Elisabeth had been sitting in on the meeting between the representative of the Zapped, the British Prime Minister, the President of the United States. Truth be told, it felt more than a little strange sitting across from two of the most powerful men on the planet wearing her Zapped uniform. Despite the total bizarreness of the entire situation, neither cast her an odd glance.

They spent approximately a quarter of an hour appearing to be good friends outside ten Downing Street (where Elisabeth demonstrated her power by switching a light outside off and on again), and then entered the building for their talks, to be held in a specialist conference room at front of the offices. None of the public or press would be able to see into the meetings, or even be capable of distinguishing who was present should another person join them later.

The Prime Minister had ever so politely pulled a chair out for her at the conference table before proceeding to take his own seat opposite her, yet next to the President, whose stare was so unblinking it made her shiver. If the two politicians had planned to try and intimidate her, so far it was definitely working. There was an underlying, unspoken tension between the meeting's participants throughout.

"I agree with your point, Mr. President, but I don't think that integrating those with powers into a school with ordinary kids is the best way to do things," she explained. "Bullying would be rife, ostracizing, isolation, even perhaps neglect or negligence from teachers themselves."

"What do you propose, Volta?"

"My suggestion? Build schools that those with powers can attend, taught by teachers who know how sensitive the circumstances are. Bring in scientists – psychologists, neurologists, geneticists… anybody who could offer some light. I've done research on our powers so far, how they possibly work, but I can't keep that up without some additional help. I'm sure our powers have limits, but we haven't found them yet."

"Excellent, Volta," the Prime Minister exulted. "Well done."

"Encourage people to integrate with children of the storm outside of school and work," Elisabeth continued. "The public need to be capable of viewing that the Children all are human still, and require social lives as much as any of the ordinary beings. They're the same as they were before, just with an added ability that they must learn to control. The moment somebody gets out of hand, there will be an incident like that at the aquarium in Winchester, where one person wants control of the world because they have a power and it all goes haywire."

"Well, we certainly wish to avoid that," the President smiled.

"Yes, I imagine you do," Elisabeth murmured, "so would you please stop looking at the clock above my head like you're bored to be here?"

"I merely like being aware of what the time is, Volta," he responded too warmly.

"So what time is it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What time is it?" she asked again.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because you said, Mr. President, that you like knowing what time it is, and therefore knowing the time must be more important than what I have to say. Since what I have to say is pretty important, something must be happening very soon. So… what time is it?" she asked coldly.

His face darkened, knowing that she was suspicious and then he sighed, planting his palms on the desk in front of him as he rose from his seat. He clicked his neck to one side. A crack resounded in the room. He checked the watch on his left wrist.

"Twenty-seven past two, Volta. It's twenty-seven minutes past two in the afternoon," he sighed.

"Why is that time so important?" she demanded.

He grinned fiendishly. "I know it's bad. Any minute now, at half past two, the entire building on this site will go up in flames, caused by a circuit malfunction. And guess whose power involves electricity, as you so kindly demonstrated for us outside?"

"You can't be serious!" she gasped. "You're going to blow up one of your own buildings and blame it on me? That won't stick, anyway! You'll still be alive – people will suspect something! I mean, I knew the government were a bit twisted, but you'd really destroy a landmark for this?"

"Not just a landmark, Volta." The Prime Minister finally spoke up. His voice was shaky, his eyes wide. "I have seen the light, like the President here. He showed me the way out of these dark times, and it is to sacrifice our own beings."

"You're… you're going to kill yourselves?" she choked out disbelievingly.

"And you're going down with them," the President smirked. "You're going to burn, and if you survive, people will blame you. Not just Britain, but America as well."

"You said I'm going down with 'them'," Elisabeth realized. She stared at the President of the United States as she stood up and backed away, towards the door. "Like you're not really in there."

"She's smart," the President laughed. "Oh, and all this time, I thought I'd been trapping dipshits."

"Who are you?" she growled. "What do you want from me?"

"Not much," he teased. "Should be easy for you. You see, from what you've said, Takada wanted supremacy, a world of Children. She wished for life to only be the powerful. Her idea was to kill the ordinary humans that couldn't fight back. She sounds like the type who wouldn't pick on her own size." He chuckled. "My own scope is much, much smaller."

"Who are you picking on?" she mumbled.

He checked his watch again and grinned further. "You."

Immediately, she shoved down on the door handle, realizing he'd locked it – but it was electronic… she could get out, even if the two suicidal politicians couldn't. She leapt out through the opening door and yelled for people to evacuate. She shouted as loudly as she could, running toward the front door. They were at the front of the building. There was a very good chance she would survive.

Several others followed her out of number ten Downing Street, realizing that they really did have good reason to panic, and they burst out through the front door before she did. The road vibrated deep with a bass sound that trembled, and the glass in the windows of the building split apart, blowing outwards with incalculable force.

She tried to maintain calm breathing once more, having grazed her hands outside on the ground and scratched her arms and elbows on tiny fragments of broken glass.

B and Rose had been right: she had made a mistake in trusting the government.

But who the hell had that been inside the President, if not him?

XXX

Harold McElroy, as nice a man as he was, had tried desperately to be understanding about the whole 'sleeping-with-a-client-and-getting-suspended' situation that involved his oldest son. He had known what the young man was going to say before it was even said, and had scolded him lightly, using only the 'I thought you knew better' phrase that he had heard so many times before in his youth. After that, the eldest McElroy had taken it upon himself to lecture his son on controlling sexual urges whilst he made both of his boys a hot chocolate.

