Chapter four. I'll try to commit to a weekly update at least, as always, please comment if you spot any typo or error, or if you want to make a suggestion about how I could improve my writing. All criticism is welcome.
Please also note that I revised the former chapters for typos and errors using Grammarly, and that I will possibly revisit them again to see if I can improve them, however, the plot and storyline remain unchanged.
I tried to move away from him the moment I realized who he was, thinking frantically over ways to get away from him; thankfully, both chairs were on the side of my bed further away from the door, so it should be easy to exit the room and go find dad. I pushed myself to the edge of the bed and tried to stand, but my legs felt like jelly in contact whit the ground, and it was only luck that my arm clung to the edge and I didn't fell to the floor altogether, however, as I tried to climb again to the mattress, I found impossible to push myself up.
As I found myself with just enough strength in my arm to keep hanging, I felt two hands grabbing me from my armpits and lifting me up as if I were a rag doll. I tried to struggle or to scream for help, but my throat still was closed and my body still was weak, and I found I was unable to defend myself.
"Easy, Taylor, let me help you up," Damian said in the same monotone he seemed to use for everything, but I just kept trying to struggle, I didn't know what he was doing here, but it couldn't be anything good for me.
Ignoring my trashing completely, he just placed me over the bed and sat on his chair again. Reaching for all my strength, I tried to push myself up again, but all I accomplished was to almost fall from the bed again.
I looked at him whit fear running through every part of my body. I was alone with a psychopath, unable to move, and his eyes were buried in mine, cold as stone.
"Taylor," He said my name while still meeting my eyes, and I flinched, "I'm not here to cause you any harm, and I understand you don't have any reason to believe me. You don't even know me but-" I wasn't listening to him anymore. I knew who he was. He was the one that had been guarding my looker while I begged and screamed for help, while I felt how blood dripped down my arm, and my hopes that someone would let me out died completely. I couldn't speak, I couldn't convey out loud the thoughts that crossed my mind, but I could glare, and I certainly could at least try to sit straighter, and he might have got the message, as he stopped talking right then.
I did know who he was.
I couldn't talk, but I could gesticulate, and so I did. 'Go fuck yourself.'
His eyes hardened and he sat straighter in his chair. Suddenly I realized what I had done. I looked back at him full of fear, for a moment, his eyes glazed, an even the smallest hint of humanity left his face. He opened his mouth as if to talk, and I found myself in dread of what his next words would be. Fortunately for me, Dad chose that moment to return with my cup of water, no nurse in sight. Damian closed his mouth and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Dad saw him, and the look I was giving him, and though I doubted he fully understand the situation, he moved to my side and interposed his body between Damian and me instead of sitting back in his place, masquerading the movement as if he was just approaching me to offer me the water, which would have been easier for him.
"Drink slowly, Taylor," Dad said, eyeing Damian as he held the cup near my lips. "small sips or you will spill it."
I relaxed as he kept an eye on Damian for me and did as he said, drinking painfully small quantities of water, with the first sip being just enough to moisten my lips and make me aware of just how dry my mouth really was.
"Is it everything okay, Damian?" He asked, and it was hard to not heed the slight hostility in his voice. It was somehow comforting to know that dad was there, at least this once.
"Sure, Mr. Hebert," he said, lying directly to dad's face, "though I think maybe Taylor is not all that happy with me right now. It might be better if I just talk to her later." He stood up and walked to the door, but instead of exiting, he stopped and looked back at me.
"I'm truly sorry, Taylor. For what little is worth." He said before stepping out of the room without giving me more than a sidelong glance. I didn't know what he expected to gain with that apology, but he wasn't going to get anything from me.
Dad and I stayed in silence as he held the cup for me, feeling the adrenaline draining from my body. After a few more sips I depleted the cup and he lowered his arm, taking a seat.
"Better?" he asked as he took his seat once again.
"Yeah," I said after clearing my throat, "uh, thanks dad, for getting Damian out of here."
"He said he was your friend, and the police told me he was the one to make the call, so I let him stay here, but-"
"He made the call?" I interrupted dad, for which he seemed surprised.
"Uh, yes. At least that's what the officer told me when I got here, he was actually waiting in the uh... waiting room, but he had to go when..." He stopped for a moment there, seeming a little uncomfortable, "well, it actually has to do with why the nurse didn't come with me to the room. There's someone who wants to speak with you, he wanted to come with me, but I convinced him to let me come first so you wouldn't faint when you see him." He smiled.
I didn't know if dad was doing it on purpose, but his slight teasing was making wonders to help me calm down after that whole... thing with Damian. I returned his smile and asked.
"Who is it?"
