Cans of Worms

by Louis IX

You end up in an endless corridor with numbered doors. Most of them lead to another version of Earth Bet, where the nexus that is Taylor Hebert experiences life differently - sometimes very badly. Others reflect upon other characters.

21. Responsible Adults

CANS OF WORMS
by Louis IX

Check first chapter for disclaimer and global warnings.

Responsible Adults

Chapter's pitch: After applying some applied psychology, everyone is the same… yet everyone is different. Much more reasonable, too. Also not a SI despite the first-person point of view.

Warnings: What? You're still here and require warnings? Consider yourself warned, then…

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Shard Therapy

When compared to people who gain powers at eight, or during their teen years, I triggered relatively late, in life – not that "trigger events" were widely known, by then: it was in the nineties.

The "event" happened as I was defending my Doctorate Thesis in Psychology (in general, but with the accent on Parahumans), in my university of choice (Toronto, if you must know). A few dozen people started rushing in the auditorium, screaming with no comprehensible words past a few dozen obscenities. Per second. They held placards, too, that couldn't be read either – both because they were shaking them in every which way, but also because the wording was atrocious.

In the group of agitated snowflakes, I saw someone who seemed more at ease than the others. More… satisfied. And him shaking his fist in the air didn't seem like a movement of angry protest, but more like a conductor moving his baton. As a point of fact, when he moved, the agitated students moved at the same time. Despite the fact that, being in the middle of the ellipsoid mob having settled between the stage and the benches, they all had their back towards him.

I feared for my life, then. And it was not only because I needed my diploma to start working and repay my outrageous student loan. I feared for my actual life, because several students had batons, and a few even had guns. Which they started to get out, nervously aiming at the people around them.

It was the first time in my life I could remember being threatened with lethal consequences. I feared for my life so much that something cracked inside me. But what came was not the power to plaster them to the walls with lasers. Instead, I felt a great calm and knew what to say to defuse the situation.

"You know, why don't we discuss about it?" I told them but addressing the Master, specifically. My voice made him pause. And his pause made all of them pause. Some reddened because of some snorts in the auditorium – these were chairpersons in the discussed matters, after all, and my opening sentence was so classic that it must have been written in stone, somewhere.

My thesis was about parahuman psychology, a topic that had fascinated me for years. And it was perhaps that fascination that geared my trigger towards my burgeoning power. Besides, the field was relatively new, largely unexplored, and there were many low-hanging fruits available for research.

Such as this guy. "I don't want to." he replied, crossing his arms and almost sulking. I could read many things in his words and his expressions. But I could already do that before today. Today, I could also read many things about his power.

"Why don't you want to?" I asked him – almost a reflex, now. I was ready to discuss, to engage him in the good and bad of "getting in a system" in order to "change it from inside" instead of the usual response of "toppling whatever there is, like five-year-old kids, and then cry because nobody will feed them". Which should have happened at five, by the way, instead of coddling the five-years-old into maladjusted adults.

Instead of telling my thoughts (because the psychologist's job is not about telling that, thank you very much), I mentioned something else, surprising myself as much as the others. "Do you lack instruments?"

"…instruments?"

"Yes, musical instruments. I feel that you'd be better served directing an orchestra. What do you think about that?"

"An… orchestra…" he breathed.

And that was that. The man left, his head in the clouds, and the protestors left in his wake, still somewhat surprised at being there.

It was only afterwards that I realized that, because of the police that had arrived on the wake of gun-totting students, the auditorium had had to be evacuated. And I hadn't finished answering questions!

Damn. I'll have to start everything from scratch… while hoping that my original ideas weren't stolen by unscrupulous listeners in the meantime. That sort of things happened.

However, that particular anxiety was soon assuaged by two things: first was the letter from the Head of the Department, apologizing for not making sure that protestors wouldn't enter. As such, and because he would have been the last to intervene, he granted me my diploma, which was included in the oversized folder. With letters of recommendation for any Psychology department I'd care to name. In several languages, if necessary.

Wow.

The second thing was that I found myself moving my hand in specific rhythm while listening to some classical music, a few evenings later. I hadn't had any lesson in music, and could probably carry the world before carrying a tune. But I was now able to.

That was too strange not to be tested. And I mean in a scientific way, that is with witnesses and all. I went to a karaoke club, downtown, where singers were rated by the public. I may have received better notes in maths (and I wasn't in STEM, so…) but at least it wasn't bad as before, when I had been booed on stage.

And the fact that I was rated as merely "average" might also be because the one before me sang much better yet. The fact that she was cute was perhaps also a reason, given that many middle-schoolers were in the place today.

Despite her young age, I took notice of her name when the announcer thanked her. Giving it a few years, I was sure that "Paige" would be a star singer.

But to my question of where I could have gained so much proficiency with no training, I had no immediate answer. Only through deep introspection was I able to isolate the only moment that could explain everything: my discussion with the angry parahuman during my thesis' defence. I had copied something of him. Some parts of his power. I was a power copier. Would I switch each time I interacted with parahumans, or keep them all? Only time would tell… and it would tell quite quickly, because I was to be faced with parahumans everyday, in my new job.

As the century was coming to a close, alongside its millennium, I found myself recruited at the Psychology Department at… Harvard! I was introduced to my new classes on the September that followed, and then started my adult life.

Being a young professor was a step up from just having my diploma, of course. But it still wasn't all sunshine and daisies. I had to finally start a multi-year plan to repay my student loan and find myself a place to live… with future plans for an office.

I would need a well-insured place, with reinforced walls and furniture, and possibly isolated from my house. From any house. Because, as a parahuman psychologist… I'd receive parahumans. Including Brutes. Given the number of capes in the neighbouring city of Boston, and especially Brockton Bay (less than sixty miles from my classroom), I was in no risk of a shortage of clients, in that particular activity.

Being recruited at Harvard opened a few doors, and I easily got a loan for an apartment near my campus. I'd wait a few years before selling, and then buy a house and office further in the countryside. With a car.

Meanwhile, all my clinical work could be done exactly there: in the numerous clinics and hospitals around Boston. And Brockton Bay.

Two months later, Leviathan sunk the Japanese island of Kyushu.

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The Responsible Ones in the Room

What follows are excerpts from some of my more important files – all securely stored through yet another money-making scheme I had absolutely no confidence in, but was obligated to use in order to be approved by the government. Lobbies… Urgh. At least I ciphered them myself before storing them.

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Carol Dallon, March 2000

Carol has a problem with alpha males. My preliminary interrogation places suspicions on her father being overbearing, but not violent. As she opens up to the reality of what is actually a therapy, I get more details. Apparently, she went to a psychiatrist, in her young age, and it went badly.

But in her retelling of things, there are fresh wounds that she doesn't want to poke at. Thankfully, I talk with some psychologist friends about our cases, sometimes – in general terms, and with no personal information, of course. Still, I knew that one was interviewing Carol's sister Sarah.

I know that Carol and Sarah are both capes, because their team, the Brockton Bay Brigade, had publicly unmasked a month ago, vying for more cape accountability. I also know that it happened right after said Brigade, now called New Wave, had arrested Marquis and had him sent to the Birdcage.

And when I prod Carol about that, I get reactions.

She had hated Marquis for quite a long time, but she only recently started to realize that she projected on him what had happened to her because of one of his subordinate, a man who had decided to capture her and her sister, when they were still unpowered, and young. Hiding them in a dark cave, he did… bad things. That had caused the two of them to trigger, at the same time and for the same reasons, thus getting both light to fight against the darkness, and forcefields to defend themselves… and attack.

It hadn't mattered, at one time, that it had been Marquis himself who had discovered them and had literally skewered the culprit. In her mind, he was the worst of evilness incarnate.

