Past Forgotten is going to be a collection of one-shots for my story, Future of the Forgotten. I didn't know where I should put the OCs' pasts in the story, so I decided to make them one-shots and just post them here. There shouldn't really be any spoilers in these one-shots, so they can stand-alone as their own story. I'll warn you if anything happens. I know that one flashback used in this will also become its own one-shot as well as the dream Aura had in Talia: Part 1 will become one. For the rest, I have to plan out the ideas and get back to them.
So this one-shot is about how Apparition and Portal first met. I introduced the idea in Talia: Part 1. The starting, italic conversation is also from Talia: Part 1. Parts of this one-shot will also be seen in the next chapter of Future of the Forgotten, so stay tuned for that update!
Enjoy~!
Judgments of the Heart
"When and where did we meet then if you didn't even know I had an uncle?"
"You were thirteen when I found you in an abandoned warehouse."
"What was I doing there?"
"You were living there."
He believes it was Aristotle who told the world that the heart was the source of conscious not the brain. When his father told him that, he just stared at him in astonishment. His logical father, telling him to make decisions with his heart instead of his brain. He thought it was ironic, and never failed to tell his father such. And every time, his father would always laugh and ruffled his hair. "The mind can't make the right choices without consulting the heart first." His father would tell him before continuing in working on his pile of paperwork.
He always looked up to his father; they have always been rather close. His mother died when he was very young, so he could only remember little snippets of her. His father tried his best to act as both a father and a mother to him. He always managed to make time for him in his busy schedule. He would always be there to listen when he complained about school and homework. He would always talk to him about his job as an astrophysicist and explain some of his projects to him. He always loved when his father's eyes would light up when he passionately showed him his work. That made him idolize his father even more, inspiring him to work just as hard as his father did.
And yet, despite his dedicated devotion to his father, he always finds himself following the logic of his brain over the judgements of his heart.
Take right now, for example, as he tried to evade a bunch of policemen threatening to arrest him.
The only thing his heart was telling him was to stop running so it could calm down from the 100 mph rate it was going. His brain, on the other hand, was trying to deduce and calculate an escape route. You could tell which one he would rather listen to most.
Stupid powers. Just when he needed to use them the most, it refuses to work on will. Then again, he's only had his powers for a few months and still hasn't gotten the hang of them yet. Why do they feel the need to arrest me anyways? I did nothing wrong. If anything, I made their job easier when I captured that thief. So what if I'm a meta...
It didn't help that he tripped earlier and probably twisted his ankle. He could tell from the way it screamed in agony as he pushed forward, putting his weight on it.
He had to ignore the pain. 'Get away first, complain about the pain when there isn't four policemen on your back.' That was what his brain told him. Of course, his brain was way off. There were at least six policemen on his back.
He turned the corner and was about to continue running down the street when a pale hand appears from an alleyway and pulls him in. The hand covers his mouth just as he was about to utter a startled yelp. He turns but only sees a cloaked girl with her black hood covering her face.
"Shhh..." She grabs his hand and a tingly, cold sensation runs from their palms into his body before she breaks out into a run, dragging him along with her. He could hear the distant and confused shouts of the policemen behind them, and even one walks into the alleyway, beaming his flashlight through the darkness and at their retreating figures.
He was about to shout at the girl to run faster, but stopped when he watched in disbelief as the policemen looked right them. But it looked as though he wasn't actually seeing them. His eyes just glanced around every corner, never truly focusing on the two. As though they weren't even there.
As though they were invisible.
He watched as the policeman cursed under his breath and walked back to the mouth of the alley. He was absolutely perplexed at the policeman's odd behavior, already analyzing in his head as to what it meant. He spun around to face the girl and question her intentions.
And that was when the girl ran them through the dead end's brick wall.
He woke up to the smell of tomato sauce. He opened his eyes and stared at the unfamiliar tan ceiling. He sat up and took in his surroundings. A forklift, huge glass windows, towering shelves of boxes... An open, coffin-sized wooden crate filled to the brink with pillows as my makeshift bed...
Definitely not the hotel he's been staying at.
"Oh! You're awake!" A sudden voice caused him to scramble off the crate, only to fall when a surge of pain shot through his ankle. "Hey, be careful!" The voice, a girl's no doubt, exclaimed just as he felt two hands grasp his shoulders. The girl set him down on a nearby metal folding chair gently. He looked up, only to see a girl version of the Grim Reaper. A black cloak covered her body, and her hood concealed the view of her face. He could not tell what she looked like but could only recognize the gender by her voice. Then it dawned him...