"Well, he told me he would head in five minutes after me, so probably you will see him any moment now." I looked at him in confusion but he only smiled at me and looked towards the still open door, so I ended imitating him after just a second of doubt.
The timing wasn't perfect, not by a long stretch, but it only was a matter of seconds until I heard the heavy footsteps in the hall, coming closer to my room. Then, I saw him, clad in his iconic blue and grey armor, towering over six feet tall, with his helmet covering the superior half of his face, and a stern, confident line draw for his lips. Standing at the door's frame.
He stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him, nodding at dad and then at me. "Mr. Hebert, Ms. Hebert, thank you for letting me see you."
My mouth opened to respond before the rest of me had time to catch up with it, without any idea of what I would actually say, and so, the only thing that exited my lips was an inarticulate "Uh."
Dad chuckled at my side, and Armsmaster lips curled a little upwards before returning to their original positions. I had to run that thought by my head again. Armsmaster, leader of the protectorate and one of my childhood heroes was in front of me and had smiled. I felt the blood rush to my checks and tried to compose myself as best as I could over the mattress, finding to my delight that my extremities seemed to finally have regained some of their strength. Irritation flared inside towards dad for not giving me at least a warning, but it evaporated quickly as Armsmaster neared the side of my bed.
"You're Armsmaster," I said, and then I cursed myself internally again at the stupidity of my statement.
"Indeed." He said simply.
"Uh, sorry, I just-" Just what, Taylor.
"Don't worry, I get that reaction more frequently than you would think." He said, and although I didn't know if that was true or only an attempt to put me at ease, I appreciated it none the less.
I had heard somewhere that Brockton Bay had more capes per capita than almost any city in the States, but it was still hard to believe that one was right in front of me. I knew the Protectorate sometimes did public appearances in the Mall, or at the Boardwalk, but I hadn't really ever thought to go to one of those, and I certainly would never have expected one of the heroes to come to see me.
"Can I?" He asked, pointing at the empty chair next to dad's, this time addressing me directly and I couldn't do anything but nod.
Instead of sitting, however, he placed a metallic briefcase I hadn't he had over the chair, I eyed it absently and noticed a heavy digital safe in one of the laterals.
"Before anything else, I have to ask, Ms. Hebert, do you know what a trigger event is?" He asked.
I didn't, so I shocked my head, even as I felt ashamed.
"It's understandable," he continued after I gave my response, "a trigger event isn't something that parahumans like to talk about."
He turned to the briefcase and introduced a password I didn't catch. After which the case emitted a high pitched noise, and opened to reveal a strange machine. Cubical, jet black, with a lot of different dials in the upper face and what appeared to be cables coming out of it.
"It's also not a fact that the Protectorate or PRT like to advertise." He kept going, even as I eyed warily the strange device "Understandable, really, given how it makes the parahuman populace look in the public eye, but villains outnumber heroes two to one nowadays because of the process in which a person obtains powers. An event so traumatic that awakens the lobule in the brain that grants powers. As a result, individuals with personal problems or an unstable structure of support," was he insulting dad? "are more likely to turn into a parahuman, and so, villains and rouges are far more common than heroes."
He looked at me again, and this time there wasn't amusement on the visible portion of his face. "As a countermeasure to this, the Protectorate heroes make a point to get in contact whit possible resent triggers whenever the opportunity arises. We order hospitals, refugees, and other similar places send reports to us when they detect something abnormal in the day to day. Do you follow me so far?" I kept still and quiet until I realised his last statement required an answer, the intensity of his voice taking me back.
"Y-yes" I answered after what I felt was a far too long silence.
"Yesterday we received a report from the hospital about a patient who came in with a temperature under ninety-five Fahrenheit, after having been pushed inside a... container of biological waste, covered in blood, and completely unconscious. Yet, when the doctors performed the initial test, you were in perfect health."
I blinked a few times, he was talking about me?, I wasn't- there was just no way I had turned into a parahuman, and yet he kept his eyes on me as he said that, and he had just explained the mechanics through which a person "triggered". The memories of the locker certainly fit that description.
"The doctors moved you to this section of the hospital to avoid any accident with your powers. As sometimes recent triggers have problems controlling their new abilities."
"I'm a parahuman now?" I couldn't help but ask.
"It is a possibility, Ms. Hebert. The information we have so far is enough to prove there was parahuman intervention was involved in your short recovery time, and so the PRT will be in charge of the subsequent investigation. However, there are no indicators that you are that parahuman as of yet."
"Oh."
"The PRT usually offers a full battery of test for possible parahumans in cases like yours. However, the tests are highly time-consuming, as well as expensive on our end." He then extracted the machine from his case, holding it up in front of me.