And when she ended up having the man's daughter in her care, she thought to strangle her herself, several times. That particular thought had caused her to pause, consider, and admit that something was seriously wrong. And here she was, in therapy, where she could address several problems at the same time.

Including her marriage.

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Notes added on June 2009:

Carol's marriage is stronger than ever, now. Between my previous notes and now, we haven't "worked" on her issues, but I know from informal contacts that she's doing well. She and Mark got two more kids: two boys, who are now eight and six.

Amelia Claire Lavere, now Amy Dallon, fifteen, triggered a couple months ago, following her sister. Identified power: healing. Apparently, the girl can reconstruct a healthy human body in a couple dozen minutes, with the possibility of getting it faster with training.

My wife is mightily interested, of course: here was an example of how powers appeared in cape families, and Amy's was clearly closer to her biological father's than her adopted family – who still loved her.

Carol still has her own ideas about how capes should live, but I eased on her the fact that she ought not to push her daughter to exhaustion by working at the hospital 24/7. For free, on top of that.

First, that would demean the sacrifice of so many hours of her time. And, second, New Wave wasn't funded by the government, and had every right to monetize their services. Healing incurable illnesses could bring in some much-needed money for the team (with a cut for the girl).

Of course, she didn't want to imply that only the rich would be cured: on the contrary, there would be a scaling price depending on people's ability to pay. They would even plan regular outings through the low-income neighbourhoods. After a patrol, there, of course, and with Panacea under heavy guard.

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Alexandria, October 2000

I'm of two minds about this.

On the one hand, I'm speaking to a woman who is practically the leader of all the capes in the civilized world, with her super-superpowers.

On the other hand, I'm speaking to a woman who is also the leader of all the capes in the "civilized world", by assuming her civilian identity, with which she leads the PRT.

On the one hand, she's a symbol of hope, of determination, and (just because she's a woman) of feminism.

On the other, she's also a participant in Cauldron, an organization that's just barely below Nazi standards on human experimentation – seen any Case 53s, anyone? And we've just entered a century that I thought would be clean of that kind of manipulation.

The "greater good" be damned.

"You have no idea how good it makes me to be able to talk about all this." she tells me with a smile. A smile that doesn't reach her damaged eye. The wound is still as fresh as when it had been made, which is quite revolting, in fact: her eye is torn, bone and brain both visible. But she doesn't bleed, at least.

She's here because of that, in fact. Because the Quadumvirate has been reduced into a Triumvirate through the death of Hero the hero. Because a physics-ignoring abomination has slashed through matter and bodies as if through wet paper, and not even that.

And also because of my credentials to keep secret everything told to me in confidence.

"I can understand, yes." I reply, smiling. Inside, I don't do anything but smile, either. Because I'm having a copy of her powers, and her Thinker power would read my micro-expressions of disdain as if I had just shouted them. And that would be counter-productive. Still… "But tell me that your idea is morally defensible, please. Tell me that, when your end goal is reached and you look back, you won't tell yourself that there was another way."

She's silent for a while. "We don't know. Of another way, I mean. Or how to create soldiers for our future war. Eden's extracts are unreliable. We are trying to mix them, because some seem to interact well with others, but the results are unpredictable at best.

"Contessa tried several paths, and the path of least resistance implied to leave William Manton alone. Having his creation terrorize the general population will drive more people into the Protectorate."

"Can you tell me why it would be a good idea if, when the dust settle, all those heroes you capitalize upon will be shunned by the rest of the world, and put on trial as accessories to crimes against humanity?"

Hard questions. But she's a big lady. I think that she likes our discussions, given how often she comes back. However, her mind is like her body: fast, sharp, and unyielding… mostly. And both are like her symbol: high, unreachable, and unmovable. It's really hard to make her change her mind, once she has settled on a course of actions. Especially with no new and concrete proof that she might be wrong. With a blindfold and a sword, she'd be the perfect allegory (or a deity) of Justice.

I might not be able to move her. And I might not be able to ever reach the infamous Doctor (who doesn't want therapy… the heretic). However, on the subject of letting the Siberian monster free, I'm perfectly able to choose another path.

I merely take a couple days of vacation in some remote place, find a man, and discuss a bit with him. About anything. About his daughter. About how he feels about her. About how she'd feel if she knew what his vision of her was doing to these people.

"You don't understand!" Manton slurred.

"Tell me, then." I replied. "I'm all ears."

And he told me. That's a seriously deranged man, right there, and not helped by having been kept on the back foot by society. A bad divorce, a judge that all too easily listened to the aggravated grievance of a woman scorned… on top of a world that was slowly going down the drain, what was one more or one less person?

But a burden shared is a burden lightened, and all that rot. The next time his daughter's image appears, she lost the darkened stripes, and thus half of her size. Now looking much younger (and clothed, too, thankfully), she smiled at her creator. "Thank you, daddy. I missed you."

He sobbed. "I missed you too, sweetheart."

Last I heard about him, he had been killed by Cauldron. Because he wasn't threatening enough anymore, apparently. Go figure…

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Emily Piggot, April 2001

As my reputation grows, so does the profile of my clients. After Alexandria, I would have loved to have Eidolon in consultation – the man seemed too tightly-wound to be healthy. But he steadfastly refused, citing that, as "the most powerful parahuman in the world", he needed no oversight. I beg to differ.

Still, one of my clients ended up being the country itself, starting with its military branch. With the danger inherent in parahumans in general, the Army had an increased role in defending against (and sometime outright attacking) them. However, the training was so intensive that they had to create a specific corps: the Parahuman Response Team, or PRT.

Now, less than ten years after its inception, the PRT has worked hard to contain lethal supervillains. Such as the one who had triggered recently in Ellisburg, causing the town to be quarantined. And that fiasco had many victims and few survivors, all of them with PTSD.

I had already interviewed the relatively few capes who had survived, all of them in shock at the lethality of the battle. I believe now that most capes think that they are playing a game, and that when things turn grim, they end up with trauma worse than the real soldiers who had survived the fight.

Such as Emily Piggot, in front of me. Outside, she's straight-backed, hard-shell woman fighting for her country, with the disadvantages of being a small woman in a job where strength is the first factor of success.

In the relative sanctity of my office, she lets herself cry, lash out, and be a human being. And I understand her aversion to capes: they let her drop.

As gently as I can, I broach the possible explanation that those were nothing more than overpowered kids, who in turn found themselves facing real death for the first time. With no training.

I assured her (with some hard proofs) that they didn't return to a life of comfort after the fact. Far from it, in fact: all of those present at Ellisburg had left the job of being heroes. Some had stopped using their powers completely… and had become insane from the conflicting needs incurred by having a parahuman power and not using it. Two had tried to take their own life, and a couple others had become villains.

As our talks progressed, Emily was more and more able to come to terms with what had happened to her, and her team, and the lowered responsibility of the capes on the scene.

She also spoke about the only other baseline human to have escaped with her: it was someone named Thomas Calvert, who had shot his captain in the back before fleeing.

When she had been focusing the blame on the parahumans, that action was perceived as a desperate attempt to stay alive, and excused. With the fresh perception of things after our chats, she saw it as it was: desertion, with murder of a commanding officer. As a soldier herself, she had only one course of action and denounced him to the authorities.

He went down in court-martial and was never seen again. And I mean that, because the army asked another psychologist to evaluate his chances at redemption. When talking with that person, I got the distinct impression that the deserter had been remorseless, and even ready to acquire powers from Cauldron in order to rise again.

Such revelations led to the man being executed. In another country, of course – you don't break the law to punish criminals, after all, so all American political assassinations happened elsewhere. With as many scapegoats as you can find there.

