The EHP - Enhanced Humanoid Phenomenon - happened gradually (and was therefore very poorly documented by the Agency) but John remembered the whole thing gaining traction when he was about six.
Speculation and superstition started to pop up in papers and 'zines like mushrooms poking their heads out of gaps in the tree trunks. Adults would talk about it nervously at the dinner table, while children whispered to one another on the playground. They giggled about what kind of powers they wanted, and what kind of crazy ways they would get them.
There was talk of government experiments gone terribly awry. Gifts from gods and angels and aliens. Genetic mutations. Legendary artifacts unearthed. Fusions with animals, insects and even the elements themselves. They passed around comic books, hearts thrumming excitedly at the thought of flight or super-strength. Some of his friends even created traumatic (though typical) origin stories for themselves, and ran around with blanket-capes and paper masks.
Actually getting superpowers had been a bit different from how they imagined it back in those days.
Contrary to how generations of acne-ridden teenagers had always theorized, there was a single, surefire way to get everything you've ever wanted, and now the world knew what it was.
All you had to do was make the mistake of wishing for it.
The interior of the psychologist's office smothered John's senses with warm feelings. The intended effect was to make the patient more comfortable, but what it actually did was suffocate him. It was like the plush armchairs and emotionally neutral art were trying to manipulate John into feeling safe.
Well.
Maybe he was safe.
"So have you submitted any reports yet?"
Ugh, not the reports, "Oh, yes. Yes of course, I've-"
"John"
Right. Everyone's a goddamn telepath. He resisted scowling and concentrated on reading her notes upside-down (mostly to spite her for invading his privacy).
Trust issues. Rich coming from a telepath psychologist. She was a pretty young woman. He wondered what kind of psychotic breakdown triggered her enhancement. It would have to be something positively mad for an ability like telepathy.
If she was reading his mind again, she didn't say anything. John kept his gaze steady, trying to give off the best well-adjusted look. He tried to communicate with his posture that yes I'm pretty much better now, it's just that my life is completely over - please sign the Agency's damn psych release forms and let me kill myself in peace, "You know I haven't written any. Why ask?"
She gave him a reproachful but tight-lipped smile, "John. Not only would it be therapeutic, but as a registered EH you're required by law to keep a detailed public record of everything that happens to you".
You don't have to have telepathy to know what he was going to say next. John was an unhappy, unemployed, underwhelming, useless invalid of an Enhanced Humanoid who avoided his family and spent all his free time wasting away in a bare-walled bedsit wishing there was something interesting on the Internet.
John's life was empty.
