I had many enemies," the helmet said. "More than once they sealed my memories away, gelded me intellectually, turning me into a dunce so that they could turn me away from the true path."
"So you stored your memories in a helmet," I said flatly.
It wasn't even a particularly stylish helmet. If anything it looked a little stupid. I was a fifteen year old kid and I'd designed something that looked much better than this.
"This helmet was always designed to protect me from psionic attack. Telepathy was always the very least of my abilities; I only had enough to make me vulnerable."
"You mean the helmet protected you from being Mastered?" I asked, finally interested.
My powers seemed designed to fight all kinds of classes of powers. Brutes I could fight. Shakers, blasters...but I couldn't do anything about Masters.
The technology in the helmet itself, assuming it could be reproduced would be something the Protectorate would pay millions for. If it protected against the Simurgh it would be worth much, much more.
"You have inherited my abilities," the helmet said. "If you hadn't you wouldn't be able to understand me."
"So I'm Jewish and telepathic?" I asked.
"Barely," the helmet said. "With effort the power will grow, but it will never amount to anything like even minimal mastery."
"I thought telepathy doesn't exist," I said. "Except maybe the Simurgh."
"Perhaps not here, but it was common on my world."
I stared at the helmet wondering if there was some kind of sophisticated Artificial Intelligence inside. It had to be; it wasn't like my grandfather had placed his soul inside a hat.
A talking hat was just silly after all.
"So what do you want?" I asked. I tried to sound nonchalant, even though I was bursting with questions. My father hadn't known a lot about the world my mother had come from or how she'd come here, and I wanted to know everything. Yet from what little I'd heard about my grandfather he didn't respect weakness.
"To guide you in the way," the helmet said. "To make sure that this world does not go the way of my own."
"There aren't any mutants here," I pointed out skeptically. From what my father said my grandfather had been an extremist, planning all sorts of crazy schemes.
"There is one," the helmet said. "I will protect you and guide you."
"You're a helmet," I said flatly. I didn't see how a helmet was going to protect me, other than being a helmet. After all, telepathy didn't exist on this world, except maybe for the Simurgh, and as far as I knew the helmet didn't have any other powers.
The anti-Master effect might be interesting though.
"I have eighty years of experience," the helmet said. "I have seen wonders and horrors beyond what you can imagine... more than the heroes of this world have ever seen. I have mastered sciences beyond the comprehension of man and I can help you create devices that will astound and amaze."
I sat up. He was offering Tinkertech?
Tinkering was the one power set that I really envied. They were able to create powers instead of endlessly tweaking the one power that they had.
From what I'd heard my grandfather hadn't been an actual tinker, offered plans and designs without actually understanding what he was building. His designs would be repeatable, able to actually make an impact in the world.
"Like what?" I asked.
The world needed new technology. It wasn't just the Endbringers; the world economies had taken hit after hit, and it took new technology to spur further development and create jobs.
"I have discovered the secrets of creating life. I have granted powers to ordinary humans, created genetic mind control. I have created clones, build aircraft and spacecraft and space stations. I have built robots and computers and power nullifiers."
It was tempting. Dad thought robots were cool, even if he did worry about them taking jobs from people. The ability to give powers to normal people might mean that we could have a better chance against the Endbringers, and he might even have weapons that might make a difference.
Yet it felt a little like making a deal with the devil. He'd been a villain for most of his career, after all, and I was intending to be a hero. He was all but telling me that he intended to take me to the dark side.
What would I sacrifice if I listened to him?
I'd gain power and knowledge, but would it be worth it if I lost my soul?
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"Put me on," the helmet said. "So I can guide you in what must be done."
"You must think I'm an idiot," I said flatly. "You've already told me that you were using the helmet as a backup for your memories. What guarantee do I have that you won't just...overwrite my memory and use me as a new body so you can do... whatever you are trying to do?"
"Have you no trust in family?" the helmet asked.
I was silent, staring at it.
It chuckled. "Perhaps the people of this world aren't idiots. I can still guide you even without wearing me."
"How?" I asked.
A piece of the helmet detached. Without thinking I reached out and grabbed it.
"As long as this is touching your skin we can communicate," the helmet said.
If the piece was dangerous it could have take me over the minute I touched it. I stared at the piece in my hand as though it was a rattlesnake.