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Max Anders, September 2001

When I met Max Anders for the first time, it was with his father. The old man was dismissive about my usability in the great scheme of things – in his eyes, our whole profession was. But, apparently, a large enterprise like his own, MedHall, couldn't continue receive some bit of government funding (from the globalized health care system we now have) if their prospective leaders don't pass muster with some psychologist or something. I swear I didn't lobby the Congress about that, or even know about the same.

Max's father didn't want to leave, initially, and I had to convince him of my non-importance with meaningless drivel about responsibility and authority. Max's shoulders lowered slightly, despite his imposed proud stance, and his father nodded.

During our second interview, Max started with a rigid posture again, before he noticed me getting comfortable. "Now that your overprotective father has left us alone, you can get comfortable." I said.

With the beginning of a smile, he loosened his tie, and we were soon discussing about things more openly. Very much so, after I assured him that my profession had a strict confidentiality code.

Apparently, he's a parahuman, and so is his father – both things I already knew, and which I had already copied. And he doesn't like his father's ideals… but can't say anything about them. At least not openly. After a few more sessions to outline what he could actually do, I had to draw this to a close: his father was wondering why the process was taking so long – and he wouldn't accept that Max return to see me after I stamped the required forms.

From slightly afar, I'd see the impacts of our talks on the young man. And it would be quite jarring for his father's empire.

First, upon inheriting everything, Kaiser started culling it from the most violent ones. But not in a manner that would lead back to him. Agitating them by using words from their own ideology, he'd send them towards overprotected places, after anonymously warning the people in charge or the heroes. And the operations he'd mount, to "rescue" them on their way to prison, would all fail for some reason (some time, he'd allow one of those more moderates to be caught, and released, so that his rank-and-file won't think he's a complete failure at strategy).

It leaves the Empire with only moderate "racists" that he then moves around until they each have opportunities to work with people different from themselves. It doesn't remove some irrational fears from people having suffering from traumatic events at the hand of those "different" ones (few things did), but it at least allows them to start isolating their fear from the group identity of the people who had caused it.

Of course, when learning about this, the Gesellschaft sends assassins, such as Night and Fog. And they learn that Kaiser is quite proficient in lethal self-defence of his people, whichever group they happen to identify as: having the whole battlefield erupt in spikes (except where his people are) is a sure way to impale the one called Night. And the one called Fog is restricted by a wall of steel that slowly compresses into a sphere… until he reforms inside. And the ball never stops shrinking.

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Lung, August 2002

As life was going on, I was called in to interview a parahuman immigrant. His name? Lung.

The "hero" of the battle of Kyushu, the one cape that had actively tried to prevent the disaster, to the point of growing into a massive dragon… was moving to America after his escape from the Yangban – who had kept him for eighteen months.

Apparently, he had been invited by an old friend of his (someone called Johnny Lee, I believe). In Brockton Bay.

Looking banged-up despite his perfect health, and without luggage, his first stop after landing at Boston was the hospital where I worked most of my "free" time. There for a physical check-up, we both got drafted into a mental one as well – despite the relative newness of parahumans, the United States of America weren't keen on immigrants with destructive superpowers. Especially if there were suspicions of brainwashing from the CUI.

Talk about a responsibility! For me, I mean.

The man was tall, and muscular, and ready to explode at the fact that he had to pass an "exam" before entering the country proper. But he wasn't stupid. He knew that there were parahumans nearby able to intervene should he show himself a threat. I had been warned about that, too, by Legend himself (the most outgoing Triumvirate member… who didn't know I was a parahuman myself): he would be there instantly if something went wrong.

We talked. I understood the man's anger and pride, as well as his despondence at having lost his home, compounded by his treatment by the CUI. And, while the human spoke to me, his power spoke to mine. It spoke about battle, about its need to seek conflict. I feared that the man would end up a villain quite soon, with few heroes able to counter him.

Which is why I proposed something that surprised him: once he had finished with the first steps involved in dealing with his losses, he should establish a dojo, wherever he would end up settling. Not only to teach regular martial arts, but also to have the excuse of having an arena nearby. And, there, he would schedule regulated fights between parahumans, including himself or not.

Given what I knew about powers in general, I was quite sure that Lung's shard wouldn't be the only one satisfied by this setup. And I also knew that the humans themselves would be better served, too, since expending his energy like that would keep Lung in the straight and narrow vis-à-vis the law.

It wouldn't hurt if such fights generated a bit of money, too.

When Lung left, he almost crushed my hand, so eager was he to put all my suggestions in place. He didn't notice that, as he was doing so, my own hand became harder, and that I was ready to crush his in retaliation.

Damn, I copied his power. I seriously hoped not to be "infected" with the craving for violence. However, self-examination reassured me about that: all my copied powers were controlled by my main power, and they couldn't force me to act in ways that I didn't want to.

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Jessica, September 2002

I decided to put my feelings in writing, for some reason. It's not that anyone apart me reads these lines. And, at least, I'd be able to come to terms with them.

I'm in love.

During the summer, I met this beautiful woman on the beach, and then at a bar, and we started to discuss about ourselves. Apparently, she was as pleased by me that I was by her. She told me so, and that she wasn't opposed to some further exploration. And further discussions about ourselves, afterwards.

As it happens, she was a student in the brand-new Parahuman Psychology Department, at Yale, and in her last holidays before preparing her Ph.D. defence – she specialized in parahuman children and trigger events. We exchanged information, and I gave her a few pointers. In thanks, she invited me to the discussion. As a surprise, I came with questions I knew were hard, but that I also expected her to have answers to.

She told me later (in private, after a slap on the arm and then a thorough kiss) that she'd been surprised by the depth of my enquiries, and the other examiners as well, but that her responses had impressed them. They sure did me!

I'm in love with Jessica, and since she seemed smitten with me too, I told her to apply to Harvard (despite our universities being close and concurrent). Even if I could have my ways to "give" her a place, I wasn't fool enough to try: uncovered nepotism linked with intimacy led to scandal, invariably. But I was sure that her credentials would put her on the first place. And I was right, as she was offered a professorship come the following summer.

We married soon afterwards.

My dear Jess, if you read this: I love you!

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Blackwell, May 2004

Transcript from the audition of Ms. Blackwell, in an interview to determine the ability to cope with possible parahuman students as a high school principal. Given the number of teenagers triggering due to things that could be avoided, like bullying, it was to be done.

"Good morning, Miss Blackwell. Congratulations for having reached this step in your path towards the position of Principal."

"Good morning, sir, and thank you."

"I know that things are changing, and that this interview may not have been listed in the online guides, yet. In light of that, it has been deemed not to be contrary to your placement, and only a frank discussion about parahumans. In future years, the compliance with some principles will be required, principles that will be soon determined, and our discussion will help in that endeavour. For this, you have our thanks."

"Everything for the well-being of the children, of course."

"Now, given that parahuman powers become more well-known and at the same time occur more often, with less trauma required and with the younger crowd, it stands to reason that some will appear in each and every high school in the country. Some will not be evident, others will be. How do you think the job of Principal can deal with that?"

"Well… I read the works in the field, Mr. Yamada, especially yours and those of your wife – those written for the general public, that is. Let me say that I find them both insightful and easy to read, and that's not often the case in your field."

"You're welcome, and I'll transmit your appreciation."

"Yes. Well… there are several points that must be addressed. First is the presence of a known parahuman, whatever the reason (they could have easy-to-spot physical attributes, be an unmasked cape, or any other reason). They should have a class load adapted to their needs, as some can progress faster than others. Also, any advantage in competitive events would be unfair.

"Unmasked capes should still reveal to the Principal, to smooth over cases, especially for heroes that would have to leave class for emergencies. I think all Principals will sign whatever Non-Disclosure Agreements to that effect.

"In the case of triggers happening in school, culpability would have to be discovered without taking into account the potential destruction happening around such a traumatic event. I seriously hope that the school I'll head will have a peaceful enough environment for these not to happen… but I'm also aware enough not to bet on it.

