Roof, Winslow High School

Destination.

Agreed.

Alignment.

Agreed.

Light.

Agreed. Location?

Agreed. Levitation?

Agreed. Offence?

Agreed.

Intersection!

As I appeared in a flash of light on the roof, thumping down with a squawk of pain as I landed on my tailbone, I had to wonder what the hell had just happened to me. One minute, I was banging at my locker door, desperately trying to get out of it, the next; I was here on the roof.

That bitch Sophia had taped a piece of paper over the grills, cutting off what little light there had been coming through them, as well as the air. I'd been in the locker for about an hour or so and no one had come to my rescue.

Bastards.

OK, rage moment over. Time to figure out what the heck just happened here. I smelled the locker again and looked down at my lower legs, covered in the filth of the locker.

OK, figure out what happened to me later. For the moment, I needed to shower.

The Next Day, After School

Hebert Residence

I was glaring at the ceiling as I sprawled on my bed. As usual, the Bitch Trio had gotten off scot free, with no one coming forward to point fingers at them for what they had done to me. Conversely, however, the School Administration was getting a rocket from the BBPD, Board of Education and the Public Health Service for the contents of The Locker. Apparently used feminine products in that quantity and having been left over winter break were considered to be toxic waste.

Principle Blackwell was being highly pressured to discover the identity of the person responsible for the waste being put in my locker. And still she was doing everything she could to shield the bitches! She stopped them from talking to me and told me that I was off for the week because of my 'traumatic experience' and that I wasn't to talk to anyone regarding an ongoing investigation!

Both my Dad and I were furious with the school, but there wasn't much we could do about it except add to my 'bully diary' and look for the right time to expose the Bitch Trio's actions to the public.

I didn't mind the week free for the Trio. Quite the opposite; now I had the chance to test out my powers to see exactly what I could do with them. Now that I was calmer and not on the edge of a hysteric fit, I knew now that I was a teleporter, so my classification was Mover. I had cranked up my ancient computer and equally old dial-up and scoured Pho for some way of assessing a Mover (Teleporter).

The general trend was that a Teleporter's power rating was assigned based on five pieces of criteria; Range of an individuals' capability to jump, whether or not they required line of sight to jump somewhere, whether they could jump with others, total weight that could be jumped and total number of individuals that could be jumped at any one time.

For frame of reference, Strider was widely acknowledged as the best teleporter on the planet. He was famous for being able to teleport a large group of people from LA to anywhere within 3,000 miles in a single 'stride jump' as he called it. There were teleporters who could outrange him, but they could only teleport themselves or maybe one or two others at once, which would reduce the range of their teleportation jump.

Some were limited by the Manton Limit and couldn't affect organics with their powers. There was a teleporter in Japan, Shunshin, who could only teleport herself and non-organic objects weighing up to 130 .7 kilograms up until last year, when she went through something referred to as a 'Second Trigger', whatever that was. Now the limit she had been under was raised to at least a couple of tonnes, she could teleport things inside of other things and she could now teleport up to five people along with herself.

In Brockton Bay itself, the only teleporter was a villain, Oni Lee of the ABB. He was a teleporter/duplicator that left clones behind after he teleported, allowing him to pull of suicide bombing attacks without harming himself. As far as anyone knew, he couldn't remotely teleport anything or anyone, nor could he teleport other people.

As I had teleported myself to the roof, I was tentatively labelling myself as a Mover 3. I could teleport somewhere that I couldn't see without losing my clothes (although I wouldn't have minded losing the trousers, shoes and socks; Dad had burned them as soon as I told him what they had been in) or damaging anything around me.

Now I had to find how to trigger my teleportation willingly, as well as if I could teleport things, both by touch and from a distance. Moving to the living room and closing the curtains, I focussed on my room, imagining myself appearing there and suddenly, in a flash of white light, there I was, standing in my room.

I silently fist-pumped in victory before heading back down to the living room. Next, I tried to teleport the TV remote to my hand. Again, it happened in the space of time it took for me to blink. Useful.

Next, I tried to see what happened when I teleported something in motion. I found an old tennis ball that someone had thrown into our back garden and used that. I threw it into the air and imagined it teleporting to my hand. One flash of white light later, and it was in my hand. It didn't drop or thump into my hand, it simple appeared there, its inertia completely robbed and neutralised.

Well. That's also useful.

A Week Later

The Dollhouse

Parian, the owner and operator of the Dollhouse Clothing and Costume store looked me up and down critically before eying the sketches in her hand that I'd drawn of what my costume should look like. I was dressed in utterly forgettable clothes and a dime-store mask of a Power Ranger.

"Hmm…not bad." The cloth user said with a hint of an accent I couldn't identify, "It's actually very good for an amateur attempt. It needs changing slightly, but I can do this. Question is, I am sorry to say, how are you going to pay me? You said you wanted three of them to start with?"