This was the girl who had saved him last night.
She grabbed another metal folding chair and puts it in front of him. "You have to keep your foot elevated in order for it to heal." The girl informs him, propping his foot up on pillow. She turns and runs to another open crate, rummaging through its contents. "I'm sorry, there's only limited things I can give you for breakfast. Do you like ravioli? Or are you a vegetarian and prefer instant noodles instead?" She asks, showing him both a can of ravioli and cup of ramen noodles. "We also have fruits. I don't know what this warehouse did, but it was filled with a bunch of random stuff. I mean, pillows, nonperishable cans, and gallons of water. Random, right? You would think this warehouse was for the end of the world or something..."
'This girl likes to talk, huh?' He thought, slightly irked by her excessive babbling. It was making him even more uncomfortable, and, honestly, it was giving him a headache. Stuck in his thoughts, he didn't notice the girl had stopped talking and was waiting patiently for him to reply until she silently walked up to him and gently placed her hand on her forehead.
He evaded her hand as if it burned him. Though it was the exact opposite. Her hand was freezing cold not fiery hot. "I'm sorry. I just thought you had a fever because of the twisted ankle. That tends to happen when you're in pain, right? Unless I'm mixing up my limited medical knowledge." She turns to his ankle as he notes that it has been properly bandaged and nursed. "That reminds me, I need to reapply the ice since the 45 minute wait is over."
She dashes off around the corner of one of the towering shelves. After five minutes, she returns with a small towel and a hunk of ice. The girl wraps the ice in the towel and carefully brings it to his ankle. He winces at the touch but doesn't complain and waits to adjust to the cold. "There we go. In 15 to 20 minutes, we'll have to take that off again." The girl turns back to the crate full of food and glanced back at him. "You still haven't answered the food question."
"I need to leave." Was his answer as he glanced over at the wall and tall windows. He was already trying to calculate the fastest route out of here and to his back to researching for...
"No!" The girl shouts in a panic, startling him. The girl clears her throat as if embarrassed. "I mean, you can't walk on that ankle or else it won't heal properly." She counters, unconvincing him with her faux light tone. "Just wait a week. Please? Until your ankle gets better?"
Here's where his heart and mind begins arguing.
His heart's argument: You need to rest. You can't go run with a limp! The cops are sure to catch you! Just relax for a week and when the week's up, you can leave. Don't you find it weird that a girl takes you an abandoned warehouse and treats your ankle and offers you food? Obviously, this is the work of a homeless good samaritan!
His mind's argument: You can't possibly trust this stranger. For all you know, she could be waiting to send you in for money. Plus, there's no time to waste! Emphasis on weird and abandoned warehouse. No good samaritan would take you to an abandoned warehouse. They would take you to a hospital or their own home!
"So, noodles, fruits, or ravioli?" The girl's voice interrupts his inner argument. His mind was telling him not to give in to this food temptation, his heart was telling his brain that this was not food temptation but a polite offer, while his stomach joined in and just shouted 'just give me the damn food already!'.
And so, his stomach was the winner of the inner argument. "Ravioli, I guess."
After they both finished their ravioli breakfast, the girl quickly went to taking away the ice from his ankle and disposing of it in one of the trash bags. All the while, he watched her, analyzing her every move. The way her feet touched the ground gracefully and never made a sound. The swiftness in her movement. The way she always made sure her hood was covering her face.
She was hiding something. Both her face and a secret. His heart was telling him to find out her secret. To actually remove her hood and look her in the face. To actually thank her. His mind told him not to care. It had nothing to do with him. The latter won.
He finally spoke up to voice some of his questioning thoughts. "What happened last night?"
She pauses in her pouring water in a cup before answering, "I saved you from a bunch of cops."
For some reason, the memories of last night were blurry in his mind. He was unable to recognize what was real and what could have been a hallucination from the pain. "We were running..."
"And I managed to take you to my warehouse." She answered swiftly, taking a sip of her water.
"Why?" He asks curiously. Why would she risk her life to save a stranger being chased by cops? Doesn't that register in her mind that he could be dangerous?
She grabbed another metal folding chair and sat down beside him, handing him one of the foam cups of water. "Because the cops are idiots for trying to chase down and arrest an innocent guy who was just trying to help make their jobs easier."
