"Since then, the metahuman gene, as far as we know, is purely dormant in everyone but for the rare exception. The few survivors of such breakouts were immediately committed into rehabilitation. –Yes, Ms. Hawkins?"
The fourteen-year-old African-American lowered her hand and spoke.
"I read that they were coming out soon with a substance that will cure the metahuman infection for good and prevent it from bleeding through more generations."
Her tone sliced through the detached mood, phrased as an accusation to cut right to the point. Her dark eyes glittered, demanding honest answer. Just by looking at her, one could tell the gears in her mind were working overtime; so deeply was she engaged in the subject.
The teacher, a rail-thin male, nodded and grinned.
"Whoever your sources are, Veronique, they're certainly correct; though we may not know the full extent of when, what, and how, we have been notified that a cure will be administered to prevent the metahuman gene from spreading."
Her elbows on the small round table in front of her; fingers interlaced with her chin resting atop them; long legs bent gracefully under her with her feet propped up by the chair's support structure; Veronique was the perfect picture of active thoughtfulness. She leaned forward slightly, intently processing the teacher's response.
"What makes them so sure that it won't backfire and birth another epidemic? The meta-gene still hasn't been fully explored, and the few subjects they've been able to test with are the ones with an already active gene. This would mean that if the cure they've been developing is effective with their subjects, they'll have to activate all the dormant meta-genes before administering it, and in order to do that with no risk to the general public, they'd also have to locate all the subjects of dormancy first."
The painfully intelligent and curious girl may have only been a freshman, but she had enough wit and information to strike up a debate. At the definitive pause which followed her retaliation, she glanced about the room, meeting the stares of her wordless classmates positioned thereabout, fingers poised above mandatory standard black laptop computers perched on the surfaces of sturdy, circular glass tables, each pod-shaped rotating chair stationary.
With every pair of eyes hers met, Veronique challenged them to voice opinion, give her more to absorb should anyone oppose what she perceived to be fact.
She was in "Debatable History" class for a reason, and so was supposedly the case with every now silent teenage in the room, also. She tried not to show her scorn; she'd expected more out of high school than this when she had chosen her classes with utmost care. Now it seemed she was the only animate object in a cavity occupied by a handful of statues. The teacher seemed to notice.
"Dictate today's lecture in your Notebooks, and be here Monday with a pro-and-con analysis of the "hasty" decision made in regards to the metahuman gene cure. I want to see exactly thirty five-paragraph essays in my e-mail inbox come the first bell Monday."
A subtle, dull roar of ominous clacking increased the volume level, but not by much. It ended with the snap of laptops shutting as the "bell" (which was actually a recording of the marching band performing the school's anthem; it would fall silent at the start of the next period) played, signaling their release.
Outside, David was waiting for her out side the sliding door; short, easy-maintenance blond hair cropped close to his scalp; contacts that made his green eyes appear large and watery; one-piece self-regulating clothing (the mainstream fad of the year, like the pre-deca-2000s iPod), today's model with sleeves cuffed at the wrists, a hooded, V-neck top seam and baggy legs for the lower portion of the garment, finished off by rollerblade-equipped Chuck Taylor's (wheeled feature for outdoor use only)—all in various shades of green.
"Hey, Vero. Vaccination time."
Veronique shouldered the strap of her laptop case and frowned. "Don't remind me. The last thing I want to do is hyperventilate and pass out before they insert the syringe," she remarked sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
"Yeah," David considered as they merged with the masses journeying down the hall to the vaccination area. "That would take away their satisfaction of knowing they caused you respiratory complications. Nice outfit—new download?"
The students were in four lines now: one for each class. A booth waited at the end of each line, filled with syringes containing today's injection fluid.
Veronique looked down as if to remind herself of what she was wearing: an aqua-blue suit-like garment with a studded black belt snug at her waist. The cloth fit snugly, accentuating her curves, stretching from a high collar at her neck to her calves, where they rippled out in a design reminiscent of the 1980s legwarmers that made a comeback in the early 2000s, with long sleeves which followed the same fashion past the elbow. The fabric seemed to have the effect of a fish's scales, shimmering whenever the light caught it a certain way. Her shoes were plain, light blue laceless sneakers.
