Phew!

Hey, guys! In the spirit of the holidays, I bring you an update with the longest chapter of the story thus far. Geez louise. Totally accidental, I assure you. I worked tirelessly up to the very last second to be able to bring this update to you all in time.

So much happens in this chapter. SO much. It's a miracle it was even this length and not its' own 50k one shot. Because of the length, and all the events that happen within the length, this chapter was almost the death of me. (I might be crazy.)

I'm sure you guys have wondered what's in store for the kids after surviving death. Things are looking up, for sure, but things are certainly no cakewalk. There are unforeseen troubles still ahead. But regardless, our girls are back. Hope you enjoy!

Serious shout out to my rock star beta, TeenQueen661! Her help was invaluable as usual. I don't know what I'd do without you!

The songs for this chapter on the playlist are as follows: Naked as We Came by Iron & Wine, Youth by Daughter, Future by Paramore, Clouds by Bat For Lashes, and Happy by Marina and The Diamonds. Keep your eyes peeled for explanations for each song on the playlist post on my LiveJournal in the next week or so!

Warning: This chapter contains mentions of mental illness.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters, settings, or properties from The Powerpuff Girls. I also don't own Hello Kitty, The Rolling Stones, The Doors, E! News, M&M's, Dr. Pepper, Six Flags, Star Wars, Yoda, or that Yoda quote which I royally mucked up at first. Bleh. My bad!

Sorry for errors!


Chapter Twenty

"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." – Albert Einstein

-Blossom's POV-

Brightness. Searing light.

That was the first thing I saw when I awoke two weeks after my 20th birthday.

At first, I didn't know I had missed my birthday, of course. I didn't even recall being unconscious, or what had happened to make me that way. I couldn't remember what I was doing on a hospital bed, or even what my name was.

But when I awoke, lights and sounds overcame me. Sounds from every direction, from close up and far, far away, flooded into my ears. But first and foremost, I noticed that a man with salt and pepper short hair and a lab coat with Utonium stitched over the front pocket was sitting next to my bedside, holding pink flowers. I stared at the flowers that he was holding, then stared up at his face, wondering why it seemed so familiar to me if I had never met him.

As soon as he saw that I was staring at him, he smiled down at me, kindness in the lines around his eyes. He spoke to me as softly as he had looked at me. "Well, hello there. You're just on schedule. Welcome back to the world. We've all missed you dearly."

"Who are you?" I asked him. Despite being asleep for what had felt like a long time—I had a feeling it had been more than just a night or even two, possibly for multiple nights, or even longer than that—my tone was clear. My voice was unfamiliar and loud in my own ears, and it startled me.

"I'm your creator and father," the man told me in a calm, reassuring voice. "You can call me Professor Utonium. And your name is Blossom. Happy new Birthday."

And with those words, what I would come to know as my 2nd life had begun.

Knowing nothing about this Professor, aside from his claim as my creator, I could only trust him and follow what he said. He didn't seem to be lying to me, however. Something about the open honesty on his face made whatever he said seem believable.

For several minutes, he entertained my numerous rapid-fire questions such as: "Where am I?" "Why am I in a hospital bed?" "What day is it?" "What month is it?"

I was in the hospital ward of his basement laboratory, which was in his house—our house. I lived here too. This hospital ward had become my new home. I had been asleep for a long time, and before that, I had been very sick. It was a Tuesday, the first Tuesday of May.

After he had answered my questions, and before I could think of my next round of questions, a loud noise came from outside of the room. It commanded my attention immediately, lighting up every one of my nerves at once. My heart raced—it had been pounding fast before, but now it had sped up to the speed of light.

"Wait! Be careful," he said as I jolted upwards in my bed, making to get out of the bed. He reached toward me, touching one of my hands with both of his. Through his hands, deep inside of his skin, I could feel the blood coursing through his veins, the rhythm of his pulse. So much slower than mine. He cautioned me, "You shouldn't get up just yet—at least not that quickly. Your sisters had some trouble standing and walking at first, just as they've also been having problems recalling a very large portion of their memory. Just as you seem to be. As I said, you've all been asleep for a very long time."

"Sisters?" I echoed him. "I have sisters?" I turned my gaze toward the direction the noise had come from. "Was that noise them?" Before he could answer me, I leaned in the direction I was gazing in. I could hear more noises from somewhere nearby. Breathing. Pacing footsteps. And voices, two of them. Couldn't he hear them talking?

Professor smiled at me. "I left them to their own devices while I came in here to watch you, so it probably was them. They might be starting to wonder where I went." He chuckled. "And yes, you do have sisters. You have a blonde haired, blue-eyed sister named Bubbles, and you have a green-eyed brunette sister named Buttercup."

Something in my mind tugged. The names were immediately familiar, like I had been hearing them for a thousand years already. They certainly felt important, too. Very important. "Okay," I said, accepting this information. Then I asked next, "Who's the oldest out of the three of us?"

Professor Utonium paused. "Well, none of you, really. You're triplets—though not identical ones. All three of you were born at the same time. But the other two have always considered you their leader."

My forehead wrinkled at his use of that word. 'Leader'. It was peculiar. I asked, "Leader of what?"

My creator sighed, slowly sitting down on my bed next to my legs. "I know this all sounds very confusing now. Like I said before, just like your sisters, your memory has taken a big hit. For all of you, it seems like psychogenic amnesia. Part of me had expected that you might be experiencing side effects such as this, considering…well. Your circumstances. And I don't want to overwhelm you right now."

My stomach had sunk at his words. Amnesia. That certainly explained why I couldn't remember anything about my life, or even who I was, or what I was. All I knew was that I had been unconscious, and then I woke up.

Seeing my perturbed expression, Professor offered me a smile. It immediately comforted me. "Not to worry, dear. I'll administer brain scans to all of you, so that we can figure out the best course of action. But right now, I'm going to introduce you to your sisters—they both woke up earlier today. And then once you're all introduced, I'm going to explain everything to you about what happened. I promise."

I drew in a long breath. I had a feeling that this was going to be overwhelming. But I looked at my creator's kind face—was it correct to consider him my father? —and this strong recognition stirred inside of me. I couldn't remember any specific moments with him, but I knew, with a strong conviction, that he had always been there with me. And immediately I knew that I could trust him. Maybe even with my life.

He came over to me, and with his full support, I slowly began to climb out of my hospital bed. I stared down at my own legs like they belonged to someone else. On buckling, stiff, unfamiliar legs, I stood—Professor watched me as I stood, one arm wrapped tightly around my torso, and his other hand grasping my hand closest to him. His eyes were cautious.

And with the look of amazement and palpable relief on his face as he watched me begin to walk with him, step by slow step, as if my walking were a miracle unfolding before his eyes, I couldn't shake the feeling that something unspeakably horrible had happened to me before.

As we moved past a curtain surrounding my bed, and then came closer to the door on the far end of the large, empty room, I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror on an adjacent wall. And as I looked at myself for what surely felt like the first time, my stride paused. My hair was red, and very long, and…quite disheveled, I couldn't help but notice. It looked like I had slept on it for a very long time. Gross.

But I was stuck on something else. I had the most peculiar eyes—they were pink. Their color was piercing, and they were wide as they beheld my image.

"What is it?" Professor asked me, anxiousness in his voice. "Are you all right?"

"Pink eyes," I murmured. Then I turned to him, feeling the disbelief all over my face. I asked, "That's not…normal…is it?"

The worry immediately washed off of Professor Utonium's face. Relief and his kind grin returned to it. "Not by conventional standards, no," he said. Then he reassured me, "But I never intended for you to be normal anyway."

We began our slow pace to the door again. My eyes remained locked on my own reflection until it edged out of the frame of the mirror and I couldn't stare at myself anymore.

#

We journeyed down a dimly lit hallway. Professor eventually paused in front of a white door, and cautiously, he turned the doorknob and pushed it open. We walked into what looked like some sort of office.

I saw them immediately.

They were sitting in two chairs next to a desk, facing the doorway. Wide, unsure blue eyes. Narrowed, guarded green eyes. Both locked directly on me.

Natural colors, but still unnatural looking somehow. I recognized those eyes. Those eyes seemed to recognize my eyes, too. Three pairs of strange eyes.

These girls, my sisters, were staring at me just as I had stared at myself in the mirror. There was the slight alarm on their faces, and then wonderment. They could feel that I was different, that we were all different, just as I had felt like a very different being from Professor from the second that I'd awoken. My body—our bodies—buzzed with a frequency that felt altogether alien to the frequency of his. Even our heartbeats were different from Professor's.

I could hear the sound of everyone's heartbeats, though it felt weird even thinking that. But I could somehow. I could hear all of them.

The two girls who stood staring at me had the same heartbeat as mine—racing, speeding compared to the slow, steady thudding of Professor's pulse. And I knew they could hear mine, too. I sensed it.

"So you're Blossom, then." The one with distrustful eyes, Buttercup, spoke to me first. Aside from her eyes, which burned with the promise of sheer force and chaos like two pools of nuclear chemicals, her hair also stood out to me—black and almost nonexistent. Her hairstyle was nothing but a buzzcut, like dark peach fuzz all over her head. Oddly, it didn't look out of place on her—it rather suited her sharp, angular features. She mused as we continued to stare at each other, "Took you long enough to wake up. This guy's been talking about you all day. Says you're our sister."

Something about the dryness of her pleasantly deep voice was immediately recognizable to me. I knew that sound. I knew it very well. I didn't know how I knew it, but I did. Seemingly unable to help it, a small smile spread on my face as I shrugged at her. "I think I am," I said.

Suddenly, breaking from Buttercup's side, the blonde one—Bubbles—suddenly ran at me. Fear spiked through me briefly at this unexpected development, and then defensiveness, but when Bubbles' arms wrapped around me with profound affection and kindness, the fear immediately turned into warmth. I felt as if she had already hugged me that way hundreds, even thousands of times.

At direct contrast with the other one's voice, Bubbles' voice rang out sweetly, like the melodic tinkering of the upper octave keys of a piano. "Oh, Blossom! You are our sister! I just know you are, I can feel it!" Bubbles stared up at me with tearful, expressive eyes. Her hair, which brushed just under her shoulders, was beautiful up close—it gleamed with health, like white gold. She said, "You're very important to me. I know it."

I looked at her, surprised. "I am?"

"You are." Her arms squeezed me hard. "I can't explain why I know that, I just do. And I'm so happy to meet you."