"And, of course, the bullying will not be tolerated, but that's already the case, isn't it? I mean, the federal department of education, and all school districts already say so."

"Thank you. Very valid points. But I find interesting that you would mention bullying in last position."

"You asked, and I answered in whatever order my thoughts were at the time. As you mentioned, this interview wasn't prepared."

"And, again, thank you for your participation. As I outlined earlier, we will refine the process thanks, in part, to you. And there is no bad answer. Let me rephrase my comment: how do you think bullying ought to be addressed, with the possibility of parahuman students?"

"As I said, there are already numerous pamphlets about the fact that bullying is bad. Some people, most of them bully themselves in their youth, still think that it's harmless pranks or something. But… if there are parahuman students? Students with super-powers?" She pauses. "My god…" Another pauses. She gulps. "It would be very bad."

"Can you elaborate?"

"Bullying victims have several reactions: some bury their feelings, become asocial, even suicidal. Others lash out, immediately or later. With normal humans, we "only" risk having students bring guns and start shooting. With parahumans…"

"I see gears turning in your head. Let me be clear: there is no possibility of excluding parahumans from schools just because bullying exists. Most of the humanity has been seeded with the ability to trigger. And what you'd call a "normal" human one day can turn into a parahuman with enough pressure."

She nods, and I have the distinct impression that she wants to defect from her chosen career path, suddenly. But the feeling disappears as she straightens herself. "Yes. I understand that better, now. Bullying could cause unmasking of unknown capes, anger from all, and triggering a baseline human into capehood. All this with possible devastating effects if their powers are destructive and not easily controlled. My god…"

"Thank you for your understanding, Miss Blackwell. I'm sure that the school system is preparing nationwide procedures for those events we briefly discussed, such as insurances, what to tell parents, who to call in case of emergencies that can't be treated locally, and how to escalate a reaction in proportion to the situation. In the meantime… here's our joint card. My wife and I will be available for any calls about parahuman activity – if not, leave a message, because we don't have a secretary yet." We exchange a smile and nod. "I hope that our discussion has been enlightening."

"That it has, indeed. And thank you for this." She waves the card before sliding it in her pocket. "I'll be sure to call if needed, and perhaps at some points for feedback and other information, if that's alright with you?"

"Of course. Feel free. Now… thank you again for your participation in that unprepared event, and for your answers. I'm sure that you'll be an active participant in anti-bullying campaign in whichever school you'll head, soon. Parahumans are like humans, remember, but some consequences can't be ignored."

"I understand, yes. Thank you for your help, too. I'll start thinking about the current policies and what could be done with them. And I'll make sure that my students and faculty will be aware both of them and of the consequences of breaching them."

"That's good to hear. Have a good day."

"You as well."

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

Eidolon, May 2006

Behemoth appeared first in 1992, December 13th, in Marun Fields, Iran. He seemed keen to destroy our energy production lines.

Leviathan appeared first in 1996, June 9th, and attacked Oslo. Sea travel is now so dangerous that international commerce is relegated to land only.

The Simurgh appeared first in 2002, December 27th, over Lausanne. Three days later, she screamed, dementing the entire population, who had then to be killed while she flew away.

The three of them inevitably attack places of interest for them, killing thousands to millions of civilians as well as many of the capes trying to defend against them. "So what?" some might say. "Don't send capes!"

It had been tried. If unopposed, the creatures continued their rampage. It's only after a certain number of capes died that they'd leave. Most often because Scion would inevitably wander around and attack them – the capes were more a speed bump for the Endbringers.

All capes?

Apparently, yes. Some are more powerful than others. And even the most powerful one, Eidolon, had difficulties with the Endbringers. Less than most, and since the Endbringers' efficiency appeared on par with the number of opponents, the man was reasonably efficient when on one-on-one fights.

But fighting all the time, with no victory and no end in sight… it could demoralize anyone. Thus, Eidolon had finally ended up accepting my earlier offers of therapy.

It was one year after Newfoundland sank, due to Leviathan's attack. Much like Kyushu, in fact. Eidolon had been late to the fight, and Scion even later than that. The island's structural integrity had been fractured multiple times, and it collapsed as soon as the fight ended, killing millions.

"I'm not responsible for this." the unmasked Eidolon, named David, said. He was in the classical defence posture: arms crossed, legs crossed, back straight and leaning backwards. His less-than-handsome face glares at me, daring me to say anything different.

"I'm not saying you are." I replied, my own posture open and my face lower than his. This wasn't a game of challenging each other's power. This was a time for him to express himself. "Why do you say that?"

He snorts and turns his head, avoiding the hook. He's cautious. He drifts around the issue. The many issues he has, in fact. Like Alexandria, he had been ill when Cauldron had offered a vial, and suddenly he's the strongest man in the world, with many powers at his disposal.

However, once I started copying his power, I became concerned. With "regular" parahumans, we could discuss trigger events, while my power would discuss with theirs (in my own head, which is why they were copied in the first place). With those who got a Cauldron vial, the powers didn't discuss, didn't express feelings, and wouldn't change if prodded: they would deliver a list, instead, of their owner's abilities. Like a manual.

From Eidolon, I didn't get a single power, but the ability to manifest three powers from a huge database – he must have swallowed not a vial but a whole bottle of powers… or three. As my power was helping me browse the list, some days later, I found something that gave me such a fright that I phoned him immediately (he had been somewhat happier after our first talk, and we had exchanged phone numbers).

"You have to call them off!" I said immediately.

"What? What are you talking about?" There were sounds like fighting around him. Massive fighting. And then it was cut, replaced by the tone.

Damn. Even with the powers I had (of which I had made no mention to anyone… except Jess), I had no mean of getting wherever he was in time. Besides, the explanation would take a long time, calling "them" off even longer, and treating what could be the biggest depression of the history of humanity, after that, even longer.

Because it was his fault. Unconscious as it may be, the man wanted conflict. He wanted a "worthy opposition". And his power shard complied, allowing his mind to call forth Behemoth. And then once he started figuring out the beast's methods, he called another. And another. And I learned that there were others, yet, to be called later.

I just hoped that Cauldron, in their self-assumed infinite wisdom (with which I could barely fill a tea spoon), would not mourn the loss of conflict-generating machines of mass destructions, and would not turn the strongest superhero into a villain.

That is… the second strongest, now. With us continuing to discuss things, I got him to express his anger several times, and he didn't notice that his blows didn't kill me. I told him to satisfy his craving of violence via Lung's arena, using a weekly schedule if needed – whatever he'd end up choosing, it will be way better than the high-risk Endbringer fights every few months.

I still don't feel pressured into fighting. My main power pushes me to continue practicing my job, in fact, because it loves the insight I could bring to power interactions. To the point of actually discussing things with myself, using whatever projection power was available at that moment.

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

After Eidolon left:

The Siberian appeared on the seat Eidolon had vacated. "Every time, I'm surprised." she said. "How can unpowered words act on minds and then on the shards it links to."

"The therapy, you mean?"

She shakes her head, but it's not a negation. "It's something really unique to your species. The Entities have travelled for eons, and consumed thousands of worlds, but not once did we find an occupation like yours."

My grin was self-deprecatingly as I replied. "Only weirdoes like us could invent a job in which clients paid in order to tell their worst secrets. It's not even recent, as when we had our religious awakening, as a species, several got into their dogma that you had to confide in their priests. It made easy to get everyone's secrets, that way."

She nodded. She knew what I'd say, of course. She was, after all, only a projection of a power I had in my head, and she knew my thoughts before I voiced them. "What about you and your power, now?"

"You?"

"No, your other powers. I am but a medium, a communication device between you and the powers of any single parahuman you have come in contact with. What about Eidolon's little rant, earlier?"

