29 March 2019
The school building went up in lumen that ripped itself free from Theodore's small and shaking frame; a gorgeous searing inferno painted in white that consumed anything, anyone & everything that had been unlucky enough to be caught in the blast zone. Fear and anger were released into the air as all control slipped from the boy's grip, until their charred bodies and decimated scraps of the building fell from the sky like ashen snowflakes. In a moment that would forever be marked by history—by the minds of terrified children and shaken adults—Saint Gregory's Royal Academy caught alight in brilliant burning flame; as if the sun, itself, had deigned to fall upon the building.
This horror—this unwilling slaughter—lasted no more than a few moments, but that was all it took for the world to change. That was all it took; one single meltdown at the hands of an overwhelmed twelve year old, consumed by his emotions and the heavy problems that had been placed on such tiny shoulders; it really shouldn't have been such a surprise that it he had finally crumbled beneath so much stressful pressure. It shouldn't have been such a surprise that all it took was one single moment to become overwhelmed and explode.
When Theodore eventually passed out, consumed by the overwhelming power that thrummed through him like a galloping river and the emotions that fuelled them; the raging Legacies simply vanished as if they had never been there at all. And just like that, the onslaught was over and all of those who had been lucky enough to escape out to the field just in time, far from the confines of the school's main campus, were able to survive the storm. Clearly knowing how close to annihilation they'd come, it hadn't taken long for the LANE Keepers to be called and a BOLO posted on all media sites, decreeing arrest for the responsible LANE when/if found. Theodore's only saving grace was that they did not know just who the LANE was, but that wouldn't stay that way for long.
Snow white ash fell from the sky like snowflakes as Theodore came to, only to find that the world around him was so much different than the world he had left it. It had been no more than a few moments, but by then everything had been irrevocably changed. The turmoil was clear; it was as if a bomb had detonated there, only instead of a little machine of bolts & dynamite, it had been him. Where he had once been curled up in the little bathroom at the back of the auditorium, he now found himself in a wasteland built of spouting toiletries and burnt bodies littered amongst the ashen remains of textbooks and half-charred furniture. What had once been a beautiful place (both academically and architecturally) was long gone.
His handiwork was devastating and he had never known he was capable of this kind of damage. If Don Fën had seen the place, Theodore was sure that he would've thought he'd stepped right back into that apocalyptic future he was always going on about. Theodore sure did; because for the briefest of moments, he was worried he had brought about that prophesied disaster. But as he clambered to his feet and waded his way through the rubble, stepping over the place where his best friend had sat (there was only a scorch mark and the outline of person left), he could hear the wailing of sirens outside.
Stumbling through the ruins, covered in soot and lichtenberg burns that itched at his skin, Theodore had yet to truly grasp the extent of what he had done. The Garde boy had never quite lost control like that before and as his shaky arms came up to hug himself, shock painted him numb and made it so that he would not be able to. Not just yet; no that would come later when he was safe from prying eyes, he was sure. What he did know—what pierced through the mind-numbing layer of panic and shock—was that he couldn't stay there for too long. If he stayed in the eye of the storm, the LANE Keepers would surely arrest him and drag him off to some rehab centre like the others. He was terrified of what would happen if they did; terrified of the shock collar that would trap him if he fought back.
As he mindlessly passed through the ruins of the locker room and the tunnel that led out to the back field where the emergency meeting point sat, Theodore found his foot crunching against the ashen remains of the infamous ducky tie that Mr Bergman loved to wear. Its bright red material was a stark contrast against the grey of the new world and it served to kick Theodore's racing heart into gear. Like a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, the Garde boy didn't even realise that he was crying until his vision blurred with tears, making it hard to see. Mr Bergman—though a bit of a hardass in the classroom—had protected Theodore when the time came and how did he repay that kindness? By roasting him alive alongside everyone else—alongside his best friend, Milton and the other kids—in that godforsaken place.
Guilt choked at his throat, making it hard to breathe and gasping coughs fell from his lips; hoarse and burning as he wept for this horrible sin that he had committed. Bent in half, the heels of Theodore's palms dug into his sockets as he wailed and begged for forgiveness that he did not deserve. Inadvertently bowing to the teacher who had saved his life only to die at his hands, Theodore mourned for the loss of life and innocence on both ends. That was until the faint chatter of a dial tone caught his attention and when his s head snapped up towards the source, he found his visage of Principal Higgins at the other end of the field to be rather blurry.
