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Foreign Obsessions Imitating Life
(Decoration Disorder Disconnection crossover)
Where did my life went wrong? Was it the death of my mother? No, I don't think so. The tragedy impacted me and my father greatly, but it was something we could recover from, something we did start putting behind us. Even though sometimes I blamed myself for her death, since she died in a car crush while talking with me by a phone, even though I wondered time and again if father blamed me for it, it still was something I could work to overcome.
The same cannot be said about Emma. She was my best friend, then she suddenly wasn't. When I returned from a summer trip, Emma had a new friend - Sophia - and she made it clear that she didn't want to have anything to do with me.
Well, that wasn't true. She still wanted to interact with me, just not as a friend. She made me into her victim, pulling vicious "pranks" and turning all my little secrets I confided in her against me.
There was no explanation, no reason for the change that I knew. It was if one day Emma was replaced by a doppelganger or possessed.
Perhaps it was true.
She, Sophia and Madison - a girl who joined them later - made my life in school a living hell. I could do nothing about it. Trying to talk to Emma resulted in verbal abuse. Going to teachers was useless - they preferred to believe the trio of popular girls and their supporters over an introvert loner like me. And the bullying was worse after the attempts. I was afraid to tell anything to my father, given how hard he took the previous tragedy. To learn that I had no friends - no, that my friend turned against me, and that I was a victim of bullying campaign... I didn't want to learn what it would do to him.
Every action invited retribution. And so the only course of action left to me was to endure.
That lack of control, that lack of understanding the reasons behind what was done to me - that scared me the most.
Given the situation, it was understandable that the last thing I expected to find waking up one morning was Emma crawling in my bed.
I didn't expect her to be devouring my arm, either, for different reasons.
I knew I should have felt pain. I knew I should have screamed. I suspected the pain woke me up in the first place. Yet, I just laid there, staring at Emma crushing my bone between her teeth. Was I in shock? Was the scene just too surreal for me to act? Was I just used to silently endure whatever Emma did to me? Was I going to die? Perhaps it would be for the best...
Emma must've noticed that I wasn't sleeping anymore. She rose from her position and looked me right in the eyes.
She smiled.
For once in a long time, there was no malice in her expression.
Everything went black.
"Over the course of the next two weeks, you are going to go through the tests - medical and psychological - then you are free to go." The middle-aged woman who spoke glared at me like my mere presence offended her on a deep level. It was probably true, though I wasn't alone who could accomplish that. Tomato - I mean, Mato Touma - didn't get along with many people. None in this clinic, certainly. I guess that comes with being a perfect predator: she was the one who put most patients here in the first place, going with human skills alone against monsters. She looked the part, too. She was... perfectly utilitarian, I would say. There was not a single unnecessary detail to her: her body was pure muscles, her attire functional and designed to not impede movements, her hair cut short, her face sharp, eyes always focused straight ahead, never losing sight of her goal. Me, currently. It was probably not a good thing that she was in charge of my life. Though apparently it was going to change.
"Huh?" I replied intelligently. It was a known fact that nobody left from here. Well, none of the people with the syndrome, to be precise. Over the last two years, I've made peace with the fact. My life was still controlled by forces outside of my control, but it was better. It was a kind of progress, I guess?
"You heard me." Her scowl deepened. "The PRT presses us to get results, even if they aren't ideal. The Agonism outburst was a major blow to parahuman image. The old hate groups which disappeared after the first Endbringer attacks made themselves known once again. The PRT wants to show that they are in control of the situation, that this institute works. Releasing a patient and helping her to become a productive member of society would contribute to that goal. Or so they say." She scoffed. "As far as I am concerned, you all are just disasters waiting to happen."
Ah, that explained it.
The Abnormal Antagonist Syndrome, called Agonism by some, has given parahuman researchers plenty of material to work with, though they probably weren't very glad about it. It was the betrayal. There were always unpleasant sides to superpowers. Endbringers and people who turned into monsters, physically or mentally. But they could be explained as anomalies or a product of some malicious intent. For all the Endbringers were slowly destroying humanity, there were only three of them. They were easily labeled as "others", an outside threat against which the humanity could unite (to some extent, anyway. It looks like even the possibility of extinction wouldn't stop the bickering between politicians). For all the perspective of turning into a monster was terrifying, they were a rarity among capes, not something you needed to worry about. On the whole, superpowers became a natural part of life, something you just accepted as a given.
