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Content Warning: Mentions of sexual abuse, domestic violence, eating disorders

The distant, dull crackle of an old television replaced the quiet of headphones as I slipped them off my ears and eased myself out of my usual seat. George was turned parallel to the counter, attention set on a tv screen with static blurring the edges. I started to walk over with a record tucked under my arm, then spun around when I realized I hadn’t grabbed my jacket. The temperature was chilly today, nearly freezing, but the record store was nice and toasty. I’d put off going back outside for a long time, letting my thoughts slip away to a pounding, aggressive drumline and screaming vocals that made my throat hurt just listening to it.

Even as I walked straight to the counter and stood across from George, he was only paying attention to the TV. 

“George?” I glanced at the screen. Oh. It was old footage of Super. Fluffy, black curls of hair fell down over her sepia toned skin. She looked young, in her late teens or early twenties. There was some kind of community event in the background, the clamor of the crowd matching the busy street. Must’ve been before she got her powers. 

“Ah, my bad kiddo.” George flicked a switch on the remote he was holding and the image paused. He swung around and the chair he was sitting in swiveled to face me. “I was watchin’ the big new documentary on Super. You seen it yet?”

I shook my head. “No, I haven’t.”

“I haven’t been able to pause it. Til’ now, I guess. They go into depth about her upbringing, issues in her private life and how it all multiplied after she got her powers. Still nothing on how she actually got them though. So many mysteries...”

“Yeah. I feel sorry for her.” Super was before my time, but I’d read and seen plenty about her. The first known alterhuman, shoved into the spotlight with all that entails. Thinking of how she slowly but surely self-destructed left a hollow feeling in my gut.

George’s mouth knit into a tight line, clearly hesitating to speak his reply.

“Talking about Super?” Chiming in from behind me, a middle-aged man shuffled out from behind a shelf. Unfortunate timing for there to be a straggler down in the store.

“Mm.” George grunted. “New doc covered a lot but nothin’ new on the circumstances ‘round her getting powers. Or the ultimate reason for… you know.”

I and the rest of the world had seen the old footage replayed enough that the image was immediately conjured in my head. Super, floating passively above downtown Philadelphia, cape flowing in the wind as people gathered under her. The flash of cameras and murmurs of excitement as the crowd wondered what was happening. A shearing sound so loud it cut through everything else. Silence for a single moment. Then, a deafening explosion. Panicked, shocked screams. Cracked, distorted footage from cameras dropped to the ground showing the feet of survivors running into the distance. 

One only had to visit Center City to see Super’s mark. The Scar, a ravine stretching twelve blocks known as the spot where over a thousand instantly died. 

“What does the reason matter? She wasn’t even human. She was a monster, and now she’s dead. Thank goodness.”

Anger boiled inside me, blood thrumming down to my fingertips. I wish I could inflict even a fraction of the pain people like me went through on this asshole. Maybe then he would understand. Everything would be so much easier if we weren’t human like everyone else. 

George scooched forward in his seat and cleared his throat, saving me from knocking the man’s teeth out.

“I lost a kid in the attack, you know. My daughter.” 

Nerves coiled tight, I looked at George. I hadn’t heard about his daughter before. His face was straight as ever, but the sadness was in his eyes, staring at nothing. Would she be hanging around the store too, if she were alive? Maybe a friend my age?

I winced. Thinking about her was pointless. She was gone, because of Super, because of people like me, who would only end up hurting those around them.

George continued, “The reason matters. Super was just one person, and she’s dead ‘cuz of others like her who stood up. They’re not monsters.” 

Silence set in for a fleeting moment, body starting to unwind as I let out a shaky exhale.

“Right, they’re alterhumans now.” The middle aged man’s voice punched through the silence like a hook to my gut. “There isn’t anything wrong with calling them ahuman.”

“Yes, there is.” My voice came out sharp and hoarse.

The man stared at me, puzzled. His mouth hung slightly open and his eyes seemed like they were searching for something. I didn’t have it in me to continue. I wouldn’t be able to without snapping further.