His eyes widened. How did she-? "How do you-"
"I saw what you did," she explains. She takes a sip of her water. "How you could have just continued walking and ignore the situation. But instead turned to beat that guy up after trying to steal that woman's purse. A bit cliche on the whole situation but heroic nonetheless. But the cops think that every heroic act leads to terrorism. So..." She shrugged as if to say "what can you do?".
He furrowed his eyebrows. She didn't seem to mention how he managed to steal back the purse by creating a small black hole above the thief and grabbing it out of his hands. How the nearby cop managed to see the whole thing and call for back up as he chased him down the street. Did she not notice he was a metahuman? To test his theory, he asked, "is that all you saw?"
The girl finished her water and stands up to throw it in the trash bag. "Well, it was kind of hard to see from where I was standing. I only got down the key parts." She rummages through another open crate, searching for something before removing a small box. She flashes the box over to him. "Wanna play some cards? I only know how to play Go Fish, Solitaire, and Blackjack. I'll be willing to learn if you know any more games. Oh wait, I do kind of know the concept of poker so-"
"Why are you doing this?" He interrupts her. The girl pauses in her babbling before removing the cards from the box and begins to shuffle them.
"Playing cards? Well, it's a good way to pass time-"
His brain couldn't take this question-evasion any further. "No, I meant why are you taking care of me? Why did you save me from the cops last night? What are you trying to accomplish? What are you plotting? Are you going to sell me or something? Why are we in an abandoned warehouse?" The last question was one he wasn't even thinking of asking, it was just something he unintentionally blurted out.
She softly giggles at his rapid questioning. She takes a seat beside him again, dragging a small crate in between them. "My heart told me to."
"Excuse me?"
"My heart," she points to her chest where the heart is, "it told me to save you."
He lets out a frustrated sigh. There it was again. That idea of following your heart instead of your brain. What a load of bull. "You've got to be kidding me..." He mutters under his breath.
"The brain is but a useless organ unless there is a beating heart." The girl states proudly, shuffling the cards and distributing it evenly between them. "Besides, I'm not that big of a strategic thinker. I tend to trust my heart more than my brain in the game of life." To emphasize her point, she taps the part of her chest where her heart lays.
Another sigh. He just couldn't win this kind of debate. He knows from experience with his many long debates of this topic with his father. He shakes away the thought before it could even evolve in his mind. Now's not the time. "And my other questions?"
"Like I said, I'm not much of a strategic thinker. I don't know what to do with a crippled preteen such as yourself other than treat your wounds." She picks up her deck of cards and places them in order. "Oh, and I live here."
I live here. Her words echo in his head as he stared at her in disbelief. From her stature and voice, he can only guess that she was no older than he was, probably a year younger. But that's only from her physical appearance, and even that's hard to analyze her age. What with her cloak covering her whole person, he'd be extremely lucky if his guess of her gender was correct. "Alone?" He couldn't stop himself from asking.
"I mean, sometimes the rats and pigeons keep me company, but other than that... Yeah, alone." Her cheerful tone suddenly twisted into a dark, brooding tone. And something about her tone made him know that what she was saying was true. You can't fake that much loneliness...
And suddenly his brain connected the dots as to why she didn't want him to leave earlier.
'She's lonely.' He thought to himself, staring at the girl fiddling with her cards. Of course, she was. Being here, in an abandoned warehouse of all places with nothing but large crates, rats, and darkness. It was a wonder as to how she survived for so long...
"-name? Hey, are you listening to me?" He snaps to attention when she waves a hand in his face. He blinks, focusing on the girl in front of him.
"What?" From the way her shoulders tensed up, he can imagine her pouting under her hood.
"I was asking you what your name was. I've been calling you 'the boy' in my head this entire time." He frowned at this. He didn't want to tell her his real name. But what else could he be called?
He thought back on his abilities before coming to a decision. "Port. You can just call me Port." Originally, he thought to say Portal but thought against it in fear that it would be too suspicious. So he shortened it to sound like a nickname.
The girl made a contented sound before stretching out her hand. "Funny name. Then again, I call myself App, so nice to meet you, Port."
Guess they were both hiding something from each other after all.
The week progressed forward, but Portal didn't seem to notice. He was too busy studying his new-found companion.
She was always in such a chipper mood that he'd wonder if she was a secretly hiding a stash of sugar all to herself. She was always talking. Talking about the weather, talking about food, talking about the random bird that nearly poked his eye out when it tried to steal his bread roll. She could make a conversation out of anything and be the only one talking.