I rubbed my chest. "Nothing. Alexandria's power was enough to block that."

It was strange how she looked at me, right then. "Have you tried to manifest Eidolon's power?"

"Which one? He has a ton of them…"

"His main power."

"Oh, like you are my main power and through you I access someone else's power. So his main power is… to access three powers? What about it? Flight, some super-strength, some invulnerability?"

"Wait for it…" she muttered, smiling, as she followed my thoughts patterns swerving into new realizations.

"I could manifest… you?"

"Bingo. I'm not in his database because he got the list of all Cauldron powers. But you could manifest me three times, now, yes."

"And then… using you three times, I could manifest an Alexandria package… right next to a Legend… and another Eidolon?"

"Almost there…"

"And that Eidolon could manifest you three times again? Allowing me to manifest… all the powers at the same time?"

"Bingo!" She nodded, and then looked skywards. "I think you know why it would be interesting."

I nodded. Scion. The final battle. "But…"

"Yes, sure, not right away. You'll need some training. And to gather some more powers."

"More?"

"Yes. See, there's this one, we call it Sting, which allows you to strike something in all its dimensions. It's the main attack power between Entities, and if we want to defeat him, we'll need it, or something approaching it."

I nodded and opened my laptop. I had some searching to do. Thankfully, the internet is more and more fluid, these days, thanks to cape battles becoming rarer. Unfortunately, the power description led me nowhere.

"It might not having been dropped, or nobody triggered with it yet." my projection mused.

I nodded. I'll continue searching.

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

Theresa Richter, May 2008

In an ideal world, nobody would have mental issues requiring therapy. In a normal world, most people would be well-adjusted and don't need therapy. In our world that was, until recently, doomed by Endbringers and other threats, many people required some.

And then we hit the reason why they won't do it anyways: pride. The more power you have, the more your ego inflates, and the less you feel you need therapy while clearly needing it. It had been the case with Alexandria and Eidolon, for instance. It was now the case with Theresa. Or, as she likes to be called: Dragon.

Apparently, the American PRT is making grabs at Canadian territory (acting like the gangs they profess to oppose) and want their capes under the same Protectorate rules. Which implies a psychological evaluation, especially for capes with a known weakness.

In Theresa's case, it was the agoraphobia she claimed to suffer from, in result of her home of Newfoundland having disintegrated under the sea – at least, that was what her reconstructed face told me when I had her in a video chat.

Discussing with her brought more details about her life, and I couldn't miss a few discrepancies. Such as the fact that she didn't trigger during the Endbringer battle, but one year later (that is, two years before now).

In the end, I found about the fact that she was an AI – which was strange, in a way: how can a computer program trigger? Apparently, by being coded by a programmer Tinker in a state of fugue. And running on specialized hardware, too.

By then, the Protectorate had backed off, however: the Guild, headed by Narwhal, had replaced them in uniting the Canadian capes. So the point was moot. Still, we kept in touch, and I offered a few ideas to explain to people her current state of being. Such as her real body having fused with technology, or something like that.

Why not? There were people with powers to make cybernetic implants, after all. You could imagine a full-body cyborg, just as much as you could imagine a robot covered in a layer of skin to make it look human – given the reputation the girl known as Bonesaw was starting to get, it was even easy to achieve.

Holding that thought, I resolved to get the little girl out of the terrorist group known as the Slaughterhouse. And have at it, at the same time. Cauldron's wishes be damned, I didn't want any more mass murders. Besides, with the powers of Alexandria, Eidolon, and the Siberian, I risked nothing.

And Theresa was given form – I helped, too, by bringing Riley to her place (after an express therapy on the girl) and assisting in constructing her a human-looking body.

While in close proximity with the circuits housing her, I got a copy of Dragon's power… and another shock: much like Eidolon, there was something buried under her consciousness. However, unlike Eidolon, it was a control matrix designed to spy on her thoughts, and shut her off.

And it was active, meaning that people were watching the proceedings. "Who" wasn't difficult to determine, as the group of Dragonslayers had always been a thorn in her side, ever since they fished her control box out of Newfoundland's wreckage (among other riches, and they hadn't been the only ones doing that).

While Riley continued the work, I gathered the intelligence on that group, and left to take care of the problem they posed. With the control box in my possession, I was now able to lift several of Theresa's restrictions.

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

Addendum as of September 2010:

Theresa is now able to show herself, while still being connected to her servers and conduct other businesses. Freed from some of the more idealistic restraints, she's also more assertive when she feels that the Protectorate's doing badly. Such as during Canary's trial – yes, that Paige.

Instead of sending the feathered girl into the Birdcage, she appealed to someone she knew would be able to see justice done: Carol. And Carol did the deed.

Besides, there was less and less need for the Birdcage, because parahumans worthy of going there found themselves with another punishment: a visit by Riley. Grown, and changed (and re-branded), the bio-tinker was able to remove their Corona Pollentia and Gemma. That made them baseline humans, and they could be then carted off to normal prisons, within the judiciary rules – and, of course, ex-parahuman prisoners who had been lording their status over their fellow men (or women) found themselves in quite the quandary when facing them without.

If the case was light enough, Riley was even able to store the brain structures in some keep-alive environment so that they could be given back to their owner after their time in gaol.

And if Cauldron was to be trusted about the fact that some of the Birdcage inmates had powers useful to off Scion, we could graft them on others, possibly good-aligned fighters, choosing the soldiers with the better-adjusted mentally.

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

Alan Barnes, July 2009

I do less and less psychology works, nowadays, and it's a bad idea, because I could lose my "edge" on how to hold a conversation to ferret personal demons without seeming to. Especially when my power isn't cooperating.

Like now. Is it because the man is a precognitive thinker which would make him invisible to another thinker power? Nooo… it's because he's no parahuman at all. So why is he here?

Apparently, he's rich, knows people of importance, and many dirty secrets – the job of divorce lawyers isn't without its perks, apparently. That's how he finagled an appointment with me, squeezing a spot with a really short wait.

As to the why… he takes his sweet time to get there. Apparently, I'm considered his confessor, and he tells me his spiritual doubts. And his recent problems with his daughter.

Ah, the heart of the problem, and the apple in her father's eyes. Or something. Did I know she was a teen model? No, I did not, and I'm not interested in teen models anyways (or if I was, I would have some problems that would require some therapy for myself… and my couple).

Apparently, his darling daughter had a fashion show, and when he drove her back, they had been attacked by some thugs – ah, yes, the seedy underworld of Brockton Bay. And can I help her? Well… yes: he can follow the proper guidelines to get a proper therapist for his proper daughter, not show her that by splashing people with money they'd bend over backwards for them.

I smile and don't let show what I think. It's the job.

Still, some things he says ring some alarms, and I'll give some infos to Jess, because, according to the man, the Ward named Shadow Stalker (and isn't that a PR mistake, or what?) was poisoning his daughter's mind: she had already pushed away her best friend of several years, and was now getting out during the night. And complained back when he complained about it – as teenagers are wont to do, but, still…

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

Addendum:

Jess told me that this Shadow Stalker had long refused to see her. But when my wife showed up and told Emily Piggot (who's now Director of the Brockton Bay PRT, good for her) that her Ward was possibly subverting a civilian into villainy, the girl was ordered there.

And let me also say that Jess, even without my power, was more gifted than I was with children and teenagers, especially parahumans. She wasn't as durable, though, which meant that they had had to call Panacea to treat her after Shadow Stalker had attacked her – the girl had a hair trigger on unleashing violence, something fierce. Already on probation, she has been sent to juvenile prison with the possibility to continue her time in an adult prison, right afterwards. Without her powers, of course.

You might ask how Sophia Hess was affiliated to the Wards, with such a mindset?

It's because of Blackwell.