I had been ready for this. "I can act as your delivery girl within the city." I answered firmly, "A set number of deliveries per costume would be agreeable, wouldn't you say?"

Parian cocked her head to one side inquisitively. She had to do that because she wore a china-doll mask over her entire face, meaning no one could read her facial expression. "Yes, that does sound like a valuable service for me. Might I ask how many you were thinking of to start with?"

"Um…I honestly don't know." I was forced to admit, "I have no idea what kind of materials you were thinking of using for the costumes or how much they are worth from a monetary standpoint. How does seven deliveries per costume sound?"

"Eight." Parian countered. I considered it and nodded.

"Deal." I extended my hand and we shook on it. "Can I start once one of the costumes is ready?"

"That sounds fair." The dressmaker agreed, "I certainly don't want you delivering on my behalf wearing clothes like that. No offence."

"None taken." I assured her, "I'm just…not fond of showing off my body. Has to do with the run-up to my Trigger."

Parian nodded. "That's fair enough. So then, speaking of your Trigger, what's your Mover power? You never said."

I teleported around the room before returning to my original position. I had to laugh at the startled body language that the dressmaker was showing. "Teleporting. My range is unknown for the moment. The farthest I've tried to go is about a mile outside the city limits, but I didn't feel any strain at all when I did it, so my actual limits are undetermined."

"Wow. That was bright." Parian said with a shake of her head, "A light teleporter? Haven't seen one of them before."

"I know." I acknowledged, "Still, it's what I've got. Here's a number you can contact me with. If anyone other than me answers, hang up. I'm keeping my Cape life separate from my civilian life."

"That…isn't always wise." Parian pointed out hesitantly, "What if something happens to you?"

"If I tell my family, they'll make me join the Wards." I stated flatly, "I do not want to do that. I've had more than enough teen drama for one lifetime."

Dad would probably try and make me join the Wards, fearing for my safety, not wanting to lose me after what happened to Mom, etc, etc. I'm not disputing that his heart would be in the right place, but dealing with the Bitch Trio is enough of a pain in the ass without adding Parahumans teenagers to the mix.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Parian shrugged, "I'll let you know when your first costume is ready, though it oughtn't take too long. Expect it in about three to four days. Now let me measure you."

Four Days Later

I pulled the last gauntlet and stepped out of the changing room to see what Parian thought. The dressmaker had been as good as her word, calling me after school with the good news. The number I gave her was for a burner phone that I had thrown out after hanging up from the call.

"What do you think?" I asked as I placed my hands on my hips. The costume was a golden shimmering yellow with white highlighting lines around my waist and in rings down my arms and legs. My gloves and boots were a stronger gold colour than the rest of my costume and I had a white belt around my waist for zip-ties, a phone and other useful things.

My mask was that of an imperious-looking woman, entirely golden of course, attached to a helmet that covered my entire head. Parian had tried to talk me out of it, saying that the PRT didn't like people that had full-face masks. I told her the PRT could kiss my golden ass for all that I cared for their opinion.

I don't know how she did it, but the mask was made out of some sort of one-way glass like substance. She'd told me that it was about as strong as two inches of bulletproof glass. She had a friend in Toybox, the Rogue Tinker organisation, who had a specialty in making silicates that had provided it to her free of charge as a favour to her, as well as a bolt of Tinker-made cloth called steelthistle weave, which was stronger than Kevlar, as well as being resistant to bludgeoning attacks thanks to something special in the fabric. Almost all of my costume was made out of it.

"Wow…that's a lot of gold." The dressmaker said with a nod, "It works though. Have you thought of a name yet?"

"Yeah." I nodded, "Call me Hyperion."

This was hard to do. Taylor still hasn't learned everything she can do, which will be the subject of chapter 2 of this ficlet once I get around to writing it. My SAO story Swordsaint now has a TV Tropes page, so check it out!

Mover: 7 (Taylor's primary power is light-based teleportation. She can teleport almost anywhere as long as there is the faintest sliver of any kind of light, artificial or natural, to use as a medium, which is why she was able to teleport out of the locker despite the dearth of light. Her maximum range is roughly 2000 miles in a single jump, by herself. The teleportation is nigh instantaneous and she can form illusory light-clones as a distraction. They have no substance, but look and act in a similar fashion to her. She is able to teleport a group of twenty people at a time up to 500 miles. The maximum weight of any object(s) she is transporting cannot exceed 2.5 tonnes. Anything she teleports has any momentum or inertia neutralised upon being enveloped by her power. She does not require touch to teleport things other than herself, but the landings can be more precise and less uncomfortable for the people in question if there is some form of contact with her. Is also able to fly.)

Blaster: 4 (A minor ability, Taylor can fire beams of pure light at her enemies with varying intensities. Her clones can fire similar beams, but they have no physical impact, so they're just a pretty lightshow.)