She tried her best to make him laugh and smile. She tried jokes of every kind and weird running gags. She even tried tickling him once, which ended up with him almost kicking her in the face. She just giggled and laughed despite his constant apologies.
"I'm sorry. Are you sure I didn't hit you?"
"I'm fine. I'm fine! I have killer instincts." App reassures him again for the third time in the past two minutes.
"Sorry, but seriously-"
"Seriously, I'm okay!" App states, taking hold of his face with both her hands. "You're a worry-wart. Who would have thought behind all that tough, stoic interior there was a warm, loving heart?" When she move her hands away from his face and moved to pick up the dropped ice towel, he managed to glimpse upon the brightest smile he ever laid eyes on. The sight of it made his heart jump a little.
Before he can try to remove the hood on her head, she stood up and hurried to put the now-dripping towel into one of the buckets. "Goodness, that was cold!" She says, drying her hands on her cape. He cursed inwardly at his missed chance.
And boy was she clumsy. He couldn't even keep count on how many times she's tripped over her cape or any flat surface.
"Why is your cape so long?" He comments after she trips over it for the up-teenth time that day.
"Why is your hair so long?" App counters, her voice tight with embarrassment. He frowns seriously, noting her attempt at changing the subject.
"It's hard to afford a good barbershop nowadays." She turns to him, shoulders lifting in hope.
"Can I think of that as your attempt at being funny?"
"It's your mind, think whatever you want with it." She let out an amused sound, standing up and dusting off invisible dirt on her cape.
She lets out a giggle. "I don't know, I like the style. It adds a bit of a mysterious quality to my character." She gives a melancholy sigh. "Besides, someone like me wouldn't be allowed in a store anyways..." She mumbles quietly, which he just barely manages to catch. She turns away and exclaims that she found fruit snacks in one crates.
It takes him a few more seconds to process that she had just answered his question.
Over time, he's grown used to her weird antics and had learned to enjoy her company. He couldn't, however, shake off the feeling that she was hiding something. It was obvious she was hiding something. She kept dropping things. At first, he just pinned it on her clumsiness. But after it happened five times in only four minutes, he knew it had to be something else.
There was that time when she had immediately shrunk away from him right after offering to change his bandages. She chuckled before scurrying off to a corner only to come back as her usual bubbly self, and that's not the first time she's done that.
There was also that time when he woke up one morning to find her tied to a crate by a rope, while she waved it off as some new fashion statement. "I saw some girls wearing ropes like this around their hips and thought I'd try it out to see what the big deal was." She had told him. It was very evident to him that it was a lie.
Sometimes he'd wake up in the middle of the night and see her wandering around the warehouse. There are also the rare occasions where he finds her sitting in front of the window, staring into the vast night as the moon glitters over her features. And times when she leaves after she thinks he's asleep only to return just before the sun came up.
Just what was she hiding?
"Dad? Are you home?" He was 12 years old, just coming back home from school. It was oddly quiet. Usually when he returns home his father is always the first to greet him. He scowls at the eerie silence, glancing outside again. His father's car was still here, so where was he? "Dad? Are you taking a nap or something?" He heard something crack under the sole of his shoe and looked down to see the cracked family picture frame on the ground.
That's when he noticed the whole living room was a mess. It looked ransacked as if someone was desperately looking for something... Or struggling to run away from something. "Dad! Dad! Where are you?" He knew it wasn't safe to be calling out for his father like this, what with the chance that the people who did this was still here, but he had to know if his father was still safe.
He walked around all the broken furniture and rummage of papers to the door to the lab. "Dad!" He kept shouting his name, desperate for an answer. He finally made it to the door, swinging it open and scrambling down the stairs.
It was just as deserted and messy as the first floor had been. There were broken test tubes and unidentified liquid splattered on the ground. Paper scattered every corner, the machines his father worked on were crushed to pieces. A crimson red stained the wall on the far right.
Yet there was only one machine left unscathed. It stood in the middle of what remains of the lab. It was his father's latest project: a machine that could create black holes. This was the only machine his father did not let him near. He remembers his father spending hours down in the basement, causing tiny explosions and losing some household items. He nearly took out the whole house when he couldn't it properly shut down the machine.
And here it was. Untouched. Unbroken. Unattended.
He walked towards it, hoping to find a clue about where his father was. Unfortunately, because of all the clutter surrounding the floor, he managed to trip and fall towards the machine.