"What do I call you?" I asked.
"I have had many names. I have been called Max and Erik. I have been called Magneto and master. I will not respond to grandpa or paw paw or any other puerile names however. I deserve respect, and I will ensure that you, as my progeny will receive the respect you deserve in turn."
I had to wonder how much respect he'd thought his human daughter deserved. In his own way he was as much of a racist as the members of the Empire 88; instead of white people his chosen group was mutants. Did I really want to listen to a racist to tell me how to be a hero?
Fortunately I had time to decide. Making a life changing decision in a rush was never a good idea.
"I'll think about it," I said. I yawned. "Unlike you I still have a body, and this body needs sleep."
Hesitating, I looked at the shard in my hand. Part of me wanted to leave it here, to lock the chest and never look back. However, this... thing was my last living link to my mother. It presumably knew stories about her that my father had never even heard.
There had been a void in my life since my mother had died. In a way I had been almost as much of a shell of a person as my father; I was just better at hiding it.
Maybe this would be a way of healing some of what I had lost.
Also, robots.
Should worse come to worse and he started to have me build some sort of lair with an iron throne I could always chuck him into the ocean or into space. I was the one with the power here, and I was never going to put him on my head, so all he would be able to do would be a disembodied voice.
In the end the helmet was a resource that I couldn't ignore. It had the possibility of making me great faster than I otherwise would have been, which meant I'd be able to help the city faster.
I let the helmet drop into the chest and closed it up again. I floated back down to my room, shutting off the lights.
I dropped the octagon onto my dresser, setting it across the room from me; I certainly wasn't going to sleep with it under my pillow.
As I fell asleep I thought I heard whispering begin, and my dreams were troubled by images of gigantic flying robots killing everyone I loved.
As I stepped into the halls of Winslow the whispering began.
Everyone had known what was going to happen to me and none of them had done anything about it. For some it was tactic approval. For others it was sheer cowardice. The one thing no one had apparently expected was for me to act as though nothing had happened.
"Keep your head up, granddaughter," the thing whispered in my ear. How it knew what had happened I did not know; perhaps whatever telepathic link there was between us was deeper than I had thought.
Perhaps sleeping with it across the room hadn't been the brightest idea.
In any case I could hear anger in its tone; whether if was anger at me for not punishing the people who had transgressed against me, or angry at them for attacking and attempting to humiliate the one mutant on the planet I couldn't tell.
It seemed like sound advice, so I walked in with my head held high. I ignored everyone and I walked by my locker, which had apparently been cleaned out overnight. I could still smell an acrid scent of cleaning fluids from it, strong enough that it burned my eyes and nose as I walked by it.
I headed for my first class, only to be stopped by Mr. Gladly in the halls.
"Principal Blackwell wants to see you," he said.
I scowled. Given out interactions in the past I had a suspicion what she was going to have to say. She'd try to blame me for what had happened, perhaps aided by the testimony of the trio.
Turning, I headed for the principal's office.
The anger that was building inside of me wasn't healthy. I could feel lockers rattling all over the building and I had to intentionally calm myself.
"Why do you let your lessers torment you?" the voice whispered in my ear. "You have the power to make them stop... all of them."
"Attacking norms with powers is a good way to get a kill order," I murmured. "And while you might have been strong enough to fight the whole world, I'm not sure I want to."
"That's only true if you get caught," the voice said. "A simple accident with brake pads and you might find an administrator who is more willing to follow her oaths and actually protect her charges."
According to Dad, he'd once run a school for mutants, so he knew what he was talking about. Still, he was talking about intentionally murdering Principal Blackwell. The scary thing was that I could already think of half a dozen ways I could do it without being caught.
Sabotaging her brakes was out of course; it was too close to how mom had died, and even if I was willing to commit cold blooded murder, I wouldn't do that. It was too close to what had happened to mom and would risk other, innocent people on the road.
The thought was like a splash of cold water; I felt a chill of horror go down my spine. My anger drained away.
I was going to be a hero, and heroes did not murder people because it was convenient.
"You'd be protecting others," the voice whispered.
"I'm not doing it," I muttered under my breath. I hoped this didn't keep happening; my reputation at school was already bad enough without my being seen talking to myself. Emma and the others would have me in a psychiatric hospital that my father couldn't afford before the day was out.