“Most alters are just kids, you know.” George chimed in, saving me for the second time. He was really stretching the definition of kid, as usual.  A majority of alterhumans got their powers before the age of twenty-five. I’d found out with a little research the team of heroes I’d met in the warehouse were eighteen or under, but the rest of the heroes in Rosden were all adults.  “The truly terrifyin’ ones are few and far between. Meathook, Gepetto, Amalgate.”

“You actually think Amalgate’s real?”

Anger loosened its hold on me as the topic changed, my body falling into a more relaxed position. I heard the man blabbing with George about which villains were real or not, but the sound was filtered to the background. My mind lingered on what George had left unsaid. The current supported theory on how we got our powers, the reason why so many alterhumans were “kids”.

The other man walked away from the counter, a plastic bag swinging idly in his right hand as he started up the stairs outside. George turned his head my way, a silent sadness tugging down at his cheeks. I didn’t think about what that expression meant. Couldn’t, right now. I only walked up to the counter and paid for the record I’d picked out like normal. George didn’t make much conversation and I didn’t have any urge to ask about genres or band history either. 

Today was the day I was supposed to hand over the student files I’d stolen from the guidance counselor, but I hadn’t heard anything about when or where exactly it was going to happen. Even without knowing what was up, I couldn’t spend all day here. Once I had my new record tucked into a bag, I made sure my jacket was fully zipped up before venturing out into the cold.

                                                                     ***

God, this was boring. My limbs flopped idly across the couch as I stared at the pause screen of the video game I’d been playing. Difficult games were fun, but when it started to consist of me slamming my head into a brick wall over and over, I hated the feeling of uselessness. I knew it was “part of the process” or whatever, but it frustrated me anyway. After that started, I’d get frustrated at being frustrated by it, and then it was time to take a break before the cycle got nasty. 

Where the hell was the pickup? It’d been hours now since I got home, and I could see the sun setting through the living room window. Darkness crept in, chasing away the warmth of natural light. I’d need to turn on the floor lamps soon. 

I glanced over at the kitchen table, where the familiar crate had been sitting the better part of today. Would start collecting dust by the time I got rid of it at this rate. I traced the edges with my eyes, from the black, criss-crossing plastic of the sides to the assorted colors of post-it notes that decorated the tops of manila folders. A snap only I could hear as I thought of it, complete in my possession. Then, it blurred and vanished, leaving only a box of tissues and a mostly empty cup of water on the table. 

I set my attention on the coffee table next to where I was lazing on the couch. Giving the crate a little push where it floated behind my brain, it blurred back into existence, within arms reach. Before I even thought about it, my fingers were running along the manila folders, and I’d counted the different colors of post-it notes. Red, Purple, Yellow, Blue, Orange. Why am I doing this? The same note of frustration I’d felt before taking a break from the video game. I didn’t like dwelling on how alterhumans and the worst days of my life were connected, but here I was, delicately tracing Pandora's box. I wonder what color post-it note my file got, if it was even in there still. Had to be red, right?

The curiosity tugged harder at me than the self-hatred, and I pushed forward and pinched the first file marked red between my fingers. Had to see it through now, no matter how much I knew it’d hurt me, how much I’d likely regret it. A hollow feeling I’d already felt once today settled in my stomach, a guest my body welcomed even as nerves tightened around it. I flicked the file open, and a small photo of a boy I’d never seen before stared back at me. Well, maybe I’d seen him, actually. He had short brown hair. No, it wasn’t scruffy enough to be the kid I’d nearly grabbed walking into the high school thursday. Even though I knew it wasn’t, the possibility of reading that kid's file after I’d almost hurt him lingered in my thoughts, strengthening the feeling in my stomach. I’m an asshole. 

Gaze wandering down the page, I found handwritten notes in red pen above the typed meeting summaries. Oh. There it was. Marked red for complex trauma and possible complications. History of parental abuse and potential eating disorders. I knew what possible complications meant, coded as it was. 

