1.3

With the remnants of dinner put away in the fridge and dad settled in for the night, I retreated to my room to get ready for my mandatory outing.

Stripping out of my normal clothes, I smiled to myself as I thought of our recent meal. Dad had complimented the meatloaf; said it tasted just like how mom used to make! He didn't say anything else for the rest of the time we were eating, but that small praise alone was enough to make the effort worth it. I'd have to look through the recipe book for more ideas.

Down to just my underwear, I pulled a long black case out from its hiding spot beneath my bed and dialed in the combination to unlock it. Inside was my sword and the pieces of my costume. Eager to not be mostly naked anymore, I snapped the case open and pulled out the main portion of the outfit: a sort of black body sleeve, similar in look and texture to a pair of leggings, but made of a much thicker material so that it was more durable and didn't become see through when stretched. When I'd been given it, I'd been told that this piece alone could serve as the costume in a pinch, but I was hesitant to try. Though not even the lines of my underwear showed up through the fabric, what little dignity I had left was uncomfortable with the thought of walking around in a skintight suit.

I sat down on my bed and slid the bottom portion onto my legs. Fully pulled up, the leggings stopped at my ankles, but a thick strip of fabric attached to the bottom looped underneath the soles of my feet to keep the material from riding up when taut. Standing up, I slid my arms into the sleeve portion and stretched the thick loop of material at the top over my head to rest around my neck and shoulders. Though the body sleeve preserved my modesty from the front and sides, the back was left conspicuously open and bare down to the top of my waist. When I asked about it, the nice old Chinese lady that was fitting me told me it was necessary to allow ease in putting the outfit on, but a part of me was certain it was a purely cosmetic window.

Finally, I stretched the material of the arms out to their full length. The sleeves stopped at my wrists but a thin triangular strip of cloth continued down the back of my hand. It had a loop at the end that slid over my middle finger, also to keep the material from bunching up.

I stepped over in front of my mirror to give myself a quick once over. My working lifestyle and poor diet the last few months meant that I had a much leaner build than before I'd dropped out of school but it had been enhanced by real, noticeable muscle since I'd gotten my powers. The way the fabric pulled just taught enough to highlight the musculature of my long arms, legs, and smooth midsection made me self conscious of creases and bunches in the otherwise uniform material. After quickly smoothing out the ones I could find, I returned to the case to collect the rest of my costume.

Setting aside the spares of the body sleeve, I pulled out the light and billowy black fabric of the outer pants and shirt. The material of these was thin and silky, meant less for keeping out the elements and more for breaking up the contours of my silhouette. They sat very loosely on my frame and slid on easily. A strip of the cloth that ran around the waist of the pants needed to be cinched up tightly to prevent them from falling down. The shirt simply sat on my shoulders, the baggy sleeves stopping at my fingertips.

Reaching into the case again, I pulled out another folded bunch of black fabric, my sash. It was very long and wide, meant to wrap around my waist multiple times and keep the midsection of the shirt from flapping around needlessly. Once tied, It was even useful for storing small items like my phone and held the scabbard of my sword to my hip when it wasn't in my hand. There was probably some fancy traditional way of tying it, but after wrapping it as many times as I could I simply double knotted it and tucked the rest into the back.

The final fabric piece of the costume was my mask and hood. The mask was nothing more than a stretchy cylindrical piece of material, like my bodysuit but thinner. It pulled on over my head and sat bunched around my neck until I pulled it up to conceal the lower half of my face. The 'hood' was just another piece of loose fabric sewed on to the back of the mask. With the mask on, I could pull it up over the top of my head to hide my hair and even shadow the top of my face. It tended to blow around a bit, and if I still needed to wear glasses it would probably have been a nightmare, but as it was it functioned well enough to mask my distinctive curls.

The stupid thing always took me a few tries to pull on correctly and this time was no different. Once I successfully had it around my neck, I fixed my hair, pulling it up into a ponytail with a simple black elastic and moved to grab the final pieces of my costume.