Without knowing why, my eyes began to water seemingly on their own. It was just as she had said—just as I had recognized that Professor was someone I cared deeply about, I immediately felt this way about these girls as well.

Immediately I knew, upon first sight, that I would do anything for them. That I would die for them and not even hesitate. And with Bubbles' hug and her genuine words, I felt it even stronger. So strong that I began to cry.

"I don't remember you right now, but I will soon. That's what Professor Utonium said," Bubbles said. "I can't wait to remember you."

Finally, my arms wrapped around her too, returning her embrace. It probably should have felt like I was hugging a stranger—but it didn't. It felt like I was hugging an old friend, but somehow even better than that. "I'm happy to meet you, too," I said, wiping some tears that had rolled down my cheek. I looked over at Buttercup, who was still eyeing me, but maybe not as distrustfully now. "Both of you," I clarified.

Buttercup blinked at the two of us hugging, seeming to be thinking hard about something for a moment or two as her forehead wrinkled. And then, though it was noticeably stifled and held back, she smiled.

"Oh! Before I forget," Professor said suddenly. He held up a finger. "Give me one moment. Stay right here." He scurried out of the room. The three of us exchanged looks, confused. We heard scrummaging around for a few seconds, and just as I was about to volunteer to investigate what he was up to, we heard his shoes tapping against the tile floors as he came back.

He returned through the door, holding something in his arms. He turned toward us, revealing what he was holding—a large white sheet cake, with one pale blue lit candle on one end, one lit lime green candle on the opposite end, and one lit pale pink candle in the middle. In purple frosting on the cake was written a large '20'. Professor began to sing. "Happy birthday to you," he sang. "Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday—" he paused for a second, looking as if he was trying to figure something out, then attempted to sing awkwardly, "to my girls," it didn't quite land. From behind me, I heard Buttercup snort behind her hand. Professor finished the song, nonetheless smiling proudly, "Happy birthday to you!"

Bubbles erupted into applause. "That was beautiful!" She enthused as she clapped. Buttercup shot her a look that I felt distinctly said, 'reel it in'.

"Is it really our birthday?" I asked Professor Utonium. "I mean…our new birthday?"

"Well," Professor sighed, "I suppose technically your new birthday would be the moment your hearts restarted. Which was…a week ago." He paused at the mutual confusion and bewilderment on all three of our faces at what he'd said. Then quickly, he went on, "I'll explain that soon. But anyhow, I thought maybe it would be nice to celebrate your birthdays now anyway, now that you're all awake. Even if it's belated." He held out the cake. "Normally I wouldn't let you start your day eating dessert, however, I think this one very special time, I could make an exception."

Buttercup was staring down at the cake with interest. "Do I like cake?" she asked.

Chuckling, Professor said, "Oh, yes. Very much. You love all kinds of foods. You'll remember that fact soon enough." He nodded down at the cake. "Now, all of you make a wish and blow out your candles! We have much to get started on after this."

In unison, the three of us leaned forward, each blowing out the candles which were the color of our eyes with a single puff of air.

#

Over the next couple of days, among some other important things we had to do, Professor Utonium began to fill us in.

He started with the most important need-to-knows. I tried my best to keep up as he filled us in within sporadic moments of explanation—he did it this way so that we wouldn't get overwhelmed, so we could take in information and ruminate over it, let it settle into our minds and store it where it needed to go.

But even though he did it this way, it was as if I could feel all this new information pouring into my brain and pouring over like liquid spilling over the sides of a cup.

Me and these girls—my sisters—were superhumans with special powers. And all our lives we protected humans from supervillains, natural disasters, and even in some cases, themselves. Alongside our superhero lives, we tried our best to maintain 'normal' lives as well. We went to elementary school, middle school, and high school. We were also going to college—until it happened.

Until we died.

Professor Utonium told us that it happened slowly—we lost our superpowers first. Then we became humanlike—developed allergies, illness, weakness. Then our health began to go, and we became very sick. And then we fell into comas. And then we died.

Death for us was only brief, he said. We were only dead for one hour. He kept us alive as long as he could, and he brought us back as soon as possible.

Professor said we weren't supposed to die—not that way, at least. He said that the chemical we were once made of—Chemical X—deteriorated over time and eventually fell apart. He said the way that he had brought us back to life was his development of a new Chemical. Chemical Y, he called it.

He said that we're made of Chemical Y now, and our new abilities would make themselves apparent to us within the next few days while we ran tests with him in a virtual-reality training simulator in that laboratory of his. He was smart, this Professor. And trustworthy.

Professor also said that before we'd woken up, and after he'd saved our lives, he'd held a press conference all on his own, explaining in detail what had happened to us, why we'd apparently hidden it from the public, and how he'd saved us. He explained how the composition of Chemical Y was similar to Chemical X, but stronger, sturdier, and more powerful. He explained to the public that we were alive again, and would be back in shape to defend the city again soon enough. As soon as we were all recovered, inside and out.

But there was another part to our story which was still a complete mystery to us. Without going into detail, he told us that there were 'others'—other beings just like us that he had also revived with Chemical Y in this very lab.

"Who are the others?" One of us would more or less ask Professor at least once a day.

The question would sometimes vary. Sometimes it would be more like, "Who are these other super humans like us?" Which would always clear the way for the next inevitable question, "Will we get to meet them?"

"I can't tell you who they are yet. And one of these days you'll meet them. But not yet," he would answer every time. "None of you are ready yet. Your memories are full of holes, and meeting would be a very, very bad idea right now. Just be patient. All in due time, girls."

And just as well, he would disappear. For two hours every day, he would leave the house—of course only after instructing us not to leave the house while he was gone. He would never say where he was going, only that it was very important. Though none of us said it, I got the distinct feeling that these 'others' were who he was visiting during these times.

But when he returned, he was staunch, unwilling to answer any of our questions except for ones that could be answered with his same old 'not yet' answer. So finally we began to accept that we would only know about these 'others' once Professor wanted us to.

#

In the meantime, he reintroduced us to little parts of our previous lives. First, that very first day, he'd showed us our bedrooms upstairs.

The rest of the house was less stuffy, and so much more open. And it was very…white. The carpet was white, the furniture was white, the walls were white. Professor lead us up the stairs to the second floor of the house.

"Buttercup, your door is the black and white one. Bubbles, your door has blue hearts on it. Blossom, yours is the solid pink door."

Wary, but silent, the three of us ventured up the stairs and down the hallway to the respective doors he'd directed us to.

I found the pink door, twisted the doorknob, and pushed open the door as I entered, and—

Home.

I couldn't figure out how, or why I felt this way, but I felt it.

I was home.

Dark pink plush carpet, which looked like it had just been freshly vacuumed. A bed, adorned with a fluffy pink comforter and sparkling, fuzzy pillows, along with a knit pink throw blanket folded neatly at the foot of the bed. The bed was pushed up against the wall underneath several floating shelves, which held books—so many books I could hardly count them.

And at the foot of the bed, there was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf filled with more books. Thin, worn paperback novels, thick leather-bound encyclopedias, books of every kind. And under the window across the room, there was a hot pink desk, which had more books stacked on top of it at the two far corners. Books and pink. Books and pink everywhere.

Framing the window were two satin pink curtains that fell to the length of the floor. There was a closed pink laptop on the desk, looking like it had been untouched for a very long time. There was a light coating of dust over the top of it.

All of it called for me, vibrated my own frequency back to me. Mine. All of it, mine.

I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me, making my way over to my bed. Carefully, I smoothed a hand over the pink comforter. So soft and welcoming. Unbidden, I plopped down onto the bed, my face smushing into one of the fuzziest pillows. It all smelled clean. I bet Professor had cleaned all of it.

I rolled over, clutching one of my pillows to my chest, smiling. I loved this place already.

The sound of footsteps came down the hall towards my door, and then my door swung open. Buttercup walked in without knocking as though she were used to doing that. Come to think of it, it was probably something she had normally done before.

She looked around at my room, folding her arms and grimacing. "So much pink," she said. She pointed at a framed poster on my wall, next to a framed periodic table of elements, which was next to a framed map of the world. "Who's that lady?"

I hadn't known it when I first came into the room, but as I stared at it now, I suddenly remembered. "Marie Curie," I told her. She looked at me blankly. "The first woman to win the Nobel Prize for her works in physics and chemistry," I clarified. And one of my heroes, I remembered.

Finally, she raised her eyebrows and nodded, though she still didn't look terribly interested in that. "Oh," she said. She took another sweeping look around. "I guess your room is all right. But you got too many books in here. It's like one giant fire hazard."

Okay, I wouldn't argue that last one. I smiled at her, sitting up and putting down the pillow I was holding. "So I assume you think your room is better than mine?"

Buttercup snorted, as if the answer was obvious. "Duh," she said. Then she broke from the doorframe, grabbing my wrist. "Come on, I'll show you."

I quickly got up from the bed as she began to drag me out of the room, then dragged me down the hallway towards the end—towards her room.

We passed the open black-and-white checkered door and entered. The lighting was dimmer than in my room, and my eyes had to adjust.

The carpet was black. All of the walls, even the ceiling, were painted solid black. And all over the walls were band posters—from classic rock like Rolling Stones and The Doors, to metal and alternative and indie bands that I couldn't remember now and was fairly certain I didn't know before either. On one of the walls, in a clearing of posters, hung a neon light in the shape of a green skull and crossbones, which was a yard across and a yard high.

Her bed was in a corner of the room, much like mine had, and a simple black quilt was folded back on it, revealing lime green sheets. She had only two pillows, and the pillow shams were plain black. Her bed seemed like it had recently been cleaned, too.

In another corner of the room was a modern looking stereo hooked up to giant speakers that I was sure probably shook the entire house when turned all the way up.

"So?" Buttercup said expectantly. "It's wicked, right?"

I looked down at her bedside table, where a silver skull sat next to her bedside lamp, which had a black lightbulb inside, making the green and skull accents in the room glow bright. I shrugged. It wasn't my style, but it was creative, that was for sure. "Not bad," I told her. "I just wish there was more color."

"Black is a color."

Actually, I wanted to argue, black was technically the absence of light. Color was what the retinas registered when light waves hit it. Before I had a chance to say any of that aloud, however, Bubbles walked into the room behind us and gasped.

We turned, looking at her. She was aghast.

Buttercup grinned. "You like?"

Bubbles seemed like she didn't know how to answer at first. Then she asked, the question not sounding criticizing, but genuine, "Why are there so many skeletons?"

Shrugging, Buttercup responded, "I like them."