A flash of white light engulfs the room as hot, agonizing pain shoots through his entire body...
He awakes with a start, sweat beading down his forehead. It felt as though he just ran a marathon; he was out of breath, and his heart was beating so fast that he worried it would stop at any moment. This was the first in months since he's dreamed of that day.
It didn't help that App chose that exact moment to quietly walk through the door. She noticed his upright position immediately and scurried over to his side. "What's wrong? Why are you up at this hour? Are you okay? Does your ankle hurt? Do you need ice? Are you-"
"I'm fine, I'm fine." He says, finally catching his breath. He flinched lightly when her hand covered his.
"You want to talk about it?" She asked, gently. It was a genuine tone, in no way demanding for answers.
But he didn't want to tell her. Couldn't. That would mean opening up to someone. That would mean crossing over the line. That would mean establishing a bond.
That would mean he cared. About her.
He didn't need the extra baggage. He didn't need her getting into trouble because of him. Getting hurt because of him. No. He couldn't let himself get involved with her. Or her involved with him. He couldn't do that to her. Not after all she did for him.
"No, it's okay. I'm fine. It was just one of those falling dreams, you know?" He gave her a reassuring half smile. She, however, seemed unconvinced. A small smile peeks from under her hood, and, before he knew it, his head was cradled in her arms. He could feel the erratic beating of her heart, and the smell of vanilla tickling his nose from their close proximity.
"You can only fall for so long. There's always the choice to succumb to the darkness alone or to stretch out your hands to someone who's willing to catch you." She pulls away from the short-lived hug, her radiant smiling brightening before him. "And trust me, Port. There's one person willing to catch you."
And then it came. The accursed last day.
Port unwrapped the bandages on his ankle, moving it around to test its flexibility. He gently put both feet on the ground and stood. He was wobbly at first, but found his footing after a few seconds. The pain had lessened, but pain was but a minuscule factor. He was able to move, walk, and run, and that was all he cared about.
To test out his newly heeled ankle, he walked around the warehouse. He even brought along his backpack to get used to walking with extra weight on his person. App had left an hour before, stating there was some business to attend to. Without her here to question him, he took this time to try and find out more about her. To his dismay, he didn't find any suggestive lead of her enigma. With a dejected sigh, he made his way back to the front.
The door slammed open, and App's voice rang throughout the empty warehouse. "The answer is no."
He made a move to shout her name but was stopped when he heard two unfamiliar voices.
"We need people like you- like us- to take back our place in this world." A girl's voice stated. Port hid immediately in one of the tall shelves of the warehouse. He began to climb to get a better view of the scene without getting caught. Shielding his frame behind a crate, he peered down to see what was going on. A girl stood leaning against the wall; she was probably about 16 years old with black pixie-cut hair and piercing sapphire blue eyes. She wore a black and black halter top, black spandex leggings, blue knee-high boots, and black fingerless gloves that go up to her elbows. "Just meet the guy. He's planning something. Something big. And he's offering it to any meta out there."
'Meta? As in metahumans?' Port thought to himself in confusion. He narrowed his eyes down at the scene below him. Does this mean that App is a meta? No, that can't be... But is it really impossible? That would answer most of the questions haunting him about the girl. Could it actually be a possibility? And who was this girl? What did she want from App?
What is going on here?
"The answer is still no." App retorts, crossing her arms over her chest. Though, to be honest, she was half-listening. She was busy glancing around, searching for her missing guest. Did he leave? Without even a goodbye? The thought made her heart ache slightly.
"Look, baby girl," App cringes at the sound of the ridiculous nickname she's been dubbed ever since she's met this girl (or Striker as she likes to be called). This girl has been popping up wherever she is ever since they met in California. App was just patrolling the night when she stumbled upon a break-in at some fancy-schmancy museum. There she caught Striker sneaking away with a million dollar jewel that was just recently put on display. Of course, App returned it after a small duel ensued between them. Striker, for some reason, caught interest in her and decided to surrender the jewel and pester her now and then. "This is a chance of a lifetime. Don't think I vouch for just anyone. I'm only offering it to you because you're my personal favorite."
App stood her ground. "What about 'no' are you not understanding?" She questioned, the frustration slowly forming on her face. Honestly, where is he? He couldn't have left. He couldn't have...
The girl ignores App's comment and continues, "aren't you tired of hiding? Of living in the shadows of the people who shunned you away in the first place?"