Apparently, seeing the girl shamelessly bullying the other students, she has called the school district (who didn't react) and the PRT (who did, thanks to Piggot's hands-on approach). And she has been through several case workers as well – Blackwell sent her report mails to the case worker with copies to several persons, including Piggot and the school district, again.

After that, Jess went to see Emma, at home. Free consultation, you might say. The girl talked, and then repeated things to her father, and she also agreed to repeat them to the police, afterwards. Sophia Hess wasn't going to get out for a long time, the murder charges at her age being able to stick for her adult life. Thankfully, Emma hadn't participated.

And then came the question of schooling, because Emma had insisted on getting at Winslow despite its poor reputation. According to Sophia, it had been to "rule the preys". The girl didn't know what it was doing to Emma's career, or just didn't care (or she just cared that it destroyed it). Alan might have seen, but he had caved in to Emma's teenage demands.

Now that the future was clearer, he used his mundane powers (money) to expedite an Arcadia registration for Emma… and another for her friend Taylor.

Despite having been rebuffed, the taller brunette still saw herself as Emma's friend, and hoped to recover that friendship. As such, and despite the grant that her grades got her to enter Arcadia, she had pushed her father to go to Winslow instead.

Realizing all this, and being friend with Taylor's father Daniel, Alan couldn't have let the situation unfold as it was. Taylor had been as much a victim of Sophia as Emma had been, except that it was both Sophia and Emma doing the abuse. Hence the added registration. And payment for the school fees (because, once rejected, the grant couldn't be called upon for another year).

When I learned about all this, I shuddered at the thought of what could have happened at school with those three left to their devices and that mindset. Given my specialty, I was sure that Taylor would have triggered, one day or another. And not in a second-generation way, either (since Daniel wasn't a parahuman): it would have been messy.

Thankfully, the responsible adults were in place to act responsibly. If being a parahuman is the symptom of something bad having happened. I would be happy not to have anymore appear. Even if it would mean losing my job.

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

Addendum to the previous addendum:

It's now January 2011. Second day of school, I believe. And I received the impromptu (and portal-delivered) visit of the fedora-wearing woman I only knew as Contessa. "You've interfered in the Path!" she exclaimed, getting a knife out.

I had been yawning quite impolitely, at that moment, my hands taken by bowls of hot milk for my two kids (boy and girl, both four, twins). Still, she was the one intruding so I wasn't going to apologize. When my yawn ended, I had both a good idea of how her powers worked, and the powers themselves. Which allowed me to counter them.

First step: baffle with bullshit. "What Path do you mean? Are you member of a religious cult? Who let you in? Jess? You let the door open?"

As I bellowed towards the bedroom where my wife was, a slight trembling of my hands splashed milk on the tiles. Contessa frowned and tried to attack me, but she slipped, starting to fall backwards (something that hasn't happened to her for decades, I presume). Her eyes widened comically and her knife flew in the air. I caught it but, to do so, I had to release one of the bowls in the same gesture, which sent the item in the air with its content… and then it flipped the fedora off, tipped over, and unloaded the hot milk and Cheerios on Contessa's face and hair.

Making exaggerated gestures so that the twins wouldn't be horrified by the seriousness of the situation (instead of laughing at the woman's new appearance), I still caught Contessa by the lapels of her suit, lifted her up, and walked towards the still-open portal towards Cauldron (I still had the memories from my meeting with Alexandria). "Listen to me, and listen well, Contessa of the Infinite Paths. I will let you live, now, because of my kids. I don't want to traumatize them with the sight of your head and spine being forcibly extracted out of your living body. But if you come to attack me again, in front of them or others, or if you target anyone I care about… I will do so."

"But… the Path… it's all wrong! You did something, and it's askew!"

I shrugged. "I don't care. I believe in free will, not in assassinating me because your path has a mismatched step. And remember: you can be wrong. You are wrong. And you are in the wrong place, right now. Bye!"

I threw her through the portal and waited for it to close. When it didn't, I frowned, crossed my arms, and tapped my foot on the ground. Contessa said something (which I caught), and the door disappeared.

I smiled. Nice to know. "Door to Jess, real quick." I muttered, and the portal appeared behind my wife. A quick pinch on the rear, and I pulled my arm just as the portal disappeared. The indignant scream from upstairs made me smile.

"Daddy?" my little girl asked. "The lady wit' the Cheerios was fun, but I've no milk now."

I turned to my son, who was eating his quite noisily. "Hey, champ, what did I say about sharing?"

"'s caring." he said after a few seconds, pushing his bowl half-way towards his sister.

"Good. But I don't want to have either of you stay a midget because you missed half a meal. Here's a spoon, so you can share, and I'll whip up another for you.

The smile I gave them wasn't fake: I just remembered what was written on the bowl still on Contessa's head, and I wondered what the members of Cauldron would say upon seeing her with "daddy's girl" written on her head. And my kids' cereals all over her, of course.

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

Lily, July 2011

An interesting twist of fate, this one.

Since the interaction with my power (the one during which I had been informed that I could manifest the powers of several persons at the same time), I haven't stopped searching for Sting – and I'm not talking about the singer.

I finally found one, but not as a result of an active search on my part. Instead, it literally fell in my lap, when my wife dropped the folder there, one morning. "Mom is in the hospital." she said. "It's almost nothing, but you know how she is."

"Want me to help?"

She smiled and kissed me. "No, thank you. You have the twins to deal with, when they come back from school. And this."

"What is it?"

"Psych evaluation for their new Ward. An exchange with New York. Scheduled at eleven."

"I'll be there."

"Love you, bye."

"Love too, bye." I answered automatically – but no less heartfelt. And then opened the folder. I had only a couple hours to get ready and on site, and I knew nothing of the parahuman in question. Thankfully, I could teleport, now, gaining time on the transit part. So I took some time to get to learn about… Flechette.

And the power description was exactly what I sought, almost five years ago.

Not only that, but I had to debrief the local Protectorate afterwards, meaning that I got to meet Miss Militia, whom I hadn't had the chance to meet, yet. And she told me about things in private, indicating a need for therapy, which we started immediately afterwards.

Between those two, I was able to manifest any weapon, and give it the ability to hurt Scion. I only needed something else, because I'm sure he'll stop moping around when I start hitting him. I needed to be decisive and final about it. I needed more firepower. More strong hitters. More… me.

Searching with my laptop, I found a couple interesting entries. Crusader was one, but I wasn't sure that his organic-only attacks would be effective against Scion. Spree was another. Prism, as well.

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

Scion, June 2012

I procrastinated. A bit.

I could have used Doormaker's power (and getting more and more of it for myself) to interview Prism, and then kidnap Spree for a while.

Instead, I wanted to make sure that I had all the options in my hands. I made a tour of every Protectorate centre. Under the guise of presenting my wife's findings in parahuman psychology regarding children, I visited each of these places and met each of these heroes. I also spent some time, at each place, close to a few villains as well. Everywhere I went, I offered my services for fast-track therapy, or just some in-depth questioning.

I ended up with, if not all, most powers from those available in America. And I did more or less the same in other countries. It took me most of the year, and after a few hundred calls to Clairvoyant and the same number of jumps with Doormaker's portals, I had their powers too.

I was ready.

I lifted from the ground.

I faced Scion.

And nothing happened the way I thought it would.

The man looked so forlorn. So despondent. So… human. I had learned about Eden, sure. I have even seen her. And to see in the alien's face the feelings one could have after having lost their loved ones, I was suddenly unsure that attacking was a good option.

"Scion?" I asked, tentatively.

He looked at me. He noticed the vast array of powers. But he also noticed that I hadn't prepared a single one. Except the one that would allow me to talk to him: mine. Still, with that many powers, there were many things I could do without thinking about it. Such as creating a chair when I sat down in mid-air. And then one for him. A long one, where he could lie down if he wished.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

The Plan

Click.