Seeming to recover from her mild horror, Bubbles said, "I think my room is the best."

The both of us followed her as she lead us to her bedroom, and we walked inside.

Sky blue walls with clouds painted on them, lantern string lights strung across the ceiling. A bed almost as cushy as mine, with a poofy white comforter with blue roses all over it, large pillows with a cartoon cat printed on them, and large plush stuffed animals that rested on top of the pillows.

There were bookshelves stuffed with more plushes, along with stacks of magazines, Japanese comic books, and movies. She had a desk too, which belatedly made me realize that Buttercup had no desk in hers. But Bubbles' desk seemed to double as a vanity. There was a computer sitting there, like there had been on mine, but a mirror was on the wall behind it, along with bright lights, and a separate standing mirror that looked like it magnified things by 1000. There was also a giant case sitting next to the mirrors, which I was positive contained endless makeup inside.

"I love your room," I told Bubbles, taking everything in again. I whole heartedly approved of it. "It's so cute!"

Bubbles beamed, and before she could respond, Buttercup asked, "What the heck is this thing?" We turned to find her picking up one of the many stuffed cartoon cat plush dolls, staring down at it in befuddlement. "And why do you have so many of them?"

Bubbles looked at it adoringly. "That's a Hello Kitty. I collect them."

Buttercup continued to stare at it for a few more moments, blinking. Then she dropped it back where she had found it on her bed, brushing her hands on her pants like they were covered with germs.

#

Only shortly after reintroducing us to our bedrooms, Professor began showing us the home videos.

There were so many of them. Professor brought out four giant, clear tubs of them from a storage closet. Probably at least a hundred videos inside each one.

"As you can see," Professor said to us, "I was very dedicated to documenting you girls' childhoods. Vigilant, really. Every birthday, every holiday…heck, every day worth remembering. It's all in these, girls." He made to open one tub, reaching inside and picking up a VHS. "However, I quite wish I had spent the money on converting these to DVDs. Certainly would've been easier to keep in storage than hundreds of tapes. Well, maybe one day." He set it back down, exchanging it for another tape, squinting at the tape labeling on the side, then setting it back inside and picking another one up, reading the side. "I'll leave most of these for you girls to explore amongst yourselves, at your own pace, but there's one I'd like to watch with you right now."

We watched him as he switched from that tub to another one, then after we exchanged a look between all of us, I asked, "Which one are you looking for? Can we help?"

"No, no," Professor insisted, hunched over the plastic storage container, waving a hand back in my direction. "I can find it, I organized by year…I just…need to find…the right…year…" he trailed off, absorbed in looking at another round of labels.

Bubbles was watching him closely, then looked among the boxes in awe. "So many," she said.

Buttercup, not looking quite sure about all of this, remarked, "Is there any way you can just…I don't know, beam all the memories back into our heads? You must have some invention that does that."

Professor chuckled, continuing to search in the third storage box. "No, I'm afraid not," he said in response. "Unfortunately, that's the thing about this particular condition—it can heal. But it's up to you to help restore your long term memories. Watching things like this will help you recall them quicker."

I asked, curious, "What about short term memories?"

Professor's hands stalled for a moment. Then, continuing to move tapes with his hands, he said to me without turning around, "That's harder to say. Short term memories are fragile. And a very select amount of short term memories even become long term memories. The hippocampus is very unpredictable that way. Most things that hold a large amount of significance are more likely to stay in the long term, but there are some seemingly inconsequential memories that become long term, too. However, things from a month and a half ago…well. Again, I'm not sure. But it might be safe to assume that they could be gone forever."

I considered this, nodding. I wasn't sure how I felt about possibly losing some memories forever. But considering what I'd gone through, what all of us had gone through, that maybe wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world to happen. Maybe forgetting wouldn't be so bad.

"Ah hah!" Professor exclaimed suddenly, holding up a tape. "Found it!" He began to stand up straight, then grunted and halted, placing a hand on his back, cringing.

Immediately, the three of us jumped to his aide, three pairs of hands outstretched in panic. "What's wrong?" I asked him.

"Are you okay?" Bubbles asked him at the same time.

"Easy there, geezer," Buttercup said. Bubbles and I shot a glare at her, and she shrugged defensively. One thing I was beginning to remember about Buttercup was that she definitely didn't mince her words.

Professor only laughed. "Don't worry, girls, I'm all right. Just a stiff back, is all. Has been happening a lot these past few months. Your out-of-shape dad's just getting older. And I'm sure all that time in the lab hasn't helped. Perhaps I should get a gym membership," he joked, then he held up the tape in his hand, standing straight gingerly. "Here's what I was looking for. The tape that begins them all."

We backed off a little to let him move over to the living room television, stooping down in front of the old VHS player that he'd hooked up to it. Before he pushed the tape inside, I caught a glimpse at what was written there. 'The Girls' Birth', it said.

The tape disappeared inside the player. He pressed play, and then the screen lit up as a video began to play through a slight fuzzy static at first.

The focus was shaky, and only bright streaks of light appeared, flying around what looked like a laboratory. The lights were pink, blue, and green. Quietly, I came over to sit in front of the television next to Professor.

A voice from behind the camera was speaking. "A-Amazing," I recognized Professor's voice in the video immediately. The camera lens tried to follow the paths of the erratic lights, zooming in, zooming out, switching left, turning right. In the background, only tiny little giggles could be heard. "Incredible. I can't believe what just happened. This experiment…it was only an accident. The Chemical X, I hadn't meant to—would you look at this? I can't believe my eyes."

The tape cut ahead. The screen faded on to three little girls with large eyes, sitting down in front of the camera. A little Bubbles, a little Buttercup, and a little me.

"It's us," I breathed out.

"These are my newborn daughters, Bubbles, Blossom, and Buttercup," video Professor said, aiming the camera at little us. "Girls, say hi to the camera!"

The three of us didn't seem to understand what he was doing. I, in particular, was staring straight ahead at the camera lens like I wanted to grab it and test it out myself. Bubbles was looking past the camera at Professor's face, beaming and giggling at him like something was funny. Buttercup, on the other hand, frowned at him, frowned at the camera, then frowned at him again, folding her arms. One thing, though, in particular, stood out to me the most.

"We're not babies," I said out loud. I looked over at Professor.

Professor, though his eyes were misty, was nodding. "Yes," he said to me. Then his voice rose slightly so Buttercup and Bubbles could hear. "The day you girls were born, you were already five years old. Fully formed five-year-old brains, five-year-old personality traits, five-year-old appearances. But for all intents and purposes, you were newborns."

I looked back at the screen, shaking my head in disbelief. "We were never babies," I said again, then said, "And we could fly." He hadn't been kidding when he'd said we had superpowers. It really was true. I looked over at my sisters, who had come to sit down next to me, staring at the screen in awe. I glanced back at our creator.

Professor smiled. "Yes," he said. Then he said, "You probably can now, too. But we'll need to test that. We'll do that very soon."

I turned to watch as, in the video, we had lifted into the air again and began circling around Professor's head in a supposed game of tag.

We were, indeed, something else. Entirely.

#

The first day in the training simulator, the day we were to test our capabilities, was exactly one week to the day that all three of us had woken up.

First, Professor started with testing our endurance.

The floor of the large training simulator moved at once, like a giant treadmill. It was slow at first. Professor instructed us to run as the speed of the floor increased, and to run as quickly as we could when the floor reached top speeds.

Just as Professor told us to, first we walked. Professor told us through the loudspeaker behind the two-way mirror that he was increasing the speed, and then the floor began to move slightly faster. Now we moved at a power-walk, but it was still incredibly easy.

After another minute, Professor increased the speed again. Now it was a light jog. The hologram outdoor scenery that surrounded us on all sides passed by us quicker, and I began to notice certain holographic trees and birds came and went by in regular loops in the same exact spots.

Professor increased it again. Now all three of us were running. He told us through the loudspeaker that he was going to keep it at that pace for ten minutes, and we said okay.

Ten minutes later, we were still running. None of us were winded in the slightest, none of us had broken a sweat. Professor spoke to us through the loudspeaker again, saying that he was going to turn it up to the highest level now. After our agreement, the floor lurched ahead, practically flying, and all three of us were sprinting now.

Five minutes went by, then ten. The whole time we were sprinting, and not even tired for a moment. I felt as if I could run for hours and not be exhausted, and when I looked over at my sisters, I could tell it was the same for them.

At twenty minutes, Professor finally stopped us, saying the endurance test was complete. Then it was time for the big guns. The fight simulators.

"But Professor, we don't know how to fight," I told him, my face tight with worry.

Bubbles seemed to share my worries. "Yeah, how are we supposed to know what to do? Shouldn't you teach us first?"

Professor only grinned down at us. "Girls, don't be ridiculous. You already know how to fight. It's one of the instincts you were born with. You'll see."

Bubbles and I exchanged another look, unsure. Buttercup, however, didn't seem worried at all. She crackled her knuckles on each hand. "Something tells me I'm gonna like this."

Due to her enthusiasm, Buttercup went first. Bubbles and I observed from behind the protective glass, sitting next to Professor. After announcing to Buttercup that he would stop the simulation if anything got out of hand, and Buttercup nodded, clenching her hands into fists, Professor punched in a combination on the control panel. The lights in the observation room dimmed as the lights in the simulation room brightened.

Another holographic outdoor setting loaded. It looked like the downtown of a city. Holographic sides of shop fronts and skyscrapers appeared on either side of Buttercup, and she stood in the middle of a holographic road. And in the road behind her, a giant crack in the pavement formed, then split open at once. A mighty screech erupted.

Bubbles jumped, reaching for my hand. I took it, squeezing her hand as hard as she squeezed mine.

A holographic creature, one that looked vaguely like a dragon, but also similar to a worm, crawled from the crack, rising up above Buttercup and staring down at her as she turned to look at it. Bubbles squeezed my hand even harder.

The air was tense. The holographic creature was coiled for attack. Then the most amazing thing happened.

Buttercup lifted into the air. She lifted, levitating as naturally as if she were standing up from a chair. I gasped. Bubbles gasped. Professor gasped. The creature roared. Buttercup remained calm—and then a smile appeared on her face as she lunged at the creature.

She flew through the space it had occupied as it slithered out of the way. She dove for its' tail, grabbing it and tossing it where the opposite wall should have been. Instead, it continued traveling, the holographic borders of the room having the illusion of expanding. It crash landed at what seemed to be at least fifteen feet away, roaring in anger.