"Yeah. iD.E.M.O. just imported loads of new threads downloads from Tokyo. –Hey!" she exclaimed, losing her balance and groping for her laptop case to prevent any damage to its contents as she was roughly jostled by a black-haired sophomore violently shoving his way to the line his class was in.
He looked over his shoulder at her, cocked a skeptical eyebrow, and stopped in his tracks, carefully watching as David steadied her.
"If you know what's good for you, stay out of my way," the newcomer sneered. "I'd hate to have to hurt you."
He'd said it so calmly, so condescendingly, that it made Veronique's blood boil. Who was he to talk down at her? A glance at David could have told her he was feeling similarly.
"I'll be right back," he informed her, then shadowed the odd-looking teen's path to the sophomore line.
"Finny, where ya been?"
He shrugged off the question. "Around."
His trench coat-clad acquaintance nodded. "Ah. Got caught again, eh?"
Fin narrowed his solid pale amber eyes at him. "Does it matter? I'm here, aren't I? Mom says as long as I show up for four periods a day it won't count as an absence." 'Mom' was Fin's parole officer, titled so for how often he was dropping by to check on his charge's well-being and school attendance.
"Mm. Whatever, man. Hey, did you get it?" Judging by the unimpressed once-over the dark male was giving him, he didn't expect whatever 'it' was to be hidden amongst the less than flattering garments Fin had on: baggy denim jeans that were ripped in one knee and secured with an old leather belt; a tight-fitting black and white striped shirt that hung off his shoulders, with sleeves that cut off about an inch past the elbow over a fishnet undershirt; the silver pendant on a crimson leather strap he never took off of his neck; cuffed fingerless "biker" gloves (from back when "biker" was a stereotype; now it was just slang teenagers' grandparents used); and an old pair of sneakers he'd gotten god knows where.
"Yeah, I got it."
The boy towered above Finny by a good five inches, and now that his eyes were nearly popping out of his head it gave him an absurd appearance. "Give it over, man!"
"Uh-uh. I went through the trouble to get this. I'm gonna call the shots at the gig."
"Finny," he warned, eyes narrowing to slits beneath the hood of his sweater that he wore under the trench coat.
"Hey!" grumbled a new voice.
Fin turned his head to glance at the guy, arching both his eyebrows, unimpressed. "Who's this fag?"
"David Foley. Freshman. Not worth the time of day."
He spat a sound of disgust. "Whatd'ya want?" he demanded of the shorter blonde.
"Hey man, who the hell do you think you are? You've got no business talking to Veronique the way you did, and if you're gonna threaten anyone you might as well threaten me to make it worth your time."
Laughter exploded around the freshman; apparently the guy he had a bone to pick with had friends. They'd been listening, and were now intently paying attention.
"Oh, really?" Fin countered, his expression neutral, arms crossed loosely. He spared a glance to a few individuals, who moved and grabbed David's arms, pinning them behind his back to render him without the use of them. In a lightning-fast movement, Fin's arms uncrossed and his hands curled into fists, one of them rushing at his stomach at a blurring speed. "Foley, you're lookin' for trouble. I'm givin' it to ya; take it as a warning this time."
David grimaced in pain and doubled over, but the hits to his gut continued.
"And here's your parting gift," Fin announced when he noticed they were gathering the attention of the lines on either side. He seemed for a moment like a snake coiling back to strike, then struck at David's eye.
David stumbled away from the sophomore line as soon as he felt the pressure on his arms release. He hadn't asked anyone to save his spot in line for him, but a sympathetic freshman had witnessed his plight from a distance and graciously granted him his spot back. By this time, Veronique was apparently inside the booth, but she emerged within moments, rubbing her arm and frowning.
"Oh, my god." Her eyes widened when she saw David's bruised condition, but by the time she stepped out of the way of the booth he was whisked into it, eyes cast downward.