"Then we will have to find another way," the voice said, as though the life or death of a single human had no more value to him than the fate of an ant on the ground.
The secretary looked at me with contempt as I stepped into the office. I'd tried complaining to the administration one time too many and she saw me as a troublemaker.
Her stapler was sitting precariously on the edge of her desk. A tiniest act of will sent the stapler falling. I moved it slightly as it hit the floor, and I heard her curse as she reached under the desk and hit her head. It was petty, but I felt a moment of satisfaction.
I stepped up to the door of Blackwell's office and I knocked.
"Come in," I heard the muffled voice from inside.
As I stepped inside I saw Principal Blackwell staring at me disapprovingly.
"Why am I here?" I asked.
"This is about the vandalism of your locker," she said.
"Go on the offensive," the voice whispered. "So long as she controls the conversation she has the power."
It was why she sat behind a big desk and wore the clothes that she did; it was intimidating.
"Are you going to press assault charges?" I asked.
"We're here to talk about your vandalizing school property," she said. "I have no idea what you are talking about."
"You know what happened," I said coolly. "Do you really think that nobody filmed what happened? Everyone has cell phones. What do you think would happen if I went to the press with the information that Winslow is actively participating in the assault of students on campus?"
She stared at me, silent for a moment.
"I'm sure that there is no evidence of something that didn't happen," she said smoothly. "And Blackmail is a crime. You are already in enough trouble as it is."
"You could kill her with the paperclip on her desk," the voice in my ear said helpfully. "It would be easy. I can show you how. You should not tolerate this from someone like her."
"Like there's evidence that I'd vandalize my own locker?" I asked. I lifted one eyebrow. "You know there are a lot of lawyers out there who will work for a cut of whatever lawsuit winnings they get. How hard do you think it would be to make a case of willful and malicious neglect?"
The voice whispered in my ear, and I brightened.
"Sometimes winning can be losing," the voice said. "If it costs too many resources."
Leaning forward I said "And even if we lose how much will defending the case cost the school? What will it do to your reputation with your superiors?"
She scowled, then waved at me.
"Get back to class."
Getting her to actually take real action against Emma, Sophia and Madison was too much to expect, at least without actual evidence and blackmail material. I knew that the three of them had probably made sure that no one was filming; they were good at protecting themselves like that.
"I'll need new copies of my books," I said. "And it would hardly be fair to make me pay for them again, not when this clearly was perpetrated by unknown parties."
She scowled and scribbled out a note, as well as a hall pass without even asking.
I was tempted to make a parting remark, something scathing and cutting, but the voice interrupted me.
"Be gracious in victory, child." His voice sounded almost amused. "Taunting the defeated only leads to retribution later. Even the mouse can wound the lion when the time is right."
Was I the mouse or the lion? I didn't always understand his metaphors, probably because he was old. He'd grow up during world war two, and I had the impression that the world my mother had come from was farther along in the timeline than my own. For all respects and purposes he was from the future.
Instead of making a snarky remark I simply took the papers from her, looked her in the eye and held my head high. I turned and left the office.
The secretary was still rubbing her head, which gave me a grim sense of satisfaction.
Two wins in the same day, however small was a rare thing for me. Of course that meant that the rest of the day was likely to go downhill, but I'd treasure whatever victories I could get.
"Pessimism is the sign of the weak," the voice whispered. "The strong make their own future, even if they have to bend fate to their own will."
"I can see that you haven't been to high school," I muttered.
The hallways were empty now, leaving me free to move around as I wished. I felt a sudden impulse to simply leave; I'd had my victories for the day, why taint that with what was sure to follow.
"If you do not conquer your fears they will conquer you."
"What are you, a fortune cookie?" I snapped.
"Think of this as your first step toward conquest. While these people are inconsequential ants they have made you believe that they are lions. If you don't have the courage to face them what does it say about your will to face the greater villains to come?"
He was right.
I had to learn to face my own demons or I'd end up cowering ever time things became hard. I couldn't afford to let myself get weak, not when I was just starting out. I had to learn to stand up for myself or I'd be a failure.
Maybe having a supervillain whispering in my ear wasn't the worst thing in the world.