This part always made me a bit nervous, which said nothing of how I felt actually wearing them.

After watching me spar with a few of his better trained unpowered flunkies, Lung had ordered a few pieces of gear specially sized for me. They were made of carbon fiber, special tinker polymers and alloys, and more than likely the lost hopes and dreams of small children. Needless to say, they probably cost a small fortune.

When I'd nervously brought up the matter of price, Lung told me to consider it 'Protecting an investment' and I had no misgivings about what that really meant. He intended to get his money's worth from me and I was not a short-term investment.

No pressure right?

The first pieces of equipment were a pair of sleek black vambraces. They fit around my forearms from just below my elbows down to my wrists, with an extra flexible bit that partially protected the back of my hand.

They also had an ostentatious eastern-style dragon decaled onto the outside in gleaming gold.

Sliding my baggy sleeve up to just over my wrist, I pulled it taut against my forearm and then carefully wound it up until there was no extra material. That done, I slid the first vambrace into place and carefully clamped it into position over the fabric. They both had a full length clasping mechanism like what you might find on a watch or bracelet. It had two extra pieces of material connected to each other and the main body by flexible joints that folded together to lay flat on the inside of my forearm when closed. This clasp and the inner padding let the armor fit snugly to my arm while almost completely hiding the seam.

I quickly repeated the process with my other arm and moved on to my feet.

There was a problem with moving at the kind of speeds I was capable of. Mainly, unless I went barefoot any normal pair of shoes I wore would be quickly destroyed by the unforgiving hand of friction. The soles of the sneakers I'd been wearing when Lung had me demonstrate my abilities had quickly melted into rubbery goop. Fortunately, the enhancements to my body let me handle the various rigors of moving at extremely high speeds so I could go without shoes when necessary, but I would still be limited in my ability to move around an urban landscape without more serious accommodations.

Once again, Lung's contacts in trading tinkertech had delivered in spades.

What I'd gotten were sort of like a pair of boots. They had a perfectly fitting shoe portion that was made of material resistant to temperatures I'd likely never encounter unless I made a habit of standing in Lung's fire. The shoe part was connected to a greave by some sort of weird armored omnidirectional joint. I didn't know how it worked but it left me with the full flexibility I needed to perform my outlandish feats of agility. The greaves were in pretty much the exact same style as the vambraces, snug-lock-clasp and all, and protected my entire shin and calf up to my knee. They even had a flexible portion that jutted out from the top to protect my kneecap.

Frankly, they were absolutely amazing, and I was terrified that I'd somehow manage to break them by the end of the month.

Carefully, I wrapped the extra material of my pants around my legs, much like I'd done with my sleeves before. With that done, I held the fabric in place while I pulled out the first boot and smoothly slid my leg inside. When my foot was snugly in place in the shoe portion, I pulled my hand out and clamped the upper portion together. After repeating the process with the other leg, I stood up and took a few steps to make sure they were fitting correctly before turning back to the case for the final and most important item.

My sword.

It was a tinker forged Japanese katana and like the rest of my costume, the scabbard and hilt were black. The scabbard was some sort of carbon fiber and tinkertech made resin on the outside, flexible and durable enough for me to use it as a weapon in its own right. The inside was wood, or something made to look and feel like wood. The hilt was all black wrappings and accents around a solid core of metal, the only splash of color being a dragon decaled onto the black pommel in gold. The guard and blade were made of metal the color of dark polished steel, and I'd been told that they were composed of a tinkertech alloy of considerable strength and durability. So far, it had held up perfectly to the inhuman forces I'd put it through and its edge had not dulled in the slightest even when carving through dense monstrous bone and metal.

I knelt down in front of it, reverently reaching out and ready to pull it from its foamy impression in the case, before hesitating. There was something I'd noticed about myself that made me more than a little nervous.