"Remember Buttercup," Professor announced to her suddenly through the loudspeaker, "The simulations can fight back. Any injuries you sustain in the simulation will be real. Take caution."

She listened to what he said, and then laughed loudly. "Caution smaution!" She retorted. "I can fly!"

Instead of arguing, or getting irritated, Professor simply took his finger off the loud speaker button and shook his head, grinning to himself. "That's my little girl."

Buttercup flew after the creature, and as she approached, the creature opened its' jaws—fire. A fireball shot out of its' mouth and soared towards Buttercup. She ducked, and the fireball came sailing towards us. The fireball smashed against the thick window, which I was sure had to be military grade glass, or something, because it didn't even melt upon impact. Professor hadn't even flinched, but Bubbles and I had cringed at the loud noise and bright light.

After the fire cleared, and all that was left was the smoke, we could see what was happening again. Buttercup had angrily begun swarming the dragon creature, and it continued hurling fireballs at her.

She dodged them easily at first, and her flying was so quick that it was hard to keep track of her at first. But then she sped up even more, and as I realized what was happening, I latched onto Professor's arm with my hand. "She's not just flying. She's—"

His voice cut me off, sounding as amazed as I did. "She's teleporting!"

Bubbles gasped again, leaning closer to the glass as she stared at her. "No way!"

I squeezed Professor's arm. "Were we able to do that before?"

Professor had picked up a clipboard, scribbling something down on it, shaking his head at me. "No, that's new. That's definitely new."

As we were preoccupied with our amazement, we didn't see that Buttercup was distracted too—she was so distracted by her apparent new ability, laughing jovially, that she didn't notice the dragon creature disappear and reappear. Directly in front of her.

She screamed, and when we looked, it had already happened—the fireball struck her head-on. The fire smashed into her head-to-toe, and she was flung back against the wall that the observation glass was on. Bubbles and I shrieked, and Professor immediately pressed the loudspeaker button. "Buttercup! Are you all right? Are you hurt?" He didn't even wait for her response before announcing, "I'm stopping the simulation!"

From where she had fallen into a heap on the ground, Buttercup raised a hand. "Wait!" she called suddenly. Professor's finger hovered over the giant red 'STOP' button. Buttercup was getting up, looking down at her own hands. She flipped them over, then stared at her arms and looked down at her body. "I'm okay," she called to us, still staring down at herself. "I'm not hurt!"

Relief washed over all three of us. "Thank goodness," Professor said to us, then he pushed the speaker button once again. "Do you want to keep going?"

"I think—" Buttercup cut off, then suddenly looked up in our direction. Two very strange things occurred at once. The first thing was that she shouldn't have been able to see us—the glass was not only military grade, but it was two-way glass. To her, it should've looked like a mirror. But she was looking directly at us. The second strange thing was her eyes. The green of her eyes were normally piercing, but right now, they were glowing green. Whites, irises, everything was glowing.

Confirming my thought that she could see us, she smiled at our shocked faces. Then she finished her thought. "I'm gonna try something," she said to us. She turned back to face the creature, which had raised up and was towering above her once again.

She calmly walked closer to it, and the creature's growling increased with each step she took. Finally, it reared back, ready to shoot another fireball down at her as it opened its' jaws again. Buttercup didn't budge.

"Buttercup!" I shouted, though I wasn't sure if she would hear me or not through the steel walls. "Watch out!"

There was no indication that Buttercup heard me however, because she stayed exactly where she was, glaring down the creature. The monstrous thing inhaled, then the next second, a fireball shot from its' throat and flung directly into Buttercup.

My first instinct was to grimace and look away, though she hadn't gotten hurt from the hit last time—and then before I looked away, I stopped, staring. "You guys," I said quietly to Bubbles and Professor, who had turned their faces away from the sight. "Look."

Buttercup was not only fine, but she had caught the fireball between her hands. And though the flames singed the t-shirt she was wearing, her skin was completely unaffected. She flexed and, squeezing the fireball between both hands, it began to shrink. It shrunk in size, little by little—from two yards in circumference to one yard, then two feet, then the size of a basketball. Then before our very eyes, she squeezed the last bit of it until her hands were clasped together and the fireball was completely gone.

My jaw was dropped. I had frozen in disbelief.

"Where did it go?" Bubbles asked aloud the question all three of us had to be wondering all at the same time.

I had no answer to that, but Professor did. He whispered in amazement, "She seems to have…absorbed it."

Before I even had time to wonder if he was right, Buttercup backed up a few steps from the creature, a mighty tremor running through her body. She was shaking so hard that it took everything in me to stop myself from slamming the 'STOP' button.

Her fists clenched, her spine stiffened, and a tense second ticked by as she took a deep breath, almost seeming to fill her entire body with air.

And then she unleashed it—the fire. Neon, nuclear green fire spewed from her mouth directly at the holographic monster, reaching to fifteen feet in front of her, consuming it. The digital creature shrieked in artificial pain, coiling up into a heap as it burned within Buttercup's flames.

Buttercup stopped her fire breath, then stood there, huffing and puffing as she watched the rest of the holograph burn away with digital ashes, then disappeared. Then the holographic cityscape faded away too, and all that was left were the steel walls once again.

Slowly, Buttercup turned to face all of us—we had all been stunned silent. The green glowing of her eyes slowly faded away, revealing the regular look of her eyes once again. Her green t-shirt was charred in places, and some pieces of it had completely burned off. But she was otherwise unharmed.

She smiled, triumphant.

A mess. A glorious, extraordinary mess.

#

After Bubbles and my sessions passed by that same day, Professor had come to two major conclusions. One, that our original powers had definitely returned. And two, that we had clearly gained new ones.

Our new powers included teleportation and power absorption, as Buttercup had demonstrated, and possibly kinetic absorption as well. Physical duplication, as Bubbles had found out when she had been fighting a holographic giant and split up into ten versions of herself—nine of them to distract the giant as the original Bubbles flew up behind him, yanked his head back and body slammed into his jugular. And vortex breath, which I discovered when I used my ice breath and then inhaled as I used it, creating a small, icy tornado.

More new ones we discovered in the next day was night vision and a slight x-ray ability, but only if we concentrated and squinted hard enough. It was incredibly taxing though, one of the few things that was even able to wear us out, so we only attempted it about 30 seconds at a time.

One more new ability, which we had learned of the third day when we did a simulation together—Professor called it 'enhancement'.

When we fought together, and we touched hands, we could enhance each other's strength, or even borrow one another's powers for a limited amount of time. If Buttercup wanted my ice breath, we touched our palms together, she absorbed a tiny amount of my ability, and then could use it once. It was almost like…renting each other's powers. It was awesome.

"One thing is for certain," Professor said to us after our enthralling third day of training. "You three will be able to battle like you've never battled before."

The three of us traded looks, not being able to help our palpable anticipation and excitement. There was still much training we had to do to get used to these new powers, but it was truly only the beginning.

#

Every day, before going to sleep at night, I watched 5 home videos by myself in the dark living room. Consumed more and more of our childhoods, letting the grainy VHS footage fill in memory blanks I didn't even know that I had. Reminded myself of the littlest parts of my life that had slipped through the cracks and disappeared.

Meanwhile, other things came back through, coming back at me like little bursts of lightning.

They weren't memories, particularly. They were more like…snapshots. Shots of moments that had happened, only I couldn't place when and where and how it had happened.

A shot of a deep, intense pain in my head—not actual pain, but phantom pain, along with the snapshot of my vision blurry from between my hands. Then it was gone.

Another day, I was showering, another shot—me in the shower just like this, screaming in pain. Again, not real pain. Remembered pain. My heart raced as if it were happening in real time, as if I were afraid. But there was no tangible reason for me to feel afraid. And as I tried to recall when that snapshot of a memory had happened, and why, it was gone like mist.

These came to me throughout the day. They weren't always scary, and they didn't always make my heart race in unexplainable panic. Some were shots of me flying through the air, or lifting something heavy over my head and shoulders. One was of a sad teenage boy with grey eyes and glasses, though I couldn't remember his name.

One more, me standing in the middle of a dry front lawn, barefoot and wearing a pretty dress. Another, me crying in what looked like a school's nurses' office. Another of me, walking through a sea of camera wielding reporters, which had probably happened to me a million times. It certainly felt as if it had.

So many snapshots. I couldn't make sense of any of them.

#

That Saturday, all four of us were outside. Quiet. Sitting on some lawn chairs on the porch in the backyard. For the first time in what felt like a very long time.

There were some very large potted plants on the porch with us, large than I thought was usual for potted plants. A few of them were so tall that they almost looked like trees. They were pretty, though. When I had asked Professor about them when we had first come out here, he'd only said that they were the product of an earlier experiment when he had been developing Chemical Y.

It was very warm out. I heard many birds flying overhead, and the sound of the airplanes that passed over us seemed to roar in my ears. The sound was unnerving to me for some reason. The sunlight on my skin was strange. Not unwelcome—nice, actually. Warm and inviting. But very strange.

I stared down at my hand in the sun, flipping my palm over so that I was staring at the back of it. When I looked closer, I could see the veins and tendons underneath my skin, veins pulsing with life. Squinting further, I saw each delicate bone that made up the inside of my hand. My x-ray vision was strengthening by the day.

Professor had been studying us silently. I hadn't been the only one taking in our outdoor environment like it was some kind of alien planet. Finally, softly, he said to us, "It's all right." The three of us looked at him, then we glanced at each other in chagrin, maybe somewhat embarrassed by our own alienated reactions. It wasn't as if this was some giant leap, coming outside. So why did it feel that way?

As if he had read my mind, Professor went on, "It's been a long time since you girls were last outdoors, and with your powers restored to boot. It's normal to feel a little out of your element out here, considering your circumstances," he reassured us. "I encourage all of you to come out here on your own, maybe go for walks at first, and then some errands with me. Baby steps. Soon it'll feel normal to be out and about again."

Wordlessly, I nodded. I was sure he was right. He was right about a lot of things, and his suggestions seemed reasonable. I glanced over at my sisters, weighing their expressions. They didn't seem to disagree with his suggestions either.

Professor continued, "I want you three to realize that, through this whole trial, I broke a lot of your trust and faith in me. Even before you…fell asleep." He cleared his throat as if holding back emotion. I wondered how much he had struggled through this whole trial. He must have suffered greatly, though he tried to hide it from us. Professor went on, "and I'm willing to do whatever it takes, for however long it may take, to repair your trust in me again." He looked as all openly, and he grinned a little as he asked us, "What about some counseling? Would you girls be willing to try that?"

