Until there is a Gen V category on this website I'll be posting this story here.
Viewer discretion is advised: The following story covers a multitude of difficult topics such as murder, justice, sexual assault and abuse.
Chapter one: The Beginning of the End
Where does your story begin?
It's all she thinks about. For the past eight years Marie Moreau has had no choice but to think about it.
Think about how you might make your mark on the world. Where does your story begin?
Well, Marie knows where her story begins, and it's eight years ago in a blood soaked bathroom. (With their parents' bodies limp and sprawled on the bathroom floor- there was so much blood- she could taste it.)
Marie closes her eyes tightly, breathing in deeply, and then quietly out. She focuses on trying not to snap the pencil in her hand into pieces. She thinks about It.
Think about how you might make your mark on the world. Marie remembers, will never forget the horrified look, the alabaster shell-shock that consumed her younger sister's face as she stood in the doorway.
Where does your story begin? With their parents' bodies limp and sprawled on the bathroom floor, butchered and in shreds and soaked with blood, there was so much blood- she could taste it.
Marie snaps her eyes open, breathing in deeply, and then quietly out. She purses her lips thin, and stares at the yellow-highlighted words on the page as if they'll suddenly start singing the answers to the universe to her or something. Think about how you might make your mark on the world. [ Where does your story begin? ]
Marie glances at the clock on the wall for the umpteenth time in the hour, in the past minute, really, and decides she wouldn't mind if it started around right about now. Like, this exact moment.
Can it start now please? Marie prays, and hopes, and thinks of her new beginning as she writes down her request next to the yellow-highlighted words that have haunted her for the past eight years. She's flipped through Rich Brink Brinkerhoff's book 'The Hero Inside All Of Us' more times than a priest has the Bible, she'll bet. Well, maybe not, but it's all Marie thinks about. Her second chance, her only chance really, to make things right.
(The horrified look, the alabaster shell-shock that consumed her younger sister's face as she stood in the doorway.)
For the past eight years it's all Marie has thought about. About how she was going to make her mark on the world. About how there was really only one way for her to do that, for her to make it up to her sister (to maybe even make it up to herself) and that was to become someone, something her sister could be proud of. Someone, something Marie could be proud of. To Become A Hero.
(And maybe, just maybe along the way Marie will be able to believe it, too.)
And it all weighs on this, very, moment.
Click. The little, revolving circle of the loading screen on the Godolkin university's admissions inbox feels like it's almost doing it on purpose now. Like it knows that this very well might be the most important moment in Marie's life, how everything in the past eight years, all that training, all that studying, how all the blood and tears accumulates to this one, exact. Moment.
As soon as the clock strikes four PM on the dot, Marie clicks the refresh button again. Click. The screen rebuffs, and yet the inbox remains empty. Click. Click click click click click- 'ding!'
'New mail received, one message in inbox.'
This is it!
Marie clicks on the tab like a woman possessed, she very well might be, her heart races anew, her hands are shaking and her blood soars through her veins like a bird finally escaping its little cage, finally stretching out its wings as it flies over miles, upon miles of sunbathed rolling hills-
There, in printed, formal letters, is where Marie Moreau's story finally begins, her one and only chance at freedom-
'Dear Ms. Marie Moreau,
We sincerely regret to inform you-'
"Oh. Oh fuck no. No no- no no no- there… there, this has to be a mistake… this…" Marie stares at the rejection letter on the screen in complete, and utter, gut-punching despair. "They rejected me."
It was only just yesterday Marie was sitting in a meeting with Vanessa, after Marie had finally fessed up to applying to Godolkin University for this coming fall. She was originally going to wait to tell any of her caretakers, Vanessa specifically, until after she got the acceptance letter, but her excitement had gotten the better of her and Marie found herself confessing before she could stop herself.
"Wow. I guess I'm just surprised." Vanessa was surveying a certain look at Marie, something caught between surprised and almost reluctant, somewhat pitying in her own way, but Marie hardly even took notice, practically bouncing up and down in her seat with the sheer adrenalin of her anticipation.
Marie stares imploringly, leaning in as her hands brace on the edge of the desk. "But, I would be able to go… right? I would pay my own way through! I'd- I'd get a job, or two, or however many it takes. And- and I'm eighteen!"