Having a sword at my side felt good. More than good, it felt natural: as though carrying a sword was supposed to be my default state. Lately, whenever I was stressed my left hand automatically drifted to my waist, seeking the reassuring presence of a blade waiting to be drawn. I'd developed habits and ticks around it, like tapping out impatient rhythms on the pommel and grip, and clenching the scabbard when my temper started to rise.

If having a blade felt so natural to me now, what would happen the more I drew it? The more I used it? Would I reach the point where drawing a weapon became my first response to a situation? Would attacking another person with the intent to harm or kill become second nature? Could it even be called second nature when I seemed to be so skilled at it already?

I clamped down on my thoughts and pulled the elegant blade from its resting place. With an easy familiarity I slid the scabbard into the folds of my sash and calmly thumbed the hilt. With its reassuring presence at my side, I forced my worried thoughts to rest.

Make the best with what you've got, right?

This sword was the reason that dad and I still lived in a warm house with a roof to keep us dry. This sword was the reason that tonight we'd been able to eat mom's meatloaf again for the first time in years. This sword was the reason that I could face dad and smile, because with it I knew that I could keep him safe and comfortable.

Why worry about the me of the future when I still had to face the problems of today?

What happens will happen, what will be will be. I can't stop the future from coming, but I can sure as hell fight to make certain that we'll see it when it's here.

I closed the case, mixing up the combination dial and then sliding it back underneath my bed. Silently, I rose to my feet and padded over to my desk, scooping my new cell phone off of it and tucking it into the back of my sash. Then, I made my way to the door and opened it just a crack. As I stood there, I closed my eyes and focused on the sounds of the house.

It was a trick I'd picked up when I was still trying to hide my going out at night from dad. If I concentrated on just my sense of hearing, I could push my ability to gather phonic information to new extremes. Like this, it was easy to make out the sounds of the T.V. downstairs, dad's heart beat, breathing, and at the most extreme even the minute sounds human muscles made when they strained, contracted, and twitched.

Ultimately, this let me draw a sort of mental picture using the acoustics of the house. From my spot behind my door, I could tell with certainty that dad was still sitting on the couch, out of line of sight from the back door, which is exactly what I wanted. I may not have needed to sneak out anymore, but I also didn't want dad to see me in my costume again, not unless it was absolutely necessary.

Slipping out of my room, I pulled the door shut behind me and ghosted my way down the stairs. Half way down, I realized I wasn't making any sound and adjusted, letting my feet fall just heavily enough that dad would be able to hear me on the staircase. When I hit the bottom, I turned towards the back door and called over my shoulder.

"I'm heading out now dad! Remember, I taped my cell number to the back of the phone so if you need anything you can call me. If I'm not back before you're in bed, good night!"

Without waiting for a response I pulled up my mask to cover my face up to the bridge of my nose and slipped out the back door. I closed it just heavily enough that dad could hear I was gone and pulled my hood up over my ponytail. Finally, I made a quick check of the area to make sure I was still mostly hidden by the back alcove, before picking out one of the telephone poles on the next street over and launching myself straight towards it.

Though I had no problem perceiving the world around me at high speeds, apparently it was next to impossible for the normal human eye to keep track of me when I cut loose. I figured so long as I left the house in a hurry I wouldn't have to worry too much about people spotting me.

Rapidly closing on my chosen pole, I shifted my center of gravity enough to pivot slightly in the air and then pulled my knees to my chest. At these speeds I couldn't just hit the pole dead on; I would end up damaging it if I did. Instead I was aiming to skim the side of it, just enough for me to control my path and add more speed if needed.

As I passed beside it I let my left foot reach out, the big toe of my boot just barely scratching the side. It was enough for me to shift my flight path by a few degrees and put me in position for a kickoff. Adequately pivoted I kicked out with my right foot, planting it into the back of the pole and pushing off.