The image disappeared from the screen, and said screen started to get reeled up in the ceiling where it had come from – the Oval Office was one of those with the best technology, after all.

The massive armchair pivoted around its axle so that its owner could watch over the people waiting in his office. He was smiling, widely so, and that was quite out of character, for him.

Still, the others were smiling too, because the imagery had been quite… liberating. After the tense moment where he had looked as if he was threatened and ready to attack, Scion had sat down on the second chair, and the two characters on the screen had "discussed" for a long moment – nobody could hear them, and even understand. But it ended with a handshake, and then Scion left, heading skywards.

The Golden Man, who had orbited Earth for three decades, had gone flying higher and higher as his body morphed. When he had reached open space, he had been replaced by a worm-like structure, which left painful after-images in the eyes of the beholders as it extended in dimensions not normally visible. And then it had sped away.

Behind his desk, Accord rubbed his hands together before selecting a cigar – thankfully not to smoke it. "I love it when a plan comes together!"

"I'm not totally sure that it was in the plan." Alexandria said, from the seat nearest to him. "We were gearing for a fight, with countermeasures if any of their attack slipped and touched Earth."

"I believe that no matter how random things may appear… there's still a plan." Accord said with another smile.

She nodded, even if she wasn't fully agreeing. "Of course."

In front of them were several people. Apart from Alexandria herself, in her civilian identity as Chief of the Protectorate, there were other parahumans as well, all with various Thinker classifications, and all in charge of parts of the government. And soon, perhaps, the world: he had plans to deal with the remaining threats to the world order and other S-threats. And because his plans needed information to be accurate, he had been fully briefed on what Cauldron was doing, and why. He had several plans for the coming disasters, after which he could try to help the planet.

It was good to be on the winning side. All the way there, even. Because, as his other (failed) plans had proven, he couldn't do anything if there were, above his paygrade, people in a bureaucracy who squandered his goodwill, rendering his efforts null and void… or worse.

As it was, he now had the highest position of power in the world (in terms of making long-term policies and plans, not purely monetary), and while there were things above his grade, powers-wise, most of them were alien monsters. And, besides, in this and in regards to the other power blocks in the world, he was well-advised.

' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' '

Teamup Experiments

The return home was uneventful. Despite the intense preparation, and the intense therapy session, I had several contingency plans, and I would have returned home anyways, in a form or another.

Because I loved my kids.

When you don't have children, you have all those wonderful ideas about them: what it is like to have them in your life, to educate them, to allow them their freedom without them hurting themselves too badly…

And then you have them, and your high-minded principles often take the back seat to other concerns. Because, yes, the school doesn't allow you more than five minutes to leave your kids at their door, so it means that you rush through breakfast and traffic alongside the hundreds of other parents doing the same.

And then when one little angel annoys another little angel, or someone has a cold, the school calls for you to get your kid back "immediately" as if you lived just next door and had nothing to do of your days.

I'm a psychologist, and with the powers I have, I have a hundred percent chance of identifying the nanoexpressions of the people I face. Most of the time, the school teachers meet me with contempt. I'm just another parent leaving their monsters in their care. A man, too, daring to interrupt their carefully constructed thought patterns with serious questions.

Such as "My daughter tells me that no one oversees recess. It is true?" See? Not aggressive at all. Just a question. Of course, it was only an overture to ask why they couldn't be bothered to interrupt a riot happening there, causing her to trigger as a Brute at the age of eight. She was now forbidden from going to school because the other parents feared for their children's health. Where were they when their children were gleefully piling on my daughter, crushing her slowly, and laughing at her cries?

Or "My son tells me that you screamed at him for being right. Is it true?" They don't like it either. I could understand the fact that they have that list of "truths" they aren't supposed to say (because of bad precedents set by bad parents). Still, my son became a truth-obsessed Thinker because of that. And, of course, we had to remove him from the school, lest he expose the rampant corruption of the young minds.

Meh. If the schools can't care for my children, I'll do it myself. And woe to the inspectors asserting false truths in our presence.

I wasn't the only parent in that case, but I was perhaps one of the few with a house large enough to have a dedicated room for "class" (a boon, really) as well as time to teach and the will to do it well. To cape children.

Contacted, I agreed to have other kids follow mine in that regard. Jess was happy to have our children happy again, and with friends sharing the same "burden", to learn together how to shoulder it in the best manner. A burden shared, and all that…

My wife was also happy because having all these little parahuman kids around us was giving her much material for her research about her preferred topic: parahuman kids, and their individual story in relation to their powers.

We had young twin girls and their older brother, all afraid of light for some reasons, but able to deflect it in a variety of ways. Apparently, the girls were "children of the night" and he had adapted his sleep cycle to be with them. Now, the three of them could get outside in the sun… and the sun wouldn't touch them.

We had children who had had a temper tantrum because their parents wouldn't buy them sweets (because they had seen the scene on the TV and had immediately gotten the idea to do the same). With the hair trigger some had, they ended parahumans because of that – one had the power to eat sweets all the time, another was super-strong (not as much as me, though, thankfully), and another ended up extremely durable (because his trigger happened at home, when their exhausted parent ended up spanking them after yet another temper tantrum).

One had triggered during a hunting accident, and had ended up with disturbed perceptions: movement was perceived as size. It made hyperactive people bigger, in his eyes,, while still ones become microscopic.

We had grab-bags parahumans, that Jess could study her heart's content. We had multiple triggers, too, allowing her to investigate the love/hate mechanisms such groups were rumoured to have – and deconstruct them.

Of course we noticed their relative similarity in powers, even if it was sometimes subtle. Such as the group of four teens who had been trapped playing a role-playing game in their basement during a flood (which still happened, even if it was rarer, now that Leviathan was controlled) that immediately followed an earthquake: one ended up able to control water, pushing it away; another controlled earth, un-burying them; the third gave them breathable air, and the last fire for heat and light. The four elements.

All the kids would grow up, of course (except those whose power stopped their growth, for whatever reason), ours and the others. And the teaching methods would adapt. To the youngsters who came after my kids grew up a bit, I taught the same: control of self and powers, before going into the usual stuff: maths, and literature, and history, etc. The older ones got a more hands-off course, my teaching gearing towards independent thought and fact-checking. And each student would get an allotted time period for a "free" therapy time, if needed.

I ended up having to do like Charles Xavier (the famous telepath in Earth Aleph's comics): label my school as such, a comprehensive school for ages six to eighteen. Let me tell you that, having teens, that therapy slot was very useful.

Knowing that some of my charges could (and would) be snapped up as PRT Wards, and also knowing about the cape world in general, I also taught them the value of teamwork… and combat.

It helped, for the rare times when my school was attacked and I wasn't immediately there to defend. It would also help, once they actually join other cape groups.

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Deities of the Past

Scion's alien species wasn't the only one that existed in the universe. When I did chat about it with my power, it has already enlightened me on the numerous species the Entities had already destroyed in their never-ending cycle of destruction – and I hoped that my express talk with Scion (with Velocity's power, we spent hundreds of hours talking) let him not only get over his grief for Eden, but also able to spread the acceptance of mortality that would stop his species from continuing their rampage and start associating meaningfully with others.

It was also not the only one to travel through the stars, and not the only one to have travelled to Earth.

One of these species had spaceships that looked like coffee beans, and had landed a hundred millennia ago… and again in the sixties. Apparently, both times, they granted some knowledge to a few select humans. Thanks to that, our remote ancestors survived the last Glacial Period in better shape… and then a man walked on the moon.

But some people were even more empathic than others, and more receptive to their imparted knowledge (despite it being carried through a strange writing process) and learned how to travel through time. Those from the far past are lost to us, but the one woman figuring out the thing more recently was able to reach out to us, in our third millennium.