Buttercup snorted. "I'm not sure they have counselors for things like us," she remarked.

I sighed. Bubbles frowned at her. "Don't say that," she said. "I'm sure there's plenty of counselors willing to work with superheroes."

Wry, Buttercup said under her breath, "That's not what I meant."

I quickly changed the subject back before things could escalate into an argument. "I would be willing," I said to Professor. "I think it would be great idea for all of us to go. Together. Like family counseling."

Bubbles clapped her hands together agreeably, grinning, and Professor said, "That's a wonderful idea, Blossom. I'll begin looking for a family counselor as soon as possible."

I heard Buttercup clear her throat in discomfort, and as Bubbles went on to ask Professor questions about what counseling would be like, I was the only one that noticed Buttercup stand up, turn away, and walk back into the house without another word.

#

"Don't you think it's…strange to call him father?"

Buttercup and I had walked to the neighborhood park that early Sunday morning with thankfully relative peace, with no reporters hounding us and barely any gawking bystanders. When I had knocked on her door after getting dressed, I had fully expected her to either ignore me and continue her loud-snoring slumber or open the door and immediately close it upon my asking her to take a walk with me. To my surprise, though, she had come along without question—she'd only tugged on some sweatpants and a hoodie over her pajama top, yanking an emerald green beanie over her peach fuzz so her head wouldn't get cold.

I wasn't sure I would remember the way, but as soon as we began walking down the sidewalk, I remembered the way to my favorite park as if remembering the words to my favorite song as I listened to it. The sidewalks were empty and calm, and soon the same feeling I'd gotten the day before, the alienated feeling, went away.

After arriving there, the two of us had been sitting on this bench in silence, absorbing the cool morning breeze and appreciating the gentle sunlight. Though there were others there, like some kids playing on the playground and a handful of moms, who were sitting at some picnic tables some ways away, it was still relatively peaceful. And then she'd broken the silence, saying that.

I turned to her. "Who?" I asked. "Professor?"

"Yeah," she said, slightly frowning as she looked out in front of us. "I couldn't remember why I felt weird about that, but then I remembered…before we…you know. I remembered that I started to think it was weird back then. Calling him father."

I frowned too. "Why would it be weird?"

"Well 'cause he's…" she hesitated, "He's human. And we're not."

"So?" I countered calmly.

"So he couldn't be our father," she insisted, not in an argumentative tone, but still stubborn. "He could never be our father. We don't share the same blood. We're not even the same species as him."

I said to her, "So what?"

"So what?" she echoed, looking at me, her brow furrowed further. "So everything. That's what parents are right? Older people that gave birth to you. That look like you." Buttercup hunkered further into her hoodie, burying her hands deep inside the pockets and turning her face away from me as she said, "We don't look like him at all."

Sighing, and carefully considering what she'd said, I turned my whole body toward her on the bench, explaining, "Let me put it this way. There are plenty of humans that have adoptive parents. The adoptive parents often don't share the same genes, the same DNA. But they sign official papers, and they're brought into a welcome, loving home. And those people become their parents. Being related isn't everything, Buttercup."

She shook her head as I went on, and then when I was finished, she said, "I still don't understand. How can they just…decide? How can they decide who their family is like that?"

I carefully considered my words again. "Blood…DNA. It's not always reliable. Being born related to someone doesn't guarantee that they'll love you unconditionally. It doesn't guarantee that they'll take care of you the way you deserve to be taken care of." I went on, my voice soft, "The people that do take care of you and love you…I think that's what family is. No matter if you share blood or not."

Buttercup was silent for a long while. Finally, she spoke up again. "So that's what makes Professor our father?"

I turned to her, smiling. "Yes. Exactly."

"I never thought about it that way before. I think…I think you're right." She paused, then she rolled her eyes, a small grin lifting the corners of her lips. "So that's why you're the smart one, huh?"

"We're all smart," I said, side-stepping the compliment modestly.

She sniffed, shaking her head, but still grinning. "Bet you got perfect grades in school," she remarked.

I hesitated, not wanting to admit that I'd found my high school transcript last week and she was absolutely right. Finally, I shrugged, "Grades aren't everything," I tried.

"They are to you," she countered. She squinted at me, playful. "I got you figured out, Red."

I exhaled, surrendering, "Fine. You got me."

Smug, Buttercup lifted her hands out of her pockets and folded her arms. "Uh-huh. That's what I thought."

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. The silence wasn't uncomfortable, it was calm. And I felt as if I had sat like this with her maybe hundreds of times. Professor had told us that the two of us were roommates at Warner University, our college. The more time I spent with her, reacquainting myself with her, the more I realized why.

"Hey," Buttercup said suddenly again.

I turned away from the direction I had been gazing in after I'd heard a distant car playing a song that I liked. "Yeah?" I said to her, glancing at her.

Her face had grown serious. "I need to talk to you about something," she said to me.

I gave her a small, reassuring smile. "You have my full attention."

"So…" she started, trailing off. She seemed uncomfortable, and I felt as if I already knew what she was going to say. She went on, "Do you remember…anything?" She elaborated before I could reply, "And I don't mean like…normal memories. I've been remembering those, too. But…other stuff. Like…when we were sick."

Having been prepared, the words didn't impact me like I thought they would. But regardless, some of those snapshots that had come to me over the past week or so played through again. "Yeah," I told her. "I'm starting to remember some of that stuff, too." Though I hadn't wanted to admit that to anyone. Not even myself. The memories were so horrifying that I wished that they were just nightmares.

Relieved, Buttercup leaned closer to me, staring imploringly. "I remember…losing my sight. And Bubbles couldn't hear. And our hair was falling out. And worse. Like, horror movie kind of shit. Only that stuff was actually happening to us in real life. That black stuff leaking out of us…do you remember that?"

This time I was affected. I swallowed hard. "I don't exactly remember that," I said quietly.

"Well," Buttercup said, nodding bitterly, "you will soon. So get ready."

Some old, slightly familiar dread pounded into the pit of my stomach. I said nothing.

"So what if this happens again?" Buttercup asked, staring down at her hands. "What if this isn't permanent, just like last time, you know? Living. How can we know if we'll stay alive for real this time? Like really know for sure?"

"We can't know," I said to her, voice grim. "No one can know that."

"But how can we live that way?" She looked away from her hands, staring up at me. "How could we just live our day to day lives, go through all the motions, knowing that this happened? That one day it might happen again, and we'll have no control over it?"

I stopped, thinking for a long time. From the way that she asked me these things, it sounded like it had been building up inside of her for quite a while. Then I said, very honestly, "I don't know."

Buttercup stared at me. Then she looked across the park, where the kids on the jungle gym were playing some sort of hot lava, post-apocalyptic game. Finally, she spoke. "I can't live like that. I can't live every day knowing that it could all end at any second."

I reached across the park bench, grasping her hand in mine. My sister fell silent. When I glanced over in her direction, I saw her head turn away as her shoulders shook. Then I responded, "I know you feel like you can't. I imagine that humans feel this way, too, at some point in their lives. Every single one." I turned my gaze to the two little girls swinging on the swing set, giggling and swinging their legs with abandon, as if pumping their legs hard enough would make them lift high enough to send them over the moon.

Softly, almost as if just to myself this time, I continued, "I had once thought that humans were weak. But they live with courage, without superpowers. I was wrong." I grasped Buttercup's hand tighter. "Their lives change so easily. They're so fragile. But they have the courage to keep moving when nothing seems like it will be okay again. We got to see what true suffering was like—the way that they suffer." I paused as one of the girls flew off of the swing and fell forward, catching herself on the playground rocks on her hands. For a few moments she hissed through her teeth in pain, drawing back her hands to look at the scrapes that had surely formed on her palms. Her friend came running over to her, offering her a hand, asking if she was okay. The little girl smiled, accepting her hand, and standing back up again.

I hadn't realized it, but I had begun to tear up as I fondly watched this pair. Speaking to Buttercup again, I said softly, a sad smile spreading on my face, "They're strong. They thrive. They persevere. They have the ability to survive the small, and the impossible. They live with heads held high, without apology. We may be the ones that protect them, Buttercup. But they're just as strong as we are. Maybe even stronger. And if we followed their example, there's nothing that we couldn't do."

The two girls, laughing and smiling once again, took off towards the monkey bars as their clasped hands swung in between them.

"I can't be like them," she whispered once more. I turned to look at her again, and she had followed my gaze—she was staring at the two little girls, too. She'd seen what I'd seen. "I can't."

"You must," I told her. I tightened my grip on her hand even more, and this time, she squeezed back. Her eyes locked on mine, soft instead of nuclear, glistening and afraid and vulnerable. "We must," I said. "And we will."

She continued looking at me for a long time, absorbing what I'd said. Then, without warning, without even breaking into a smile, she said, "You sound like that green dude from Star Wars."

Pleasantly surprised at the unexpected memory resurgence, I immediately recognized what she meant. "You mean Yoda?" I asked, unable to stop the smile that came to my face.

She shrugged, breaking our gaze, sheepish. "Yeah, I guess. Whatever." At my continued staring at her, in half disbelief and half amusement, she clarified defensively, "I just…liked to watch those movies sometimes. I found them hidden away in my room. They're…kinda cool."

I tilted my head at her. I was stupefied. How had I not known this before? I shook my head. "A closet Star Wars fan. Buttercup Utonium, I would've never guessed."

Groaning, Buttercup rolled her eyes, turning to hide her face from me as she grinned in chagrin. "Don't tell Bubbles," she said. "I'll never hear the end of it."

Bursting out into laughter, I had to let go of her hand to cover my face. Buttercup faced away from me, folding her arms and looking even more annoyed, which made me laugh even harder. Some of the ladies sitting at the picnic table some distance away from us looked over at us in annoyance. Eventually my laughter started to fade, and Buttercup faced me again, looking gravely serious. I sobered immediately.

Seeing that I had become serious again, she asked me very quietly, "Do you really think we can start over? After everything we've been through?"

I thought for a few moments. Then, finally, I said, "I think that we should at least try."

Some other kids ran past us, loud and carefree. I watched them, too. Before, the noise, at such an early time in the morning, probably would have annoyed me. But now I didn't mind it. I liked seeing them happy.

"Okay," Buttercup said after they were gone. "I will. I'll…try."

Unable to help it, I slyly said, "'Do or do not...'" I trailed off, raising my eyebrows and willing her to finish it.