Jean McElroy had not been so placated by the actually rather meager punishment that the judge had inflicted on her son. She was furious by the slightest black mark on Tom's record, and had used every single classic parental admonishment she could conjure up in ten minutes. Drew was almost cowering behind his father, whereas Tom took each cutting insult with a stern expression that actually meant he was having a secret giggle at her internally. He was practically counting off Jean McElroy's familiar phrases one by one on a tally.

"A two-week suspension!" she snapped. "I can't believe it! The embarrassment! Can you not keep it in your pants, boy?"

Tom was about to say 'nope' when he caught sight of his younger brother shaking his head in warning. Instead, he tried to hide his amused smile by bowing his head. His mother glanced at the clock in the kitchen and stormed out, declaring that she had some kind of meeting with a client charged with fraud and forgery. Tom exhaled in relief and gulped down his practically scalding hot chocolate.

"Well, I'm glad that's over," Harold mumbled, turning to clean up any tea-stains left on the counter by the teapot. "That was not the worst rollicking she could have given you, my son. Be careful, be careful! That hot chocolate is boiling! Put it down, that's it – no, no, put it on a coaster. There's a good lad."

"Hey, Dad," Drew said, "you bird-watch from time to time, don't you?"

"When I get a chance," he admitted. "Greg, Ken, Lucille and Millie all like heading up to the woods, so when I get an opportunity…"

"What can you tell me about flight?" he asked.

"Flight?" he stammered. "Oh, flight of birds, yes… um… well, the bones in the wings of most birds are hollow so that their bone density doesn't weigh them down when they fly." He paused, and Drew said nothing, evidently prompting him to continue. "There are, I believe, four different types of wing category. Pheasants and partridges have elliptical wings, suitable for maneuvering tight spaces. Ducks have short, pointed wings called high speed wings. Seabirds and kestrels possess the high aspect ratio wings, low and good for hovering. Eagles have large wings, good for takeoff, like vultures. They are quick and glide well."

"And… wingspan?"

"Depends on the size of the bird, Drew," Harold said knowledgeably. "Height should be at a ratio with wingspan of about one-ten, but there's no specific ratio to go with it. An albatross is at one-ten. I don't know for certain…"

"Oh," Drew muttered.

Well, that dashed his theory, then. He had had little doubt before that Tom would be capable of flying. However, hearing his father's data about wingspan, he now had serious reservations. If a height-wing ratio was at one-ten, and Tom was six feet tall, his wings would have to be sixty feet wide in order for him to achieve flight like an albatross, and as Drew had witnessed, they did not stretch sixty feet. In addition, humans weren't built for flight. Unlike a bird, their skeleton was not hollow, so to fly would take wings of enormous strength, and to maintain flight would be exhausting.

"Mind you, the Golden Ratio mentions 'wingspan'," Harold murmured to himself. "From the tip of one hand to the other with outstretched arms. The idea is your wingspan is the same, or roughly the same, as your height."

Drew and Tom looked up at the same time and exchanged a quick glance.

"Why did you want to know, Drew?" Harold asked.

"Just curious," Drew lied. "I saw a book recently at the…" He suddenly realized. He had great access to a number of sources of various information every single day. It was his job.

"The library," Tom finished for him. "Drew's been browsing through the library."

"Thanks for the drink and cookies, Dad," Drew said hurriedly. "I've just remembered I've got loads of work to do cataloguing new DVDs that came in yesterday." He put the mug down on the side, patted his father's shoulder and left in a rush.

When he got home, the first thing he did was to fire up his computer.

XXX

Dr. Johann entered Claire Riddle's hospital room that evening, as the lights were going out, and saw that although she must be very tired, she sat up in bed, staring at the wall in front of her. She did not react when he came in, instead remaining focused on the wall.

"Claire?" Johann said tentatively.

Her eyes snapped to his figure in the doorway, silhouetted. She looked exactly like a stereotypical nutcase.

"Hello, Claire," Johann pressed. "My name is Dr. Frederick Johann. I'm a psychiatrist."

"I know." The words sounded forced, hushed. "What do you want with me?"

"I wanted to have a word with you about what happened yesterday," he said in a voice so sickly sweet her brow furrowed in suspicion. "I heard you were talking."

"I was," she confirmed dryly.

"That is not what is strange, though it is impressive, considering the state you should be in," he murmured. "No, no, what is strange is you were talking in a language you do not know."

"That is not certain," she mumbled.

"Nowhere in any of your records does it say you speak, or have ever spoken, the slightest bit of Japanese," Johann continued. "And this hallucination you had… it doesn't put you in a very good position, does it?"

"Go away."

"I could make life so difficult for you, Claire." He sat opposite her, much too close, and leant in. "So how's about you make life easy for me?"

She glowered, disgusted. After a moment of consideration, she swallowed and leant forward a little. His grin made her feel sick. She slammed her forehead against his with as much power as she could muster. He fell backwards off the bed and cried out in pain. When he stood up, the corners of her mouth turned upwards slightly. His nose was bleeding.

"You… you head-butted me!" he gasped. "Bitch! You're going to regret that!"

She watched him as he stormed out, her expression unchanging.

Hey, how's it going? Suddenly realized I never published the final results of 'who's your favourite "Zapped" OC?' poll, so am doing so now.

With 50%, it's Elisabeth Reid.

With 25%, it's Rose Beaumont.

With 12%, it's Tessa P., and with 12% again, it's Emlia Deaver.

Funnily enough, Ben Reid, Lara Compton and Clarissa Deaver received no votes!

Thanks for reading the chapter. Please do leave a review - look at that cute little button. Can you deny it?

C.