Theodore's heart jumped into his throat as the far off principal stood at the edges of the remaining student body shifting through reams of roll calls and called the LANE emergency hotline just as had been advertised only moments ago. Backing away from the doorway, Theodore stumbled over his own feet (mindless of the noise he was making and the attention that he was inadvertently drawing to himself) as he fled the crime scene. There was no way he was going to stick around and wait for the LANE Keepers to show up; especially not after the week he'd had or the fact that a gaggle of them were still (likely) hanging around his apartment complex in the hopes of catching the LANE they thought responsible for the attacks earlier in the week.
Panic engulfed him as he ran, tripping over himself in an effort to escape back out onto the street and lose himself amongst the throngs of New Yorkers before they had a chance to collar him. It was because of this same panic that he would never notice the equally panicked stare of his principal or the pointing peers who had managed to capture a screenshot of his blurry figure running from them on half-sparking cellphones. It was because of this that Theodore would soon find his secret known to the world and that world that would not be kind; shattering any sort of hope that he had for a semi-normal future.
Out on the street, the damage was more noticeable but less deadly, which was why Theodore was able to snatch up a nearby bicycle from the rack and though his palms still burnt from the force at which lumen had dripped from them earlier, his Legacy—now much more demure—easily burnt through the lock chaining it to the pole. He mounted the bicycle without a second thought and moving on muscle memory, made his way home. Head down and legs pedalling furiously, the Garde boy made his way back to the Umbrella Academy in the hopes that he could find either shelter or to grab his Go-Bag before escaping to the confines of Jackpine Road where he had once found solace as a young child. At least, that was the idea. But as Theodore glided past the Tommy's TVs display window where a crowd of onlookers were already gathering, he spotted something that stopped him in his tracks and made his blood run cold.
CHANNEL 6 NEWS: LIVE
BREAKING NEWS! LANE ATTACK AT SAINT GREGORY'S MEMORIAL!
"…We interrupt this programme to bring you an important announcement on the situation at Saint Gregory's Royal Academy. The academy was a scene of great horror today when moments after the memorial for Sheryl Topp and Annabelle Fawcett—two lives lost in the MERITECH INDUSTRIES fire—a LANE attacked the school, killing throes of unwitting personnel; including the two spokeswomen who had come to deliver counsel to the grieving students"
"As you can see behind me, massive damage has been done to the century's old building and many of the students who found themselves caught in the crossfire, have yet to be identified. Thankfully the families of the deceased who had attended the memorial and those who had escaped to the emergency meeting point on the back half of the campus were spared from the fire, but that does not mean that they were spared the trauma"
"The authorities suspect that there is a link between this terrorist attack and both of the shootings at GRIDDY'S DOUGHNUTS & THE GIMBLE BROTHERS' THRIFT STORE plus the MERITECH INDUSTRIES fire that occurred earlier in the week"
"LANE Keepers, having been called by the surviving Principal J. Higgins, arrived quickly on the scene but the culprit had already escaped. Authorities are asking the public to be on the lookout for this person of interest who was seen fleeing from the crime scene just moments after the attack. Seventh grader, Theodore N. Hargreeves; grandson of the late Sir Reginald Hargreeves, a known LANE sympathiser"
"In times like this, we must remind the public to stay clear of any LANEs, as they are dangerous and unpredictable. Only the LANE Keepers are equipped to handle these monsters and we must advise against take the law into your own hands. Doing so may very well end up just as Saint Gregory's has done today"
"Our thoughts and prayers go with those lost to the fire and their grieving families"
"Merdari! [Shit!]" Theodore cursed under his breath as he bowed his head once more and quickly took off for the road out of town. The Umbrella Academy was out of the picture now, and so too was going back home. He'd originally thought that the Grand Central Station had been the way to go (after changing his clothes and grabbing his Go-Bag from the academy, of course). He'd hide amongst the bustling crowds and catch a train out of the city. He'd travel the line all the way to the end and then travel the rest of the way on foot until he reached his childhood home out on Jackpine Road. But even that seemed out of the question now. The LANE Keepers had mobilised far faster than Theodore had realised and they were already hot on his heels. All that was left to do now, was run as fast and as far as he could possibly go.