It followed the likely pattern of Super, my own experience and what was outlined in current theory. An utterly new sensation in the wake of repeated trauma. It felt like being seen by something invisible, something that lacked eyes. Being inside of an expanse crackling with life, heat and possibility that stretched far beyond anything my senses could feel. That expanse growing inside me, vast beyond what should be possible. Then, it was gone. In the following minutes I noticed something different about the way I saw objects. Shock set in when my desk chair blinked out of existence from my hands as I was in the middle of moving it. I’d slowly grown into my powers, my “pocket” becoming a natural part of me. 

Was this what the new villain in town was looking for? Cold set in on my body even with my heater blasting. There were about twenty files marked red. Each would have detailed, personal info identifying potential alterhumans. People my age. I hadn’t had any issue with stealing valuables from businesses or people who could count the number of problems they had on one hand. I didn’t know how I felt about this yet, but it was definitely different. 

I knew I should stop reading, put the files back somewhere else. The next one with a red post-it was already in my hand. I told myself I wanted to find my file, but the reason was distant, unimportant now. Opening the folder, I saw a girl’s picture. Didn’t know her. Marked red for complex trauma and possible complications. History of repeated sexual assault. My hands shut the folder. They were getting into a routine, leaving the two files with red post-it notes I’d read together at the front of the crate as fingers curled around the next. I tugged it free of the rest and opened it.

Leah. The same blonde hair, straight and resting on her shoulders. Same freckles that dotted her tired expression. Same eyes, piercing me just as much in a picture as they had in person. Everything stopped. Any routine was broken, hands frozen and begging for a command. I couldn’t think. Marked red for complex trauma and possible complications. Kidnapping, possible sexual assault and gender dysphoria. I stared blankly at the page for a while, unwrapping everything this meant. 

She might’ve become an alterhuman. The moment of pain, panic and possibility I’d been through when I got my powers played again in my mind. More than anything afterwards, grappling with who I was and what I could do, I’d felt alone. I heard paper crinkling, and loosened my grip on the folder. Deep breath in, then out. 

Stupid, I chided myself. Of course it hurt to indulge my curiosity. How many reminders would it take for the lesson to stick? I shut the folder between my palms with a little more force than necessary. Didn’t matter, it was only paper. Fitting it back inside the crate with the rest of the files, I highlighted them with my power. Maybe I could give the video game another try. I quickly dismissed the idea. Better to blast some rock louder than I could think. As the image of the crate locked in my mind, there was a knocking sound from my front door. 

My focus dropped, files still on the coffee table as I snapped my head to look towards the door. Who the hell? A shiver frosted my spine as I thought of the possibilities. The NHA could have tracked me and sent someone, but the building owner would never let them inside. It wouldn’t be the owner themself, they only communicated by text. My current employer? They’d gotten a letter through the owner before. It was possible. That only raised the question of why they wanted to surprise me after being so polite before. I rose to my feet, pacing slowly to fit my eye over the peephole. 

A man stood straight in the center, hallway bending around him. He was dressed as if showing up to work at city hall. What looked like a freshly ironed, burgundy dress shirt was tucked carefully into dark navy slacks. A thick black coat was slung over one arm, and the other held a small briefcase. Browsing into my “pocket”, I felt my pocket knife floating there in stasis. With a deep breath, I attached the chain and opened the door a crack, enough to fit my face. 

“Ms. Audrey?” He had a deep voice with a slight Spanish accent. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m a Representative. You may call me that or Mr. Representative, if you prefer. I have your reward for the job you completed. From P. May I come in?”

I would’ve preferred a real answer, but it told me what I needed. I also really would’ve preferred to meet somewhere else, but my hand was being forced. He was already here. Sliding the chain free and stepping backwards, I opened the door wide.

“Wasn’t expecting you to come here. Sorry if it isn’t cleaned up.”

The Rep stepped inside, hazel eyes sweeping over the apartment. He was a few inches taller than me, with a wider build. I kept the image of my pocket knife close in my thoughts.

“My boss has been busy of late, which has kept me busy in turn. I apologize for being unable to arrange a proper plan.” 

I shrugged. “It’s alright. Take your shoes off before you walk around. We can use the kitchen table.”

Keeping my attention set on the Rep, I waited until he crouched down in front of the shoe rack. My whole body tensed at the idea, but I turned my back to him, moving towards the living area and crate of student files. 