Vanessa sighs, avoiding meeting her eyes at first, and if Marie had been even a bit more aware of herself at that moment, she might have been offended.
"Look, Marie, um… Most kids around here with a history like yours, they don't get adopted." Vanessa looks up again, glancing between Marie's eyes with intent, and an underlying affection that is the whole reason why Marie felt safe sharing her plan with the woman in the first place. "So… They get sent to the Vought Adult Facility in Elmira."
"Yeah." Marie looks away from the woman's searching gaze and drags her hands from the tabletop of the classroom desk sat between them, clenching them into fists that rest on her knees.
Because yeah, Marie knows, it's hung over her head for the past eight years of her life in the Red River Institute. And while it's not the main reason why she applied to Godolkin, why she wants to try to be a hero, it certainly doesn't hurt that it could also save her from having to be sent to an adult facility. It's my last chance.
"Yeah, I know."
"I don't think you do." Marie looks back up from her clenched hands, curious, if not a bit hesitant at Vanessa's foreboding tone, and Vanessa shifts her posture as she sends a not all that discrete glance towards the camera in the upper corner of the classroom. The woman's heart is starting to race a little, and it makes Marie suddenly nervous all over for an entirely different reason. "That place, it- it's not like here, Marie. You would be locked up. Worse."
Marie swallows thickly, eyes flickering between Vanessa's and all she can read in them is the truth ringing in her words. Worse?
Vanessa clears her throat, continuing swiftly on as she spreads her palms flat on the table and leans in towards Marie slightly. "But a- a God U graduate? Um, you could, wipe that all clean and start fresh."
"That's all I want." Marie says with determination, it's all she thinks about.
(The horrified look, the alabaster shell-shock that consumed her younger sister's face as she stood in the doorway.)
"I know. And you know what, Marie? I wouldn't be surprised if you ended up protecting a city one day." Vanessa eventually concedes, raising her brows a bit, looking like, almost despite herself, the woman was really considering it, like she could almost actually see the future Marie is trying to build for herself.
"So don't fuck it up." Marie summarizes the gist of this little heart-to-heart, the bursting emotions in her chest reaching an unprecedented trepidation and hope as she sits up straighter in her seat. This is your last chance Marie.
Where does your story begin?
Vanessa nods solemnly. "So don't fuck it up."
Think about how you might make your mark on the world. Where does your story begin?
Marie can only stare at the rejection letter, a letter that's as good as an execution order.
Godolkin University just officially crossed its T's and dotted its I's and signed her death warrant, a life sentence. Her dream of becoming a hero, the beginning of her story, her only chance at freedom is over before she even got the chance to try.
Marie heaves a heavy breath, the weight of the cruel world settling on her shoulders at this very, exact. Moment. "Oh, I am so fucked."
Marie feels a little like screaming, a little like bleeding, and a little like she wants to punch a lot of holes into something. She also feels suddenly a little over aware of the camera in the upper corner of the room, of the tiny red dot blinking on the side of the surveillance camera.
That was just it then. They were going to ship her off to the Vought Adult Facility where she would be locked up for the rest of her life, labeled a danger to the public. Marie feels a little like laughing, a little like crying, she feels, well, little. Powerless.
Fuck the Public. I can't stay here, I won't go there, I won't. Marie does not know what Vanessa meant by 'Worse' and she sure as hell did not want to fucking find out. I won't. I have to get the fuck out of here.
(The horrified look, the alabaster shell-shock that consumed her younger sister's face as she stood in the doorway.)
Marie breathes in deeply, and then quietly out. She focuses on not completely losing her shit as she exits out of the tab on the computer, though it takes her a few clicks before she manages to actually exit out of it. Her hands are shaking, and she feels like she might throw up, or implode. That was my last chance…
W̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶d̶o̶e̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶r̶y̶ ̶b̶e̶g̶i̶n̶?̶
Don't freak out don't freak out don't freak out, the second you freak out is the moment they come for you. Fuuuuuuck. Marie's breath is quick and shaky as she hastily clears the search history and logs off the computer just to be safe, and she feels entirely lame for getting so worked up over a damn rejection letter but-
FUCK!
Getting into Godolkin was so, so much fucking more than that! It was her get out of jail free card, her only chance to become a hero, and now she's entirely fucked.