She finally snaps her attention to Striker, her anger getting the best of her. "Of course I am! It sucks. You think I don't know that?" App argued. Where was he? "But staging a rebellion won't help solve the problem! People could get hurt!"
"And why shouldn't they? A few injuries amongst the population won't make a difference to the government! They should bleed for forcing our kind to fear our true potential."
"If we rebel like this, then wouldn't that just prove their points about us being the monsters?"
"You'll have to face it sooner or later. When our people are cornered into extinction, we all become the enemy. Let's let metas roam the earth once more without cowering in the sight of the government." Striker took a step forward, extending a hand out to her. "You don't have to be alone anymore."
The hand that was extended to her held a lot of things. It held freedom from hiding. Justice for those who had ostracized her for being different. Hope for a better future. And all she had to do was just take it...
But that's not what she was going to do. She couldn't. She wouldn't. "Tempting. Very tempting. But I'd rather be on the right side of the law if you don't mind. This won't change anything, Striker. It won't make anything better." Now, back to looking for Port...
"And what happens when the right side of the law is actually the wrong side?" Striker asked, taking note in App's distracted attention. Striker smirked, realizing what she was doing. "By the way, where's that lovely catnip you've been hiding?"
"I-I'm sorry...?" Apparition stuttered out, looking like a deer in the headlights.
Striker's smirk widened. "That delicious young man that's been in your company this past week." She walked around the warehouse, surveying the area.
In the corner of her eye, she could see a flash of color move behind a large crate on one of the shelves. She didn't turn her head and try to reassure herself that that was Port. Instead, she leaned against the wall and sighed in defeat. "Must have left before I could return..." She tried to look as disappointed as she could. "It was nice to have a friend to talk to. It's been so long since I had so much fun in a week." Even though she was lying through her teeth, she could feel the tears well up against her will. Sure, he's here now, but he's planning to leave once he's fully healed.
'I don't want him to leave me...'
Friends. App had just called them friends. She actually acknowledged him as her friend. It was more shocking to hear that than to hear the possibility that these two girls were metahumans. One obviously leaning towards villainy.
The thought of being known as a friend to App gave him a bubbly feeling in his chest. What was it? Relief? Happiness? Well, whatever it was, he didn't want it to go away. The lonely look on App's face convinced him even more to stay.
But he had to leave. He had to. He has a mission he needs to accomplish.
"Oh, baby girl, friends don't just up and leave without a word. That guy abandoned you when he had the chance." The girl, Striker, states with a knowing look on her face. Port scowled at the girl in distaste. 'I didn't abandon her. The only chance I took was hiding behind a crate up on this high shelf!' He thought to himself as he continued to stare down at the scene below. App flinched at the sound of the word 'abandoned', and, unconsciously, her eyes flickered up to where he was currently hiding, making brief eye-contact with him.
"It wasn't abandonment. There was no reason for him to stick around in the first place." App explained, casting her eyes downward.
Striker crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the metal shelf. "You just called him your "friend". Are you trying to say that friendship is not a strong enough reason for someone to stay by your side?"
"I didn't mean that." App whispered angrily, her eyes burning with irritation. "You're twisting my words around."
"I'm just saying. You wouldn't need to worry about being alone ever again if you join me. I would be the only friend you'll ever need." Striker states in a condescending tone.
"What does it matter to you if I join or not? You keep persisting and persuading me to join, but, in actuality, I don't even know you that well nor have I once thought of you as someone I was close to." App blurted out in indignation.
Striker's eyes darkened in disdain and... Disappointment? "I know you more than I let on. And you would be able to get to know me better too if you would join me." Striker takes a step forward. "I can protect you. I will never let you be lonely ever again." She says it with so much conviction that Port was having a hard time believing this girl was actually evil.
"Why do you care so much about me?" App asks in perplexity. Port leans forward in anticipation.
"Because I-"
And that's when Port's backpack decided to take a fall off the shelf he was currently hiding on. Of course, he tried his best to try and catch it, only to fail and end up tipping over the edge as well.
"Port!" App yelled, and Port close his eyes, waiting for the impact of the ground to crush his bones. He felt himself stop, but there was no excruciating pain nor the feeling of the hard ground. Instead, there was this soft warmth that spread to his waist and a bobbing feeling. He opened his eyes and was immediately met with intense, glowing neon blue ones. App's hood had finally been removed, revealing her true colors... Or lack thereof.