"This," he said, "is a NAR. The PRT expects it to have several useful applications and approved it for field tests, one of them is reading the neuronal activity to detect abnormal signals that are common to most people with an active Corona Pollentia, and the presence of a Corona Gemma, the lobes that give powers to parahumans.
The device is actually the first iteration of the concept authorized for use on this kind of test, and so I was tasked with finding voluntaries for it. Your father already filed the necessary forms."
I looked at dad, and felt betrayed when I found him avoiding my gaze.
"The price of the ambulance is too high, Taylor, and while they said they would release you as soon as you were conscious and they had time to check you were okay, we also have to pay for the hospital. The PRT offered to cover all the bills if we acceded to this. You don't have to do it if you don't like it, but this will make a lot easier to sue the school.
His reasoning didn't make me feel any better, but I could see from where he was coming, and the fact that he talked about a sue against the school for guaranteed helped a little too. All that didn't make my next words sound any less bitter, or his ensuing flinch less painful.
"Is it at least safe?"
"Completely." Annoyingly, Armsmaster replied to my barb in an offhanded way. "This device operates through a series of highly sensible nodes, we'll simply connect some electrodes to your forehead and temples, and then wait for a few minutes.
"Taylor?", Dad addressed me, nervousness filling his voice. I bit my lip and was tempted to say no simply out of spite, but I forced myself to remember this was dad, not the trio, or the school administration. He wanted to help me, even if he wasn't always there for me.
"Sure." Was all I ended up saying.
"We can begin, then," Armsmaster said while placing the electrodes in my head. Then he pressed some buttons and turned some of the dials. The machine emitted some noises.
"Please just relax for a few minutes Ms. Hebert, the machine NAR will begin operation in ten seconds, don't make any brusque movements and kept quiet.
I was going to nod, or maybe I was about to say that I still had to make a brutal effort to move my limbs in any way that mattered, so he wouldn't have to worry about "brusque movements" but I thought better of it and simply complied.
"Wouldn't her hair interfere with the read?" Asked dad, and I found it more easy to be angry at him. Was he trying to get Armsmaster to shave my head?
"Hardly, even in normal electroencephalographies. The NAR was designed to make his results as accurate as possible without difficulting its use, his passing resemblance to a normal device for an EEG is only for the comfort of the subjects." Armsmaster responded, leaving both dad and me in bemusement.
And what the heck was an EEG?
The following minutes were a lot more boring than what I would have tough for a test that would reveal if I was a Parahuman, and while I was really interested in the results, I simply couldn't bring myself to believe I now had powers. I didn't feel any different, and in fact, I was so weak right now I could barely move. How could I be a cape?
The machine chirped, and Armsmaster kept immobile for a long moment.
Then, he simply hummed and began disconnecting the electrodes from my head, placing the dispositive back in the case and closing it. After that, he began interacting with a small panel that somehow appeared in his armguard after he pressed one of its panels. I shared a glance with dad, and confirmed that we both had no idea what he was doing.
"So... is Taylor a parahuman?" Dad asked anxiously.
Armsmaster raised his head as if caught by surprise by dad's voice. As if somehow he had forgotten about us once the test had been over. "The results are negative," he finally. "She does have a Corna pollentia, but it seems to be inactive, even though its size seems rather large, but there is no evidence of the brain activity associated with a gemma lobule."
"Uh, okay," I said, taken aback. Was that all? Well, I really didn't have any expectative, so I wasn't surprised, but it did sting a little. "So, uh what happens now?"
Armsmaster then addressed dad "I have to go back to my duties now, but before, I want to remember you that as part of the papers you signed, the PRT will cover all the bills of your stance at the hospital as well as for the ambulance service. All the members of the personnel that have access to this special area of the hospital have signed NDAs concerning your identity, so you don't have to worry about the preservation of your secrecy, en trougth you are actually not a parahuman. You are also not allowed to talk about this test with anyone, not even friends or family members. And as there was parahuman involvement in this incident, the PRT will handle the investigation from here on out. A trooper should come over to take your statement in a while. I will notify a nurse in my way out."
I didn't know what to make out of him, he hadn't been all that personable when he first entered the room, but I was having a hard time not noticing how he was a lot less accommodating with me and dad once he had ascertained I was not a parahuman, and the comment about friends and family touched more than a few nerves. But he had also been nothing but upfront with his intentions from the beginning.
He shook hands with dad, and then offered the same to me. I hesitated for a moment, but in the end, my good manners trumped over my doubts about him, and I returned the gesture.
My hand made contact with his armored one, and then I felt it, at the back of my head, an urge to pull and to make it mine. Then, he retracted his hand, and the sensation was gone.
He lifted his case, and then exited the room.