After a long moment of leveling a deadpan stare at me, despite trying her best not to crack, in the end she closed her eyes, shook her head, and finished on a sigh, "'There is no try.'" Immediately afterwards, she said, looking at me dryly, "I shouldn't have told you that Star Wars thing."

Ignoring her last statement, I said in a somber tone, "Let's do this life thing together, then. Day by day."

Softly, Buttercup smiled a careful, tiny smile. "Okay." No arguments, no ifs, ands or buts.

I reached across for her hand again, taking it.

After we sat there for fifteen minutes or so more, we left the park, deciding to stop by the neighborhood café for coffee on the way home, making sure to bring home an extra iced mocha for Bubbles.

From that morning on, I saw just a little less hidden fear and cageyness in her body language each day.

#

Days later, as Bubbles and I were sitting together on the couch in the living room. We had gone through at least 10 VHS tapes together, watching footage of 9th and 10th birthday parties, as well as some Halloween costume footage and some Christmas mornings.

Afterwards, we decided to take a break from home movies and were flipping through TV channels. Then, as Bubbles' thumb paused on the channel up arrow, a very familiar image was onscreen. It was a picture of me, Bubbles and Buttercup taken when we were in elementary school. The both of us gasped at the same time.

"Is that…" Bubbles started, pointing at it. "That's—"

I leaned toward the TV. "What are they saying?"

Without saying anything more, Bubbles turned up the volume.

"So how exactly did the Powerpuff Girls fall so far? No one could have predicted that the discovery of the fading of Chemical X would lead to their demise. In this hour-long E! special, we chronicle their tumultuous young lives, and ponder what might be in store for the recently revived superheroes. Coming up next: the ways that puberty changed both their appearances and their personal lives."

As the commercial break started, Bubbles slammed the 'mute' button on the remote control, a look of disgust on her face.

"Unbelievable," I said, still staring at the screen in disbelief. "How can they just put our entire lives on display like that? What gives them the right?"

"I feel violated," Bubbles muttered, tucking some hair behind her ear.

"Me too." I lifted my feet, bringing my knees up to wrap my arms around them. The commercial break ended, and suddenly all three of our 6th grade class pictures appeared onscreen. There was my misguided overalls, body glitter and stick-on earrings phase, on display for the entire world to see. I groaned loudly. "I can't watch this. Let's watch some other channel."

Turning the volume on, Bubbles flipped the channel a couple more times. We passed by an infomercial about a kitchen appliance that could cook bacon into all of one's favorite breakfast foods, and then we passed by a talk show host appearing to be talking to a man who was deathly afraid of blue M&Ms.

Suddenly, Buttercup strolled into the room. "Hey, what are we watching?" She glanced over at the TV screen.

"Not watching and reliving our worst middle school fashion decisions, that's for sure," I told her.

At Buttercup's look of confusion, Bubbles explained with a laugh, "E! News made a documentary about our life, complete with old school pictures and everything."

Buttercup cringed in disbelief. "Oh God."

Bubbles had paused on a 24hr news channel, and what came from the TV's speakers next commanded all of our attention at once.

"In breaking news, Townsville billionaire Mr. Morbucks has passed away. He had a fatal heart attack and was brought to Townsville Memorial Hospital before passing on. In perhaps the most surprising news, his daughter, Princess Morbucks, well known heiress to his vast fortune, has been revealed to be receiving none of his fortune at all."

"Whoa, what?" Buttercup said, coming quickly over to the couch and wedging herself in-between us. "Turn it up!"

"The young heiress has had a questionable, controversial past, including several attempts as a child to destroy the Powerpuff girls. She's been notorious over the years for causing chaos and trouble in Townsville, and immediately following, having her father cover up her deplorable actions in the media. Many are wondering if the senior Morbucks had decided he'd simply had enough of her antics."

"I remember her." Buttercup was squinting at the television screen as Princess Morbucks' image was plastered all over it. She added thoughtfully, "I think I hated her guts."

"Whoa, I can't believe she's not an heiress anymore." Bubbles said, shaking her head. "Crazy."

Buttercup replied, "Yeah, well, someone can't get away with being terrible forever. It was bound to catch up with her eventually."

I folded my arms, eyebrows raising. I'd had enough childhood memories of her that had returned that made me agree with Buttercup's sentiment. "Agreed," I said. "Frankly, I don't feel sorry for her at all."

Bubbles, very quietly, said, "It's too bad about her dad, though."

A beat of silence went by. Buttercup and I shot her an incredulous look. I didn't want to say it, so thank goodness Buttercup did. "Her dad was almost just as bad," she said. She gestured at the television. "He enabled her behavior for years."

"But that doesn't mean he was a bad person," Bubbles argued, and I had to admit that she had a point also. She stared ahead at the television sadly. "And now Princess has nobody left in this world that cares about her."

The two of us didn't argue with that. We couldn't. So we said nothing. And quickly the subject was forgotten about.

But we had no way of knowing how much this certain subject matter would escalate in the coming months.

#

I continued watching the VHS tapes every single day. And soon enough, it happened—every morning that I woke up, a new complete long term memory would float its' way to the surface.

Monday morning, as I was between waking and being fully awake, I remembered the time Bubbles and I had forced Buttercup into letting us give her a makeover in the 5th grade. Having gotten our hands on some cheap dollar store lip gloss, eyeshadow and mascara, I pinned her to the floor as Bubbles worked from above her head and shoulders, applying makeup to her face upside down.

"Get off!" Buttercup had shouted, writhing under my grip and wrenching her face away from Bubbles' reach. "Stop it! Get that away from me!"

"Oh, hold still!" Bubbles had argued. "Just hold still!" She'd grabbed her chin with her free hand, forcing Buttercup to face her, but then wrenched her hand away when Buttercup tried to lean up and bite her on the wrist.

I switched so that one of my arms pinned down both her shoulders, and with my free hand I grabbed her jaw, stilling her at an angle that she couldn't bite me in.

"No!" Buttercup wailed through squished cheeks. Bubbles giggled in triumph, leaning down towards Buttercup's grimacing mouth with the bright pink lip gloss wand.

The memory skipped ahead to when we had finished, showing Buttercup her face in a hand held mirror. I remembered personally thinking that Bubbles had gone overboard with the sparkly blue eyeshadow.

Buttercup had been staring at her face in the mirror in abject horror—and then, spotting the mascara tube, she said, "Let me fix it." Before either of us could stop her, she took the mascara wand, smudging black goop all over her eyelids and underneath her eyes. Then she took her fingers and smudged it all around further until giant black blobs surrounded her eyes. Then she smiled proudly at the both of us. "I look like a zombie!" she exclaimed, laughing.

Bubbles and I traded looks, defeated.

Tuesday morning, a very different memory came to me. I was running, running—where was I running? I was running through the hallways of a school, and panic had filled me. I didn't know what I was running from, and even when I had given up on running and began to fly, I still didn't know what I was fleeing from, only that I was terrified. It felt much more like a nightmare than a memory.

But piece by piece, the memory revealed itself to me. I flew by a painted motif in one of the hallways. 'Townsville Middle School', it read.

This was my middle school. But why was I rushing? And why was I so terrified?

Finally reaching what seemed to be my destination, I flew straight into a door, turning the knob and flinging it open, breathless with panic but not exertion. "Mr. Livingston!" I exclaimed to a tall, glasses-wearing man who had looked at me in alarm. "I'm so sorry I'm late! There was a robbery downtown, and my sisters and I had to—"

The man, who I seemed to recall as my 7th grade homeroom teacher as soon as I had spoken his name within the memory, smiled at me. "Blossom, Blossom. No worries. We're all glad that you and your sisters have saved the day once again."

Without warning, the whole class erupted into whoops and cheers and applause.

"Yeah, Blo-ssom!" One of the boys hooted.

"You guys are the best!" One of the girls near the back called out next.

Relief overcame me as my face flushed. Bashfully I smiled at all of my classmates, and as I gripped my books and binder closer to my chest, I asked my teacher, "So I don't get a citation?" I had been terrified of getting a mark on my attendance record, I now realized. My attendance for all 3 of my years of middle school was flawless. And that day, probably one of many, I had been terrified of marring my perfect record because of crime fighting.

Mr. Livingston snorted, waving a hand as if he were waving away the very suggestion of my getting in trouble. "Don't be ridiculous. Now, go sit down so we can continue with our Plate Tectonics unit."

Happily, and eagerly, I made my way to my assigned seat. The next moment, the memory ended, and my eyes opened.

Wednesday, I recalled my very first boy-and-girl pool party in the 6th grade. It had been at Robin's house, a girl that had moved out of state two years later. She had always been a good friend of ours. She was popular, and nice, and she had been Bubbles' best friend for a long time.

Robin's parents had been really lax for it being a boy-girl party, and a good majority of the time, they had left us without supervision. Buttercup hadn't been phased by it one bit, and she played water polo and chicken with the boys without either parties even batting an eye. She had always been comfortable playing with boys at school, even when we were much younger, so since all of those guys were her friends already, it came naturally to her.

Bubbles and I, however, had started to feel the painful effects of puberty. I was more aware of my body than ever, and going bathing suit shopping had been near torturous. Everything had been either too revealing for my comfort, or too grandma-looking to be seen anywhere in it, much less at a party where boys were going to be shirtless. Especially since Robin had invited a few guys that I'd had a crush on at least once during that whole school year. How was I supposed to deal with seeing them half naked? Like it was no big deal, or something?

Eventually, I had picked out a neon pink tankini, deciding to stray far away from bikini tops—I couldn't exactly fill those out yet. But the morning of the pool party, I decided last minute on throwing a t-shirt over the top, deciding I would rather be safe than sorry. After arriving, I had seen at least 3 of the boys eyeing my t-shirt over my bathing suit in disappointment. I regarded them with disgust.

As for Bubbles, because of being so nervous about the party for at least a week beforehand, she was paid a visit by the crimson wave early. In the end, she sat next to me on the sun chairs next to the pool in her adorable white and blue striped one piece with a sundress over it, sunglasses on and palpable discomfort on her face. I gave kudos to her for at least wearing her bathing suit anyway. "Not wearing it would've been a total waste," she'd said to me.

The two of us split a double-sticked banana flavored ice pop as we watched our sister beat all the boys in water polo as they checked her out in her sporty tankini. Buttercup, after all, had hit puberty this year too. Actually, it was more that puberty hit her. Like a truck. It was no wonder that she would be the first of us to get a boyfriend the very next year. Not that Mitch Mitchelson was much of a boyfriend anyway, but still.