Marie gets up as calmly as she can from the chair, avoiding looking in the general direction of the other's lounging in front of the tv as she stiffly walks out of the common room. The wood creaks beneath her footsteps, and is she breathing too loud? Is Vought watching her, right now? Were they just waiting for her rejection letter to make their move? The narrow hallway feels like it's closing in a bit on her-
The second she catches sight of the end of her bed Marie rushes forward only to catch herself, and she forces herself to walk the rest of the way to not draw any attention to herself.
She sits stiffly on her bed for a moment, clenching at the mattress. I guess I have no other choice. I have to run away. They'll never let me out otherwise. They'll never…
The prospect weighs on her heavily, it's weighed over her head for the past eight years, but it was never so final, so certain until now. Girls like her, supes like her, with her kind of history, they don't get adopted. They don't get saved. They don't get to be heroes.
In this moment, overwhelmed by this sudden crushing reality, this feeling that must be grief, Marie says with everything she has in her chest- Fuck. That.
And fuck you, too, for trying to stop me. Why, why is it always so goddamn hard for Marie to just be good? She just wants to do the right thing, to be someone her sister can be proud of-
(Their parents' bodies limp and sprawled on the bathroom floor, butchered and in shreds and soaked with blood, there was so much blood- she could taste it.)
(The horrified look, the alabaster shell-shock that consumed her younger sister's face as she stood in the doorway.)
Now she might never get the chance to change that expression on her sister's face. The last time she saw her little sister. Annabeth.
Fuck. That. Fuck Vought, and Fuck Godolkin University. Fuck it. Fuck it! I don't need Vought. I don't need anyone. Marie clenches her hands tighter, willing them to stop trembling, to catch her jerking breath before she has a panic attack or worse.
Marie closes her eyes tightly, breathing in deeply, and then quietly out. I don't need them. I don't need anyone.
"Marie!" Marie jolts, head snapping up towards the doorway, a flash of inescapable fear and loathing runs up through her nervous system like an electric shock, but it's only Vanessa. Marie forces herself to hold herself with less tension, tries to calm the crease of her eyes, the purse of her frown. I… I don't know who to trust.
"Did you get the results in?" Vanessa asks a bit hesitantly, seemingly to catch onto Marie's low mood as she slowly steps into the room and Marie-
(The horrified look, the alabaster shell-shock that consumed her younger sister's face as she stood in the doorway.)
("That place, it- it's not like here, Marie. You would be locked up. Worse.")
(Their parents' bodies limp and sprawled on the bathroom floor, butchered and in shreds and soaked with blood, there was so much blood- she could taste it.)
(Girls like her, supes like her, with her kind of history, they don't get adopted. They don't get saved. They don't get to be heroes.)
(W̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶d̶o̶e̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶r̶y̶ ̶b̶e̶g̶i̶n̶?̶)
Marie smiles brightly, jumping up from her bed with palpable excitement. "I got in!"
Vanessa's expression lightens immediately, an undeniable relief sagging the woman's shoulders as she smiles back at Marie with pure joy. "Oh , Marie, that's fantastic! I am so, so very proud of you-"
(They were going to ship her off to the Vought Adult Facility where she would be locked up for the rest of her life, labeled a danger to the public.)
"Marie Moreau, a Godolkin Hero. Now that- that's something special. You always were destined for more than this place." Vanessa gives her a kind, determined look, patting Marie's shoulder, delighted for her sake and Marie-
(The horrified look, the alabaster shell-shock that consumed her younger sister's face as she stood in the doorway.)
Marie smiles. "Thanks, Vanessa. For everything."
Vanessa waves her off with a short, quiet scoff, giving her a teasing look as the woman turns to continue her way down the hallway. She gives Marie an affectionate look, like she actually means it. "It was all you Marie. All your hard work, all that ambition, that wasn't me, it was you."
(W̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶d̶o̶e̶s̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶r̶ ̶s̶t̶o̶r̶y̶ ̶b̶e̶g̶i̶n̶?̶)
"You're going to be a real hero some day, Marie. I can feel it."
Think about how you might make your mark on the world. Where does your story begin?
Marie Moreau's story began eight years ago in a whirlwind of blood and panic, and it doesn't get much better than that.