Snow white, short, and ragged hair framed around her face. She was deathly pale, her skin as porcelain as a china doll. She was more beautiful than he had imagined. He had thought she was hiding a terrible scar on her face or was just very self-conscious of a flaw in their features- well, he wasn't too far off the bat. Anyone would be self-conscious if you were a twelve year old girl with white hair and pale skin.
Their faces were at least a good five inches from each other, her arms around his waist as they floated in the air- wait, what? He turned his attention to the ground, which they hovered over weightlessly. "Holy-! We're floating-!"
"Wrong, I'm floating. You're just being carried by me." App answered with a weak grin as they slowly descended from the air. She put him down on the ground gently before landing beside him. Only App's landing was less than graceful, seeing as her flight was cut short a few inches above ground, making her panic and cause her to fall flat on her face.
"Goodness, I'm such a pro at ruining the cool moment I built up..." App muttered, wiping away the dust from her face. A hand appeared in front of her face. App looked up to see Port with a small smile adorning his lips. A gleeful grin graced her face as she gladly took his offered hand, letting him pull her up. Their hands lingered together as they continued to smile each other.
Striker, unfortunately, decided to interrupt their moment. "Hands off, boyah. This one is mine." App snapped out of the hypnotic trance and promptly stood defensively in front of Port.
"Don't you dare lay a hand on him, Striker." App says with a glare, arm outstretched in a protective stance. Striker smirked as if she had the upper hand.
"I don't think I like your tone, Apparition." Striker states, unsheathing the sword that was fastened to her back. The sun from the windows was glaring off of the sword as it sliced the air. "I might have to punish you if you make me angry. Now, come and join me."
App scowls in irritation. "I told you no."
"You can't force her to go." Port says, walking in front of App's outstretched hand. Striker grunts in annoyance.
"I will if I have to," Striker glares at Port. "You can't protect her. You're just some scrawny little boy playing hero. She won't be safe as long as she's around you. But I can protect her. I can take care of her. I can keep her safe. And I will cut down anyone who gets in my way." She points her sword dangerously close to Port.
Of course, she really wasn't on planning to kill the kid. What kind of monster do you pin her for? Besides, Apparition would never speak to her again if she did. And she didn't want that. She definitely wouldn't be able to take it if Apparition began hating her...
But she might as well have a little fun in threatening the little runt. 'How about we test your skills, boyah?'
"Striker, stop-" Before App could finish, Striker swung her blade. Anticipating her attack, Port evaded the blade by a hair, pushing Apparition away from the sword's way. He shoved her to the side as he continued to jump away from the blade's trajectory.
'At least he's good at dodging close-range attacks...' That was a good sign. It meant he had remarkable reflexes and instincts. 'Now let's see how sharp your claws are...' Without warning, she removed a throwing knife from her ankle and threw it.
Port had little time to react, immediately throwing out his hand in an attempt to protect himself. His eyes widened in shock as a small black hole, the size of a basketball, appeared in front of him, engulfing the knife before disappearing into nothing. Port stared at his hands in surprise. This was the first time he was able to summon a portal up so easily without straining himself. He couldn't even comprehend how he did it. All he knew was that he wanted to save Apparition no matter what.
Something appearing behind App caught his attention from the corner of his eye. It was one of his black holes and out came the throwing knife headed towards Apparition's direction. His eyes widened in fear, and, without a second thought, Port jumped to his feet and ran towards her, hoping to intercept before it hurt. "App, look out!"
Apparition turned and had realized too late that the knife was headed her way, so she closed her eyes and braced herself for the stabbing pain of the knife...
But it never came. App opened her eyes, only to be met with dark eyes. Port stared down at her in relief. "Thank... Goodness..." Suddenly, he tipped over and fell to the ground, the knife impaled in his side, causing blood to stain the concrete floors.
Striker scowled in discontent. He's definitely an amateur. He can't even use his powers right! He almost got Apparition killed (she completely disregarded the fact that it was her knife that almost ended App's life). Oh well, he was dying. Tragedy was a good life lesson for Apparition to experience; another death in her life couldn't have been all that bad. Besides, once this kid is out of the way, Apparition would be more than willing to join her. After all, she'll be vulnerable and mourning that she'll want a shoulder to cry on...