At the end of the pool party, Buttercup bet two of the boys fifty dollars each that they couldn't dunk us into the pool.

I turned my attention for two seconds and got dunked. My hair was like a heavy, soaking wet cape cemented to my back for the rest of the day. Bubbles, miraculously, levitated above the water before she could fall in, promptly turned right around, and dumped her cup of melted root beer float over the would-be dunker's head. The whole party laughed at him, even Robin. Buttercup earned $50.

After I got up that morning, I shared that memory with my sisters at the breakfast table. We had a good laugh over it.

Thursday, a much earlier memory came to me.

My sisters and I were young, maybe 7 or 8, and the memory cut in mid-battle as we fought a giant robot with someone inside of it. The robot shot lasers and swung massive metal limbs, crashing into buildings at its' attempt at knocking us out of the sky as we swarmed around it.

As Bubbles and I flew around it, up close, distracting, Buttercup flew up from behind its' line of vision, knocking down the chamber where the pilot sat, and the entire robot came crashing down to the ground below.

The three of us chased it to the ground, and then Buttercup ripped off the door at the top of the pilot's chamber. I reached inside, grabbing a pair of hairy hands, and then dragged the person out.

It wasn't a person. It was a chimp. A chimp that could talk, and cursed profusely at all of us. It had a helmet on, and clothes.

Instantly, I recognized him. Mojo Jojo.

As I remembered his name, a flurry of countless memories came at me that involved him. Countless battles, countless times I had seen his angry chimp face peering at me from behind prison bars, gaze sharp and full of contempt and pure hatred.

I sat up in bed, clutching my head at the sudden influx of information. I was frowning. It felt as if I had not seen Mojo in a very long time. Where had he gone?

I ruminated on these many memories for the rest of the day.

Friday, I remembered that my favorite soda was Dr. Pepper. Saturday, I remembered that classical operas always moved me to tears, and that I had several on DVD. I spent that day watching five of them and crying giant, snotty tears at every single one. Sunday, I remembered that my sisters and I had always done fun things for our birthday, and that this year might've been the first year we didn't do anything special—other than waking up from comas, that is. But that hadn't exactly been fun.

Not like spending all day at Townsville's Six Flags, or getting a limo rented for us and all of our friends, or going to a teen club—which, admittedly, I couldn't quite remember no many how many times I tried to return to that memory. No matter how many ways I twisted and examined the things I could remember—giving autographs to two creeps, meeting a cute guy with blue eyes, getting stared at the whole night like we were celebrities—I couldn't remember much else. It felt so important to me to remember, but the more I tried to remember it, the more it faded.

Oh well. It probably wasn't that important anyway. Just my mind playing tricks on me. Professor said that might happen.

The next Monday, I remembered that I'd had a boyfriend—only I couldn't remember for how long, or when. And I couldn't remember who he was, either. Couldn't even remember what he looked like. This was another stubborn memory for me—the more I tried to think of it, the more it snuck back into the back of my subconscious like a spooked cat. Almost as if it didn't want to be found, like it would do anything not to be drawn out and forced into the open space.

But oh well, I told myself. It probably wasn't that important either.

One morning, though, a memory that I hadn't wanted came straight from the shadows of my mind as I had made my way down the upstairs hallway to my room.

In this memory I was crying hysterically, bent over a toilet, and vomiting up pure black into the bowl. It just kept coming and coming and I couldn't force my body to stop.

When I snapped out of the memory, I was slumped over on the floor of the hallway, hyperventilating. Bubbles was by my side, grasping my shoulders and yelling my name. She hadn't been there before. Had I blacked out?

Between my gulping breaths, I asked, "What happened?"

Bubbles' hands gripped me tighter, seemingly relieved that I had spoken to her. "I heard you fall over, and you were lying there hyperventilating, and you wouldn't respond when I said your name. Are you okay?"

I tried to catch my breath, and when I tried to stand, Bubbles stopped me. "No, don't get up. Just sit down. Put your head between your knees. You need to breathe."

I did what she said, sitting on the floor with my head between my knees. It was easier to breathe this way. Minutes passed, and finally my breaths turned from gulping to regular breathing. When I could speak, I said to her, "Sorry."

She had come to sit beside me against the wall, and she wrapped an arm around my shoulders soothingly. "Don't apologize. I'm glad I was here for you." She paused, leaning her head against my head, which wasn't between my knees anymore, but was now buried in the protective nest of my arms in shame. Then she said very softly, "I have them too, if it makes you feel any better."

Slowly, I nodded, keeping my face hidden. "It does." I sighed. "Thanks Bubbles."

She smoothed her hand across my shoulders. "Love you."

I smiled. Finally, I lifted my face up, looking at her. "Love you, too."

We remained sitting in the hallway a little while longer in silence until my heart slowed back to its' normal pace.

#

My days—our days—continued on like this, though thankfully with few panic attacks.

When we weren't in the training simulator, flexing our powers and practicing, or when we weren't watching more home movies, our days were spent remembering and sharing what we had remembered, and cross-referencing some of our returned memories to make sure we'd remembered them right.

These days were mostly calm still, and I appreciated these calm days. When our brains had so much to take in, with so many ghosts of our pasts to decipher, it was nice not to have to deal with other things that were stressful.

I even appreciated how Professor continued protecting us from the media. "They'll see you when you're ready," he would tell us every time he turned away reporters at the door. "And you aren't ready yet."

So one day, after three weeks had passed, when something actually did happen, it was quite surprising.

Ding dong.

"I'll get it!" I called out seconds after the sounding of the doorbell. No one else was in the living room with me, and everyone seemed occupied, so I figured I might as well answer it.

After looking through the peep hole, carefully making sure that there weren't any reporters out there, I swung the front door open. No one was there.

Except for—oh. There was a chimp sitting down on our front step. That was new.

"Uhhh," I trailed off, looking left, right and around for anyone that might have left it there. There was no one around. I called, "Hello? Is anyone missing a chimp?" This caught the chimp's attention, and it turned around to stare at me. The animal didn't seem threatened, strangely, considering the unfamiliar suburban environment it was in.

The monkey had a ribbon tied loosely around its' neck, like a present, and a card was attached to the ribbon. Upon closer inspection, the card was addressed to Professor.

I bent down carefully next to the monkey, holding my arms out for it. The chimp looked at me for a moment or two, curiously, and then ambled toward my open arms. Gently, I picked him up, and the unwieldy chimp accepted it with a docile wrap of his arms around my shoulders. He was big, but it was nothing my powers couldn't handle. He was certainly not a baby, either—he even had some white furs here or there in his fur throughout. If he were older, it would explain his low temperament.

"Let's see who left you here for Professor," I murmured to him, reaching for the card at his neck. I opened the card, reading the sophisticated-looking calligraphy written inside.

"To the Scientist:

As a reward for keeping your end of the silence deal, JoJo is your lab chimp again. I can do nothing for him now. He has no place else to go, anyhow, and I couldn't bear taking him to some barbaric zoo. He deserves to live out the rest of his days in a laboratory, the kind of place he enjoyed and always belonged. Take care of the unfortunate dumb bastard. I'll be watching.

Signed,

You-Know-Who."

I stared down at the card. This chimp…Jojo. That was familiar. Maybe too familiar.

Was this chimp Mojo Jojo?

Nonplussed, I looked into its' face, searching for any recognizable traits, squinting. Despite staring right the chimp, I didn't recognize any of the traits as Mojo's. As the chimp stared back at me for a few moments, blinked, and then turned its' head as a passing fly caught its' attention, I decided that it didn't seem to recognize me either.

Cautious, I turned, going back inside of the house as I shut the door behind me. Then, quickly, I made my way to the basement door, opening it as I rushed toward the steps.

I carried the chimp all the way down the steps into the laboratory. As I made it to the bottom, I listened closely for where Professor was located in the large basement. Then, hearing noises coming from the office, I made my way down the hallway.

When I made it to the door of the office, I rapped my knuckles twice against the closed door gently.

"One moment!" Professor called from inside. After some shuffling around, the door opened. He looked at me—then immediately his eyes went to the chimp.

"Someone left this guy for you at the front door," I said to him, adjusting the chimp on my hip slightly so that he wouldn't fall.

"Just now?" Professor asked, eyes wide.

"Just now," I confirmed.

"Oh my!" Professor bent to look the chimp in the face. The chimp looked back at him, retracting his lips back from his gums in a monkey-ish grin. Professor, after looking at the chimpanzee in wonder, asked me in a strangely hesitant manner, "Did…did you see who left it?"

I blinked at him. "No," I said. "Why?"

He sighed, seemingly in relief. "No reason," he said. I couldn't tell if it was the whole memory loss thing, or maybe the PTSD thing, but I couldn't help but feel like he was keeping something from me. He stared down at the chimp fondly, reaching for the card and gently untying it from around his neck. "Look at him. He's just as I remembered him from back then. Before he got exposed to the Chemical X." He opened the card, eyes scanning over the writing inside.

Catching what he'd said and perking up, I asked, "So this really is Mojo Jojo?"

Professor finished reading the message, and he folded the card back up and stuck it into the front pocket of his lab coat. "Yes," he said finally. "It is."

I stared down at the chimp, shocked. I was holding Mojo Jojo. But he didn't recognize me at all. He didn't seem to recognize Professor either. And…he was just an animal. Nothing like the villain I'd known at all. "What happened to him?" I asked, almost breathless.

"The Chemical X faded in him, just like you and your sisters' did. And the others, too." He moved on quickly before I could ask for the millionth time who 'the others' were. "But unlike you girls, who were made solely with the Chemical X and the other ingredients, Mojo was already a carbon based organism, a mammal, when he was exposed to the Chemical. When it faded from his system, he became just an animal again."

I continued staring at the chimp. He looked at our surroundings, completely oblivious of our conversation. Not only that, but he seemed to not even understand it. "Does he remember anything from when he was Mojo?"

Professor sighed. "He doesn't seem to. Which, if I'm being honest, is fortunate for the both of us," he admitted.

I nodded, agreeing. Very carefully, I set the chimp down onto the floor. The both of us watched as the chimp calmly began pacing around the room, curiously eyeing the desk and the shelves of files. I couldn't believe this was my ex nemesis. I couldn't believe someone who was so dangerous, so crazed with power, could be reduced to…this. Finally, and quietly, I said, "…Professor?"

"Yes, dear?" Professor replied.