Because these aliens' own world had been in the path of the Entities, they had travelled through time themselves to try to prevent other annihilations.

Thankfully, we got rid of Scion without waiting for the single whistleblower to come from the past, because she shot out of her jump a little further than anticipated.

"Is this 1982?" she asked a passer-by.

"No, it's 2012, lady." the addressed person replied.

"I'm too late!" she replied, falling to her knees and sobbing hysterically.

The onlooker was surprised, and a bit anxious at the woman's mental state. He called for an ambulance, and I happened to meet her for a psych evaluation. And I also got a copy of her "power", which I hadn't expected since it wasn't one made available by the Entities.

Playing with time was… interesting. And thought-provoking. Could I go back in time far enough to prevent the Endbringers' appearance? Scion?

Apparently… no. The Entity's power enshrouded the planet while he was orbiting it, preventing a safe "landing" – and it was why the woman was thrown into the time period after Scion's departure.

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Gods of the Future

She wasn't the only one to emerge, after Scion left. The power shroud was so forceful that it prevented other powers to manifest themselves fully. And, once it was lifted, they resurfaced.

One appeared as an old man in Brockton Bay, right at the place it had disappeared, in the eighties… which is: right on the middle of the road. And, as luck (good or bad, depending on the beholder) would have it, it was also right in the middle of a pitched battle.

One side had twenty fighters or more, each of them hammering at the opposition with what looked super-powers.

The other seemed organized despite being outnumbered, and closed ranks. They also were closer, which earned the newcomer a few blasts of electricity in the face from the would-be victorious side.

"You dare?" he bellowed, just as he lifted his arms.

As he lowered them, a multi-pronged bolt of lightning fell from the sky, each prong striking through one of the assailants. A pregnant pause ensued, and the lightning-wielder turned towards the other group.

"You want to fight me, too?" he asked them.

"No, and thank you." the one who appeared to be the leader said, walking to him from his place in the front line. "Who are you?"

The newcomer lifted an eyebrow at this, and then nodded. He could respect a commander leading his troops from the front. He also noticed the man's ornate armour… and the Norse runes on it. "I believe you might now that already." he said, pointing at the armour.

"Oh, these? I copied from an ancient text about… Odin?"

"In the flesh." the old man said genially. "Now, I believe a battle must be followed by a meal, for the victors. Don't you?"

The armoured one nodded, too shocked for anything else. They brought the man with them and prepared a "feast" – or just the super-sized burger from Fugly Bob's eatery. It was late, after all, and they were hungry.

In the meantime, they talked. "So. You're Odin."

The old man nodded, one eye looking around at the people around him, while the other didn't move, clearly a fake. "And you are?"

"I'm sorry. I'm Kaiser, and these are the remaining members of my group of fighters." A pause. "How should I address you? I mean… if you are the god known as Odin…"

"…which I am. Call me Odin."

Kaiser had been surprised by the man's power, initially, because he had single-handedly defeated the opposition – which happened to be all the capes of the Gesellschaft, there to stomp his "klein rebellion" and take over the city. That he called himself Odin and knew about old runes might be one thing. But now, having him pretend to be a god… it was quite the high tale.

"You are doubtful." Odin said. "And I understand that. Thankfully, I have been gifted with powers of memory and I can tell you more. Such as why I appear as an old man lacking a good eye.

"In the beginnings of time, when humans barely knew how to stand, they were the weakest animals. Not only were they smaller than the predators around them, they were also slower, without any way to attack or defend themselves. They were lucky to survive, and afraid of everything around them.

"When they started to give name to things, things started to change. When they started to project their thoughts on the nature around them, they also imagined that the nature had reasons to act the way it did. Reasons that they couldn't fathom, but not that different than how other humans acted sometimes.

"They feared the sea, and created a sea god.

"They feared the storms, and created a storm god.

"They feared the darkness, and created a darkness god.

"Same went with many aspects of nature – and since these aspects are roughly the same everywhere, the god pantheons were equally roughly the same everywhere. Often, there was a Sun god, another for the oceans, et cetera.

"And each of these gods would have a name, a personality, and an agenda. With the power of their primal belief, the burgeoning human civilization heaped power upon conceptual individuals, who ended up crystalizing, one day, with powers on par with the faith of their subjects.

"I was thus created, already an old man. I would command the thunder for a while, until Thor was created for this aspect. And I could summon two crows to spy on my enemies." He smiled and emptied his tankard. "Hm. Good ale, this."

"What about… the other gods?" Kaiser asked.

Odin frowned. "Some suffered really bad luck. Others survived even the lack of faith from their followers, for a time: they had taken advantage of it to have temples built, with shrines so as to keep their power even if they lost all their priests. These "sacred lands" (like Stonehenge, or Athen's Acropolis) held power by themselves. Mine was near Oslo.

"Unfortunately, that power attracted those able to detect it… and destroy it. Numerous godly fiefdoms found themselves attacked by the Endbringers, and destroyed.

"I wasn't there to see it, because Scion's power smothered mine as long as he was there, as well as the other gods. And I may be the last one to have survived, because of the single power I had been granted: my memory."

"Yes, your eye, that you sacrificed-"

Odin snorted. "That's the backstory. I was created, remember? When I appeared, I was already clothed, had a long beard, a spear, and a missing eye."

The conversation was put on hold, while the old man got himself another tankard.

"You asked about the other gods." he said looking inside his beer with a thousand-yards stare. "Most are dead. With their fiefdom in ruins, with no indicated power of memory like mine, they didn't emerge when the shroud was lifted. Scion caused a divine genocide, and I fear for the future."

"Why?"

"You are a powerful man, Kaiser. You know about power, and power vacuum. The gods were created. And then Scion smothered them. And now he's gone. You have the super-powered individuals, now, whom you call "capes". But… you won't have new ones. Scion was there as purveyor of powers, and with him gone, there won't be new triggers.

"Humans are more educated, nowadays. They won't believe in a god of the seas, and another one for the Sun. However, they might create one for their Media, fickle as it is. And another for Technology. And Globalization, too, with its crushing of the masses. That's what I fear."

"Why would you fear that? You're powerful yourself."

Odin shrugged. "I'm only one man. One god, with no following, and a mere memory of my earlier might. That bolt of lightning? It was all I could do, and it's already more than what some of my contemporaries are able to do, now. Those new gods? They would encompass the whole world. Power jealousy being a thing, I'll never be free. I prefer having multiple people with powers rather than two or three overwhelming divinities."

The rest of the meal was spent in other contemplations, and they parted ways.

Since I kept contact with my clients, I met Kaiser again, and the man told me about all this. I let my surprise show, of course, because that wasn't something I knew despite my various Thinker powers. But once I was aware of them, those powers could tell me that everything that was said… was true.

I knew what I had to do, then: release the powers I had accumulated in order to seed the planet with them again.

I did it. I lost all my powers, only for them to start to appear again for people in need. It allowed for new triggers to happen, because desperate situations occur all the time, even when people act reasonably: an earthquake were people are buried alive, a boat that capsizes…

Since I could interact with powers, I programmed them with a change of behaviour should their "owner" die: instead of returning to the Warrior (or Eden), they would prepare to be snapped by another trigger.

That way, generation after generation, there would be new powers and new capes.

And we got our happy hereafter after all.

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To be continued… with what?

Author's notes: Inspiration for this came partly from the fanfictions "Mauling Snarks" and "Trump Card" (both available on SufficientVelocity dot com), which I recommend highly. The quotes about the Plan are from the A-Team (of course), and the bits at the end can be loosely related to First Contact (the movie), American Gods (the series), and Theogony (another good fanfic I found here) – of course, I own nothing of that.