“Audrey.” I winced, joints feeling like they’d creak as I turned around to bring him back into view. He was still crouched down, one polished shoe on the rack with fingers around the laces of his other. I suppressed a sigh of relief. “I’ve been to plenty of other’s homes for work. Yours is pristine compared to some I’ve seen. I can tell, you actually take care of yourself.”

A faint swell of pride loosened my nerves, and a smile bent my mouth. It was gone as soon as I noticed, and I turned back around without acknowledging it. The crate was on the heavy side, but I knew I could manage carrying it without looking weak. Didn’t want to give the Rep any hint of my powers beyond what he might already know.

By the time I set the files down on the table, the Rep had seated himself on the opposite side. He ran a hand over a stray lock of wavy black hair, neatening it with the rest in a swept back style. I eased myself into a chair, back held straight. Sitting across from him, I got a good look at his face. It was angular, with high cheekbones and a defined jaw. His tawny brown skin was well cared for.

“I’m surprised you have a record collection that big. It’s impressive.” I glanced over my shoulder at the shelf as the Rep mentioned it. I thought about running my fingers across their spines and caught myself smiling again. He’d definitely notice now, if he hadn’t before. “I wonder how someone as young as you got into records. Was it a family member?”

The smile dropped. That wasn’t important, was it? I’d worked hard to buy the record player and built this collection myself. I turned around to face the Rep again and saw the briefcase he’d been carrying lying flat on the table between us. I shook my head.

“Apologies for getting off track, Audrey. We can talk about the reward instead. You completed the job exactly as was laid out. Nothing has come up about a robbery or the like at the school.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“Eight thousand dollars plus a five hundred bonus P thought fit to include for you are inside the briefcase. In cash, as you requested.” Something like relief passed through me. I kept my thoughts on the money, even as it sat right in front of me. The Rep hovered a hand over the crate of school files, a bit to the left of the briefcase. “May I?”

“Go ahead.”

I pulled the briefcase close as the Rep lifted the files to place in front of himself. With little effort, I popped the latches free and swung the case open. A mass of printed green lined the inside, kept square and neat with a series of bands. They were split into fifty and twenty dollar bills and an initial scan over the stacks seemed to add up. 

I looked back up, releasing a long exhale. The Rep showed me a comfortable smile. There’d been something else I wanted to question, but that would require disrupting how I felt right now. I chose not to indulge or push myself when it’d just layer anxiety over me again. The man across from me cleared his throat.

“With our work here done, I’ll add that I was instructed to say my boss would like to hire you for additional jobs as needed. Something like an acquisition expert on call. You wouldn’t be privy to any more info or risk than necessary, and you’d be free to accept or deny each job as you wish. Is your current burner number okay to contact you in the future?”

“Yeah, that number’s good.” Well, that solved the problem of work. If each of the jobs P hired me for would pay this well, it might solve money for a long time too. The Rep stood from his chair, beaming.

“Excellent. It’s been a pleasure, Audrey.”

As I stood up, the hollow feeling in my stomach was there with me. No, I realized as I shook the other man’s hand, it’d been there the whole time. Anger started to swell, and I cursed myself. I thought I’d left this fucking loop behind for now. The Rep had the crate in his hands, and the familiar red marked files I’d left at the front loomed large in my vision. I didn’t even need to trace their outline. I knew exactly what they looked like already, the shape of their edges, the faded colors, the bends and crinkles of the post-its. 

“I’ll see myself out.”

There were eight thousand and five hundred dollars on the table right beneath me I could stare at. I told myself I needed to take a break. I could play a record at a volume that’d make my ears bleed, whatever I wanted. Yet as the Rep started to turn towards the door, the red-marked files I’d left inside the crate blurred and vanished. There was no indication he noticed. With another few steps, a pause to put his shoes back on, a wave I feebly returned and a swing of my door, he was gone. 

With nails digging into my palms, I stood alone in my apartment with the company of an empty stomach, detailed notes on the worst day of Leah and others’ lives and eight thousand five hundred dollars.