I thought very carefully of how best to word this question. I didn't want to sound like I was accusing him of something. "If I asked you who left Jojo here for you, would you tell me the truth?"

Professor paused for a long time, absorbing this question. He also, I thought, seemed to be deliberating on how to answer. Finally he said, "It's better for all of our safety that I don't, at least right now. I'm sorry. I know that's frustrating." He offered me a smile. It was reassuring. "But I will tell you one day. One day, you and your sisters will know everything. Just trust me for now when I say that Jojo is harmless, and it's in his best interests that he stays here with us. I'll make him his own room, with his own space to move around in. And taking care of him now is also…a favor." He paused. "For someone. Let's call them a friend."

I looked at him for a moment. Then I nodded, accepting this. I believed him. And I believed that he would only ever withhold information from us if it was for our protection. He was our father, after all. For a couple of minutes, the both of us kept close watch on Jojo as he began to move about the basement. Professor quickly had to intercept him as he began to enter the experiment lab, and he shut the door before he could go in. The chimp continued to move down the hallway on his knuckles, unfazed. We followed him, laughing uneasily.

After a moment of silence, I spoke up again. "Professor?"

"Yes, dear?" He responded.

"Will I ever get to go back to college?" I asked him. I had been wondering this for at least a week now. As I had gone through all the books in my bedroom, and all of the old essays saved on my laptop, I realized that I loved school. And I missed it.

"Of course, honey," Professor said. We continued moving down the hallway after the snooping chimp. "As soon as you've healed."

My stride almost paused. "But I am healed, dad." I frowned. I didn't understand what he was talking about. "My body is the best it's ever been."

Professor smiled, ever patient. "Yes, but…how should I put it, exactly?" He sighed. "There are other ways that you and your sisters are healing right now. Your minds have been through a great deal, and…well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that. The post-traumatic symptoms all of you have been experiencing are proof enough."

I thought of the snapshots—my reactions to such snapshots. Sometimes they scared me enough only to make my heart race and my hands shake. Sometimes they were enough to make me have panic attacks, like the one I experienced in the upstairs hallway only a little while ago. I nodded slowly, understanding. "Oh…I see."

"With time, these things will heal," Professor continued as we stopped—Jojo had stopped, turning right around and walking back toward us, then straight past us. We followed after him as we walked back where we had come. "There's no telling how long that'll be, but…well. It's the same for humans, too. It's the same for me. I have a lot to recover from, too."

I looked up at his face, at the strain that had passed over it as he'd said that. Just like I had thought before. I asked him, "But how will I know when I've healed that way?"

Professor pointed at me with a slight grin, as if to say, 'excellent question'. "It won't be precise, like how physical healing can be. You won't be able to mark your progress by the day, or maybe even by the month. And it's different for everybody. So I can't say how you'll know exactly." He looked down at me. "But one day you'll blink, and you'll realize that you've gone back to living normally, the way you lived before. And it'll come so naturally, so painlessly, that it'll shock you."

His words had moved me. And I wanted more than anything for them to be true. I held his gaze, managing a hopeful grin. "I hope so," I said.

A crashing noise came suddenly. The both of us snapped out of our moment, looking in front of us where Jojo had been—and was no longer.

As soon as I had said, "Crap!" Professor had already rushed ahead to the open office door, looking inside.

He turned to me, panicked. "He's not in here!"

I ran to the basement bathroom. No sign of him. Professor rushed to the room where the training simulator was—nowhere to be found. Another crashing noise came from up the basement steps, and then a shout—the basement door was open.

I flew up the steps, and Professor wasn't far behind me. I came through the doorway and into the kitchen, and there stood Buttercup and Bubbles. Buttercup had dropped a bowl of cereal onto the kitchen floor as she stared in shock ahead at Bubbles, who was holding Jojo in her arms, speaking to him animatedly and enthusiastically. Her ability to talk to animals had come back in its' full glory, and she seemed delighted at Jojo.

Buttercup, however, looked as about as mystified as someone normally would be if they walked into the kitchen to find a chimp there. She turned, looking at us. "When did we get a pet monkey?" she asked, pointing at the animal.

Not sure what to say, I shrugged and looked at Professor.

He only sighed. "Long story."

#

Another three weeks passed.

Adjusting to life with Jojo was strange at first, admittedly. But after Professor had transformed one of the basement storage rooms to Jojo's room, complete with a bed, ropes to swing on, actual monkey bars, and of course a good supply of daily bananas, he had actually become a member of the family much easier than one would think.

He no longer was the villain of his past—Mojo and Jojo were different beings entirely. Mojo had regularly sworn that he would kill us one way or another—had dedicated his entire existence to it. Jojo liked to learn sign language, hang out with Professor in the lab, and go for chaperoned walks around the backyard. He also enjoyed his naps. He was a middle aged chimp after all.

This arrangement was nice for Professor as well—this way, he wasn't so lonely in the laboratory anymore.

And as we adjusted to our new member of the family, we continued remembering more and more of ourselves. We ran errands regularly, spent as much time outdoors as we did indoors now. Reporters did try their best to tail us, but we only did our best to avoid them as Professor advised us too.

It was just as Professor had said—things weren't perfect. They weren't quite normal yet either. But they were starting to feel as if they would be normal again.

And the same day I had quietly noticed this in the back of my mind, it happened.

"I think you're ready now, girls," said Professor to the three of us. "I think it's time for you to be reintroduced to the others."

My sisters and I were sitting at the kitchen table, in the middle of eating a lunch that Bubbles had made for all three of us. We'd frozen up at his words, staring up at him in disbelief. We traded glances, shocked, then looked back up at him.

I was the first to defrost. Then, very calmly, I asked him the question. For the very last time. "Professor, who are the others?"

Professor smiled, pausing before he finally graced us the answer we had craved for a month and a half. "The boys are the others." This statement had resulted in a barrage of questions being unleashed at him all at once, and he only kept silent, holding up a hand. We fell silent. Professor had offered us no more information, only said, "I have two conditions to meeting these boys."

"What are they?" Bubbles asked him.

Professor held up one finger. "The first condition: you must agree to getting into a containment chamber, which I will lock from the outside. For your safety and for theirs."

The three of us looked at each other again, this time warily. That was weird. Why would we need to be contained? What for?

Hesitantly, Buttercup asked, "And the second condition?"

"Keep an open mind. No matter what," he said.

I looked at my sisters. They nodded at me, however unsure they looked. I looked up at Professor. "We'll do it."

#

Inside the containment chamber, it was cramped. In the front of it, there was military-grade glass windows, just like in the training simulator, only these were ceiling to floor and they were transparent on both sides instead of two-way mirrors. Also like the training simulator, the walls were lined in steel. But this felt more like a glorified jail cell.

Professor had already locked us inside. Afterwards, he told us he would be right back. That he was getting the others. The boys.

"I don't know why," Buttercup murmured to us, "But I have a bad feeling about this." She was sitting on the steel floor, leaning her back against the wall.

I was pacing restlessly. Bubbles was biting her nails, standing, and leaning back against the wall.

"I still don't understand why we have to be in here," Bubbles whined. "Doesn't Professor trust us?"

I frowned, thinking. "Maybe it's not that he doesn't trust us," I said. I turned, walking back the way I had just come seconds ago. "Maybe it's more that he doesn't trust the possible outcome of this meeting."

"But why would he have to be worried at all?" Buttercup countered. "What is it about these guys that has him so worried to begin with?"

She had a point, there. And I didn't admit it, but I was nervous too. I think all of us were.

Suddenly, all three of us heard the basement door at the top of the steps open. I stopped in my tracks. Buttercup jumped up from the floor. Bubbles gasped, then covered her mouth with both hands.

We heard the sound of footsteps down the stairs. Multiple pairs of footsteps.

"On your guard, girls," I whispered. "Be prepared for anything."

The footsteps neared. We heard Professors' voice—then an unfamiliar one. Then another unfamiliar one. The others. The boys. They were coming toward us.

The footsteps stalled outside of the door which lead to the room we were in. Professor said something—it sounded like, "Are you ready?" Three voices answered. A hand on the doorknob. It turned. My sisters and I stood on the other side of the windows, tensed and ready, all three of our hearts pounding in anticipation.

The door opened.

Inside walked three boys. On second thought...they weren't boys. They seemed like men. They were built like men. Tall, taller than all three of us. Strong looking. Maybe about our age. Professor followed them, hanging back at a distance near the door.

There was one with blond hair, one with dark hair that was just starting to grow out of a buzz cut, and lastly, one with long red hair. The three of them slowly approached the glass. On the other side of the military-grade glass, they stared in at us, dubious and leery, just as we were staring at them.

Just like us. Just like me.

I didn't recognize them, but just I had felt with my sisters after meeting them again, I felt it immediately—the likeness. Inhuman, bizarre eyes, deep blue, dark green, and red. Heartbeats that weren't like Professor's, that were quick. High body heat. The gazes that held sheer power. Power that resonated from them in waves. Just like ours.

Chemical Y sung in their veins. Just as it sung in ours. Superhumans, just as Professor had said.

All of them were strange, but I couldn't help the feeling that I'd seen them all somewhere. And most of all, I couldn't help but stare at the red-haired one—stare at his eyes. I squinted up into his face through the thick glass. I felt lots of things that I couldn't quite explain.

But one thing I knew for sure, one thing I could pinpoint inside of me immediately, was fear.

None of us had spoken a word since they'd entered the room. It was as if my sisters and I had all but held our breath, cautious of even breathing too loudly. The boys had been silent as well, seemingly as bewildered as we were, though it was difficult to read their faces.

The red haired boy continued to stare down at me, vivid, strange red irises puzzled and unrecognizing.

Then, finally, he was the one to break the unsettled silence between all six of us. "Who are you?"


DUN DUN DUNNNNN.

I'll be writing an in-depth post about this chapter on my livejournal, as I usually do, so look out for it!

Gosh, you guys. The next chapter...that'll be it. The next update will be the last chapter of Losing Control. Crazy stuff. Can you believe we're so close to the end?

This is a loose guess, but you guys can possibly expect the update around the end of January. It may just be the beginning of February, though. I ask for y'all's patience, story endings make me crazy and from now until posting the last chapter (and epilogue, which will come at the same time) I'll likely be obsessively working on it. But I want only the best of endings for this story, and of course for you guys.

Thank you so much for all of your support and enthusiasm for this story. I would never have made it this far without you guys behind me. I could never express it enough. Endless gratitude. Endless.

Happy Holidays and a wonderful New Year to you all!

-MsButterFingers