess it’s a matter of perspective.”

“…And what’s yours?”

“I don’t really care,” he says, mashing X on the controller. “USMC service is mandatory, obviously, and even if it wasn’t…” He sighs. A game over screen flashes.

“I want to apply for a commercial license after I turn eighteen, actually.”

“You can do that?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Some of them even have websites, y’know?” Cooper clicks a few buttons on the controller to restart the level. “People pay a lot for enhanced tech.”

“Not gonna stick with fighting the good fight, then,” I say dryly.

“No, I…” He pauses the game. “I’m not so sure this is the good fight.”

I push myself back onto my feet. “…Me neither.

—

“They found him?” I ask, sitting up from the couch, and trying not to seem too eager.

I don’t think it works. “They found where he’s going to be. We think the higher-ups are going to have us coordinate an ambush, catch him off guard,” Eva says, giving me a look.

“Why? Can’t they just send Rook to knock him out?”

Eva shrugs. “I guess they could. I can’t imagine Rook losing. But they’ve taken a pretty big PR hit recently, so I think they want a cleaner win. It’d look bad if he had an aspect of his powers we didn’t know about and took out a few buildings before he went down.”

I sigh. “He’s going to hurt more people in the meantime.”

“Yeah, but… he’d hurt more people without the USMC there to lock him up.”

“That’s not what it’s about,” I whine.

“You can’t really hate the USMC; yes, hate, I know how you feel; when they’re the only thing standing between the city and total destruction,” she points out.

“Yes I can, they’re not mutually exclusive. And just because technically the city’s not dead yet doesn’t mean they couldn’t be doing better. They should be doing better,” I growl.

Eva scratches her neck and looks down.

I try to break the awkward silence. “I — sorry, I don’t want to be a downer.”

She shakes her head. “No, maybe… maybe you’re right. I just wanted to let you know, since Rook said you’d probably be back on the team by then.”

“The t — the team, right. When is it happening?”

“We’ll probably sortie the day before, so in a couple days. I’ll, uh. See ya there?”

I nod.

“Great,” she smiles. And then she leaves.

I lay back down on the couch. The sun’s setting, and a pit of dread buries itself into my gut.

Somehow, this feels like the end of something.
—
Livvy stops me on my way down the elevator. Rook cleared me for duty yesterday, just in time to be put on the ambush team, and I got the pager notification about ten minutes ago. It’s not actually an emergency, we have some time to mobilize and prepare, but I’ve been squirming in my skin for the past week.

So when she snags my arm as I stride out into the hallway, I immediately feel a sense of soft aggravation.

“Yes, Olivia?”

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off.” She lets go of my arm and huffs.

“You’re gonna do something stupid, aren’t you.”

“I’ve been told I already have,” I point out.

“Fuck off, you know what I mean. You’ve been doing that thing, where you — you brush everyone off while you work yourself up to… whatever this’s gonna be. And I know I shouldn’t be askin’ it’s your choice or whatever…” She drags a hand down her face. “I’m not — I’m not askin’ you to spill your guts or anything, but…”

Livvy crosses her arms and stares at the floor, squeezing her eyes shut. “The last time this happened, we didn’t talk for, like, years.”

I stand there next to her, a little stunned.

“…I didn’t really have anything like that in mind, actually,” I mutter.

I reach over and put my arm around her shoulders, pulling her close enough that our heads touch.