Agonism has broken that comfort.
The syndrome acts on people with ongoing social problems. More often then not, victims suffer from isolation. In that, the syndrome is no different from normal when it comes to gaining superpowers. However, unlike with regular parahumans, there is no "trigger event" upon which powers manifest themselves. Instead, a slow process takes place. It starts with mental changes, causing afflicted to become easily irritable, paranoid, prone to emotional outbursts and, well, antagonistic. This phase usually lasts for about a month. After that, physical changes start, part of a person's anatomy turning physically impossible. Most people die during that phase. Those who survive find themselves in a possession of stabilized (but usually not very healthy) mental state and superpowers. Of a sort.
Unlike regular superpowers which typically grant you abilities that seemingly come from nowhere, the syndrome tend to focus on a single part of the anatomy: a guy with modified stomach who could eat anything, another who could spin his neck around and cause everyone who witness it to do the same - with lethal consequences to them. This kind of thing. Though cases where the whole body was changed or the location of change couldn't be found due to the effects are not unheard of.
What was interesting is that the changes typically allowed the afflicted to address the issues which presumably led them to develop the syndrome in the first place, though never to resolve it completely.
Apparently, it was similar to how the regular powers worked as well. Which suggested some disturbing possibilities.
Given that information, it was not surprising that the public was scared of parahumans now. The Brockton Bay massacre which depopulated an entire district of the city didn't help, either. Some people even called us "possessed" now.
"Why me, though?" I awoke from my musing to find Touma idly playing with a pen - always a bad sign.
"You are our best candidate," she spat as a curse, "by virtue of being able to meaningfully communicate with people."
When the afflicted were removed from the source of their troubles, they either turned violent or lifeless. The violent were isolated, the lifeless wondered the complex grounds, never straying from the path alloted to them, never complaining about their treatment and, well, never showing interest in anything.
That didn't apply to me, though, as far as I knew. I suspected it was due to the nature of my "power" which consisted of an amazing ability to forget everything that happened during the daytime. It was surprisingly comforting, on a level, to have my whole life reduced to a few quick sentences I wrote in my notepad. I didn't need to pay attention to anything I didn't care about. I didn't need to understand anything that happened around me. All will disappear come a nightfall. And so, I was free to act as I please. There were no consequences to my actions, only things that happened to me because of unknown reasons.
What it says about me that I took giving up any control over my life as a solution to the lack of control?
Touma knew all about it, of course. Which is why she always arranged our meetings at night.
"So, I am going to be free?"
"No. You'll leave the clinic. You are still an agonist." She did like to remind me of that. "Over the next two weeks, you'll be evaluated on your ability to function in the society..."
"How exactly?" I interrupted. It wasn't wise to provoke her, but satisfying.
"Does it matter?" She shrugged, impassive. "You'll forget anyway. Now, what else? You'll be on welfare for some time, so you shouldn't worry about the money. You'll be provided with an apartment as well, in New-York. The government expects you to complete your education and find a job, though."
"As a part of showing the results?"
"Yes, so don't relax too much. Money flow will stop eventually. If you can't handle yourself by that time, your loss." She looked entirely too happy with the possibility. "You'll need to check with me regularly, but that's something we can discuss later."
"That would be all for now?" I asked, tired of the conversation.
"Ye... One more thing." A rare sight: Touma unsure of her words. "You still have the problem with the arm?"
"Yeah." As if she didn't know. I've lost my arm on that day. That tend to happen when someone eats it. My case was unusual, however, as is often the case with agonists. No prostheses worked for me. All felt wrong. High-tech models refused to obey my commands, more simple ones just got in the way constantly. Even an arm created by Panacea refused to work properly. Well, that wasn't surprising: for all she could treat normal maladies like they were nothing, it was rare to see her being able to do anything to agonists. She said that the problems could be rooted in our brains, perhaps to Corona Something-or-other, the source of superpowers, which she couldn't affect.
Was it a part of my power, I wondered? An ability to not have an arm? Or was it something Emma did to me? Both possibilities were fitting the general theme of my life, really.
"Take this, then," Touma said, handling a slip of paper to me. There was an address written. "Go there once you are settled. You may find the solution to your problem."
Like that would ever happen. Still, it was something that made impeccable Touma uncomfortable, which was good in my book. And hey, what's the worst that could happen?
I carefully copied the address in my notepad.