"What happened?" she demanded shrilly once he stepped out as well, joining her at the table she'd claimed in the student lounge area. He shrugged monotonously. "Fin Stone and I were acquainted for the first time."
Veronique's brow knit together with concern. "Who? Is he new here?"
"You could say that." David chuckled, rolled his eyes and tried to swallow the pain from the swelling in his right eye and whatever had most likely been internally ruptured in his stomach. "His parole officer's forcing him to attend; we didn't see him for the majority of this year until now because he hasn't really been around."
"Charming," she remarked dryly. "Next time, I'll have to be there to beat them up for you, seeing as how you can't manage to take care of yourself."
She had said it to be a laughing matter, but the way David looked at her then seemed to steal away any humorous thought she'd had.
"Thanks, but I'd rather see me bruised than you raped, robbed and murdered in some alley. Try and stay away from him."
Veronique pursed her lips and let the matter rest, not meeting his gaze.
They sat in silence for a few minutes longer, then the school's anthem began to play over the loudspeakers, signaling their return to class.
"Chemistry, my good fellow," Veronique murmured, if just to break the silence. David must have forgiven her for her jest at her own safety, for he smiled at her.
"Yeah. The good doctor awaits. It's the land of the liters and meters for you, young lady."
"Joy," she muttered without enthusiasm, waving farewell to her friend and heading in the direction of the gym.
Panting, Shenice burst through the gaping door of the young Foley's home. "I got here as fast as I could; you know how much I hate cars and it was too short-notice to get a bus, so I had to run. What's the matter, Randy?"
Randall Foley, eyes wide, pointed to a mechanical, almost spider-like device that was scuttling around on the floor, going absolutely berserk, the "eye" on its antennae spinning around and lighting up like a police car. "Dad doesn't know how to work his new phone package, and the only other person I could think to call is you. What's Backpack doing?"
Shenice fell to her knees by the robotic creature, prompted it with a few commands, and skimmed over the data readouts that it screened out for her on a hologram. "It's showing signs of extreme metahuman activity...that's what Gear programmed it to do. I'd say it's malfunctioning, but it doesn't make any sense...it's saying that all the metahuman reactions are occurring at Dakota Union High." Her eyes flitted about the room, settling for a brief moment on Randall. "Keep trying to get in contact with your dad. If you do, tell him to call me and that it's an emergency. I gotta go check out whatever's going on at the school, because I've got a bad feeling about whatever it is."
She was heading towards the door at "keep trying," was jogging out to the sidewalk at "I gotta go," and by the time she'd gotten to "whatever it is," she was yelling to make sure her words were heard as she sprinted off in the direction of the high school.
"The land of the liters and meters," as David had jokingly referred to, was the Algebra classroom. On her way in, Veronique thought she'd caught a glance of the charming Fin Stone she'd been notified of. However, she refused to pay any attention to him; what mischief could he possibly do while class was in session?
She removed her laptop from its case and thumbed the Power button while setting it up on her desk. There was nothing on the projector for them to do, and the teacher was speaking in hushed tones on a cell phone.
Had the walls and door not been soundproof, she would have heard screams rising in the hallway outside. However, a few seconds later, there was no need: a girl a few seats away from her glanced down at her hands and shrieked in panic, eyes wide.
"What's happening to me?" Feathers had sprouted along her upper arms and were now growing at an alarming rate as her fingers and feet morphed into talons. The girl screamed again, and this time jagged purple rings shot from her mouth, mutilating her desk and laptop into a pile of hopeless rubble. She leaped to her feet and stared at her hands, her breath coming out in short, panicked gasps.
"Remain in your seats, please," commanded the instructor, then barked a few commands into the cell phone before hanging up and calmly seating himself at his desk.
Veronique's eyes widened and she slapped the laptop closed, quickly placing it back in her bag before getting up from her desk and rushing over to the girl's side, placing an arm around her shoulders.
"Whatever's going on, we'll get it taken care of," she assured the girl, hiding her disgust at the teacher and her classmates that they hadn't done anything.