My ride was waiting for me six blocks to the east. I still wasn't sure what the point in being picked up was. I could cross a block in under a second and could definitely get to Lung's lair for the day faster than any car, but still they insisted on it. Maybe it was some sort of power play, or maybe it was just a simple task to keep someone busy. Lung seemed to try to keep most of his people occupied with an objective or task, even if it was as simple as 'watch this location.' I wouldn't be surprised if he made people drive me around just to give them something specific to do.

It only took me four 'steps' to come within a block of my ride.

From my latest kickoff point at the top of a billboard, I could see the same rusty golden sedan from earlier, parked by the curb in the middle of an empty street. Between me and it was the wide and flat rooftop of some sort of commercial building taking up a good portion of the block. I aimed for it, needing the space to bleed off some speed if I was going to stop without damaging anything.

My leaping arc took me down right at the start of the rooftop. I landed rather lightly, most of my momentum horizontal rather than vertical, and immediately allowed my leading left leg to buckle, planting my knee-guard into the rooftop. Lowering my center of gravity, I leaned back, forcing more of my left greave into contact with the paved black tar of the rooftop and skidding along it with a sound like hard plastic on blacktop. It did a respectable job decelerating me, but for the speed I was traveling at the roof was too short.

Shifting my back foot placement, I rose from my knee into a full spin, rotating two and a quarter times before throwing myself into a perfectly timed back flip. Reaching my hands out beyond my head, I easily caught on to the short wall that ran around the edge of the roof, my spine bending in a far more flexible arc than I ever would have been able to manage before receiving my powers. As my center of gravity passed over the wall, the points at which I gripped it suddenly took the full force of my flight. I maintained my hold just long enough to slow myself a bit more but not enough that the thin concrete would fail to hold together.

Letting go, the contact with the wall had changed my flight path just enough to point me directly at the sidewalk leading up to the front door of the building. Completing the flip, I hit the concrete with my feet, bending my knees to easily absorb the impact before once again planting the full length of my boot against the ground.

With my expertly calculated maneuver, most of my momentum had been bled off and the sound of my boots grinding on tar and concrete had attracted the attention of my driver. Through the lens of my enhanced senses, I saw him begin to react in slow motion, pausing mid drag of a cigarette to slowly turn his head towards the open passenger window of the car.

I decided to have some fun.

Shifting my center of gravity forwards, I rose from my knees to my feet and sharply dug the edge of my boots into the ground. The sudden increase in friction was enough to send me into a full pinwheel. I pulled my knees to my chest, briefly accelerating the rate at which I spun through the air, only to throw them back out to full length just as my legs were lining up with the window of the car. I aimed for the vehicle's frame, not wanting to damage it too much, and when my feet made contact I let my knees bend with the force, controlling the amount applied so that I didn't stop all at once.

When I had slowed enough, I hooked one of my feet in through the window and pressed up with the side of my boot against the top of the frame, guiding myself into the car as I pulled my other foot down and free. Finally, with my left hand I pulled my sword out from my sash, pressing it flat against my chest so it wouldn't get in the way and reached down with my right hand, planting it on the cars frame where my feet had been moments before. With that point of contact, I bled off the rest of my momentum and dropped fluidly into the car's passenger seat as the vehicle rocked sharply to the side.

My chauffer was not prepared for my arrival.

"What the hoowaaAAAH, Jesus fuck girl!" He exclaimed, flinching back into the driver side door as his lit cigarette dropped from his mouth. "Can't you get into a fucking car like a normal human fucking be-Ow! Son-of-a-" He slapped at his lap, desperately scooping the burning cigarette out of it and flinging it out the open window.

I turned away from him so that he couldn't see the vindictive smirk I was wearing through my mask. Grabbing my seatbelt, I pulled it over my shoulder and clicked it into place as I tucked my sword between my legs. Glancing down at the radio clock I noted the time.

Six twenty four: made it with time to spare you jerk!