"My, my. Who would have known that you were also a meta, boyah?" Her laughter subsided, leaving her slightly breathless. "It's too bad things didn't work out in your favor. You could've been a nice addition to the team. Things just got interesting. I guess I'll take my leave now, but I'll be back for you after you bury that dying kitty." With that, she took out a small pellet from her pocket and threw it to the ground before a cloud of smoke covers her entire being.
When the smoke cleared, Striker was gone.
He looked up at App, whose white hair flashed silver in sun's glare from the windows. Her gray eyes were glistening with tears, falling on top of his face. It felt as though he were drowning under water, her voice muffled in his ears as he tried to focus on her face.
"-ear me! Don't leave me! I don't want to be alone again. Port, don't you dare die on me!" She sobbed out, clutching him close to her. "I can fix this. I can fix this. But you have to stay with me, Port. You have to."
How could he? He was losing blood- so much blood. He couldn't possibly survive this. It would take a miracle to heal him, much less get him to a hospital in time. His brain and heart were fighting again.
"What an idiot. If only you had better control of your powers none of this would have happened. Better yet, you should have just left when you had the chance. This could have all been avoided, and you would have been long gone and alive. Now you won't be able to finish your mission." His brain complained.
His heart interjected, "You did the right thing. Screw the mission; you saved App's life, and that's more of an accomplishment you could ever asked for. Sure, you're dying, but at least you died a hero."
Port tuned back in when he felt App reach for the handle of the knife. "This is going to be a bit cold, Port. But you can't heal if the knife is still there." Port was barely hanging on, already feeling himself going in and out of consciousness. With a deep breath, she grabbed the knife and made it intangible. His body shivered at the spreading iciness. She removed the knife with ease from his body before taking one of the nearest towels and putting it to his side to stop the blood. "I've never tried to heal someone before, but here goes nothing..."
She puts her hand to his wound, her pale hands becoming stained with red as blood seeped through the wound. A white light glows from her hands, and Port can feel the pain subside. He felt better, more energized than a few second ago where he felt like he was on his deathbed. He gazed at App, her eyes were closed in concentration as she strained to heal him. After a few more seconds, she lifted her hand and shifted his shirt to see that the wound was still there, but she had managed to stop the bleeding and make it less worse that it normally would have been. She sighed with relief and ran to the first aid kit. She disinfected the wound and put a wad of cotton on it, wrapping the gauze around his midriff.
Though he felt better, he felt very weak. He must have lost more blood than he thought. App rests his head on her lap, brushing away his bangs from his eyes. "The wound isn't as deep any more, it's more like a really long paper cut. It'll leave a scar, so no beach for you." She jokes as she strokes his head, which brought him a sense of comfort. He can feel his eyes growing heavy, and his vision fading...
He awakened to the sound of seagulls and waves crashing against the docks. He groggily opened his eyes, rubbing the sleep from it. He tried to sit up, only to wince in pain. He looked down and remembered the wound on his side. Port looked around, taking note that he was currently in a warehouse- a different one, seeing as this one is mostly empty save for some shelves. But he recognized a few crates from the previous warehouse was here such as the food crates, his makeshift bed, and ones App had that contained random things.
"Oh good. You're awake," he shifted his gaze to the white-haired girl in question, who floated down with a large crate descending beside her. It floated along with her in the air, and it still surprised him to see her using her powers. 'Guess she really is a meta...' That just made her even more valuable to protect. It gave him more of a reason to stay. She levitated the crate to the ground before floating over to him and landing gently beside him.
App caresses his cheek gently, eyes filled with relief and worry. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?" He shakes his head before wincing at the sting of pain. App's eyes darken with worry. "You don't look fine..."
"It's fine. I'm a lot better than I would have been had you not intercepted." Port reassures her, covering her hand with his.
Her thumb strokes his cheek. "You shouldn't have intercepted either. I would have been fine; I heal faster than ordinary humans." She explains with worry. "Besides, I'm a ghost. I'm practically already dead anyways." He freezes not knowing how to respond to that until he sees a mischievous glint in her eyes.
A soft chuckle escaping his lips. "I guess this means I have to stay by your side a little bit longer." He jokes lightly, but serious overall. "Until I recover," his brain gave in.
"Stay," App whispered softly. "Please..." He looks her in the eye, and knew then and there what he had to do. What he needed to do.
"I guess it wouldn't be such a bad idea to have someone to watch my back," he tells her. Her shoulders sag in relief as she flashes him a heart-skipping, bright smile. His heart flutters in bliss. "Staying forever isn't such a bad idea either..."
This time, he actually agreed.