"Step away from the infected student, Ms. Hawkins, and take your seat."
Two coffee-brown eyes narrowed hatefully in the teacher's direction. "No. Not until we know what's going on."
On the other side of the room, Fin craned his neck toward the two to see what was going on. Oh, he'd heard of the "occasional mutant breakouts," but had never actually witnessed one up close until today. He wondered if physical contact with the mutating girl would spread the virus to the black chick touching her, but judging from what he could see there wasn't anything happening yet; no secondhand mutation.
Jumping at the opportunity to insert himself into the scene, he sped over to the two girls and wrenched Veronique off of the other one, dragging her toward the wall, pinning her arms to her sides. "Gettin' yourself in trouble, mm? If you wanted to do that, you could'a just come see me," he hissed in Veronique's ear, but to the teacher he called, "Get her taken care of before someone else does anythin' stupid."
Veronique struggled in Fin's grasp (for someone with such a slight build and hardly three inches taller than she, he was stronger than she'd expected), her eyes glued on the female, whose body was now writhing with violent spasms, more of the odd sonic waves ripping from her lips with every cry she made. "Somebody, do something!" she demanded when no response was made either to her earlier statement or Fin's casual muse a few seconds before. The response she got now was Fin's grasp around her arms tightening to where it was almost painful.
And then, on cue, the door opened and the screams from several other students outside met their ears, but that wasn't what held their attention; it was the small group of uniformed men wearing radiation protection and oxygen masks.
The teacher, trembling now, pointed to the winged female. "That's the only one we have here so far," he said, as though it wasn't obvious that the only one going through strange genetic enhancements was the now-feathered girl.
"Ow!" Veronique hissed, attempting again to jerk away from Fin's grasp, but to no avail. "You're hot!"
Fin chuckled sadistically. "Well thanks, but you're just not my type. It would never work out between us."
Though both of their gazes were still permanently glued on the girl and what the masked men were doing to sedate her and get her out of the room, Veronique still struggled. "You self-absorbed swine, that's not what I meant!" She yelped suddenly in pain as she felt his hands get hotter still, the heat burning through her sleeves.
"Chill out, Chocolate."
"Veronique!" Shenice exclaimed, skidding to a halt as she nearly passed the classroom altogether. She raced inside, flashed some card of Superiority at the teacher, and hustled over to Veronique and Fin. "You two. Come with me. Now."
Veronique hardly knew the superhuman friend of her grandfather's, but knew better to argue when it came to her authority. She finally broke free of Fin's hold with a steely glare in his direction, then realized that Shenice had instructed for them both to follow her.
"See ya, Teach," Fin excused, striding to the door with a finger-gesture at the teacher. "Give that to Mom when you see 'im."
Ignoring the commotion going on in the hallway, Shenice marched them both briskly to the back door, refusing to answer any of Veronique's questions until she'd hailed a hovercab. "In," she spoke tersely as the door slid open. Veronique immediately complied, but the spiky-haired male seemed in no hurry to obey.
"Thanks for springin' me outta there, but I got somewhere to be," he said dismissively with a flick of his wrist.
Shenice didn't seem phased by his attitude, but she didn't seem ready to leave yet, either. She leaned against the cab, glancing down at her wristwatch as if counting the seconds.
Sure enough, it wasn't long at all before Fin's features darkened and then went completely blank. With a low moan, he swayed and crumpled onto the artificial lawn grass. With a grunt, Shenice lifted him into her arms and deposited him in the seat beside Veronique, who stared at the unconscious boy in wide-eyed wonder.
"What was that?" she asked, trying not to show her panic.
"I'll tell you when you come to," Shenice answered, though Veronique had absolutely no clue what she'd meant until a sickening wave of pain and exhaustion swept through her and her mind blacked out.
"Arkham Metahuman containment center, Gotham City," Shenice notified the cab driver, sliding into the remaining space of the backseat, flashing her "superiority card" again to prompt him to immediate compliance.