Theodore felt naked without his Go-Bag thumping rhythmically against his back and the place where his glass eye once sat (now melted and dried to his cheek like crystalline tear tracks) whistled in the brisk breeze that blew through the outskirts of the city. He would've loved nothing more than to waste a precious few minutes burning off the rest of the glass tracked down his face, but he needed those precious few moments to keep furthering the distance between himself and the city.
The sooner he got out, the better everything would be. He could wait out the hysteria in the woods, until things had calmed down some and then send a missive to his family telling him that he was alive. He mourned the loss of the Loric chest that he had been given (his only physical link to his heritage—of his A'Doro), the loss of his missing vera and the fact that he'd likely never see his Don Diego again. But Theodore knew that he couldn't go back to the city, not now, not when everyone was out for blood.
Traipsing alongside of the road, Theodore had done his best to disguise himself. He'd turned his blazer inside out, which meant that the dark satin lining of the thing now bore its breasts to the cold. His tie had been wrapped around his unbound and burnt hand in a poor attempt of a bandage and a pair of discarded sunglasses whose lenses had been cracked beyond belief, sat upon the bridge of his nose, doing their best to keep his eye socket protected. It wasn't much, but it would do until he got to the cabin.
The toll booth was in sight now, but so too was the barricade and that brought with it a whole new set of problems. The toll booth—the one usually placed there for those on the outskirts to earn a bit of cash and regulate who came in & out—was a small thing. Just a striped barrier arm and booth for one, really. But the barricade? That was another beast altogether. The LANE Keepers in the area had mobilised far quicker than anything Theodore could have predicted which was why he was now looking at a mechanised armoury blocking the exit.
Walkie talkies crackled with messages for the Keepers on who to watch for, radios sang with the public's cry for blood for the LANE who took so many lives and repeated warnings not to approach any suspected LANEs should the desired outcome be anything other than satisfactory. Theodore's heart thudded in his chest, his stomach dropping to his feet as he listened on the edges of the barricade to everything going on inside. It wasn't good. But there was no going back and now there was no going forward. Unfortunately, self-preservation dictated that he wasn't just going to lay and die; which only left one option in his mind: Theodore would have to run the barricade.
Stepping out of the safety of the rough, Theodore dug his feet into the gravel, twisted the balls of his feet once or twice to get a good grip before taking a run-up. He closed his eyes and let the song of his heartbeat fill his ears, he heaved a deep breath as the white noise of his most used Legacy bubbled to the surface and the soft glow of loralite enveloped him as his lumen blanketed his body just as it always did when he danced in the air to his vera's music. One step, two, three and then—!
The next few moments passed by quickly as the air whistled through his curls as he leapt high into the air. A surprised shout sounded from somewhere below as Theodore soared high above the heads of aghast men. Weaponry was armed as thunder ripped through the sky, pounding in time with his heartbeat as he streaked across the sky; the loralite painting him as a shooting star. One that barely made it over the turrets of the barricade before he found himself entrapped in a net of a mogadorian design. Electrical in nature, the net clung to every nook & cranny of Theodore's body and with an almighty heave, he was yanked from the sky.
Pained screams ripped themselves free from his throat as he sank into the clutches of the Keepers, thumping heavily against the earth. Theodore's body seized & arched violently as volts of electricity surged through his small frame and he knew without a doubt that this was a thousand times worse than any shock collar. Theodore's screams quickly turned lethal as he squirmed on the ground, uncaring if his Legacies hurt anyone. Rolling around on the hard earth, his head eventually curled up to his knees as he whimpered in pain with hands clasped around the back of his neck.
Again, his Legacies bubbled up close to the surface as they tried to protect him and this time, he had no qualms about letting the almighty surge of lumen (one much smaller than the one that had destroyed St Greg's) and sound explode from his body in a tidal wave. This time, Theodore could hear the pained screams of his victims as his Legacies tore them to pieces and the devastation was much smaller than the one at the academy, but no less destructive as blood painted the ground red. Whimpering tears flowed from Theodore's sockets and as he succumbed to the darkness dancing around his vision, the clock rewound.