The rest of the preparations pass in a blur, like watching bad quality recordings on fast forward. One minute I'm nodding and smiling and giving canned responses to a gaggle of VIP well wishers eager to get their photo taken with "the superhero hearing girl". I'm constantly looking to my handlers on what to do, but they leave me to my own devices. I feel like a zoo animal just barely not biting a hand that's feeding me. And then next thing I know I'm walking through some innocuous wooden doors, and I'm in the hearing chamber itself.

It's smaller than I expected. Less grand and imposing, more like a slightly oversized lecture hall at a community college. But it's packed to the rafters with a legion of aides and analysts, lobbyists and journalists, the whole ravenous beast of the American political-industrial complex crammed into one claustrophobic pen.

And at the front of it all, looming over the proceedings like a panel of judges at the world's most dysfunctional beauty pageant, is the committee itself.

There's Senator Gantt, the chairman, a black man with wisp white hair that doesn't quite reach all the way down his forehead, and a powerful jawline. And there, at the other end of the dais, is Senator Kean, the ranking member, his face a mask of affable concern that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

And between them, arrayed like a lineup of suspects in a particularly grim game of Guess Who, are the rest of the committee members, Democrats and Republicans alike, all of them watching me with varying degrees of interest, suspicion, and outright hostility as I make my way to the witness table.

The room is too cold. Somebody messed up the air conditioner. Or maybe it's just me, my skin prickling with goosebumps as I take my seat and try to ignore the way my heart is pounding in my chest like a jackhammer.

I risk a glance at the other witnesses, the people who will be testifying alongside me today. Some of them I recognize from the news, from the endless stream of headlines and hot takes that have dominated the discourse ever since Chernobyl's attack. Others are strangers to me, bureaucrats and functionaries and talking heads whose names and faces blur together in a sea of interchangeable suits.

But there, at the far end of the table, is a face I know all too well.

Special Agent Evelyn Shaw, the NSRA handler who dropped the ball on Federov - or so the official story says. Her once sleek and spotless suit hangs off her slender frame like ill fitted rags. Her dark skin is flush with sweat. I've seen her a couple of times before, around the trial, and it seems like between then and now any ounce of composure she's ever had in her entire life has been evaporated out of her.

Our eyes meet for a moment, and the exhaustion and dread in them burns straight through to my core. She immediately turns away.

This woman has lost everything. Her career, her reputation, maybe even her freedom, depending on how today goes. And now she's being dragged in front of Congress like a sacrificial lamb, served up to appease the angry gods of public opinion.

I almost feel sorry for her, even after what she dragged Illya through, even after what Illya dragged me through, and so many others.

I almost feel sorry for her. But a deeper, angrier part of me feels a sense of grim satisfaction at the blood being drawn.

The chairman's gavel cracks like a gunshot, cutting through the low hum of conversation and bringing the room to order. I snap to attention, my spine straightening and my hands clenching into fists on the tabletop in front of me.

Senator Gantt clears his throat, his deep baritone filling the chamber as he begins his opening statement.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he says, "we are here today to address a matter of grave importance to the American people. In recent months, our nation has been rocked by a series of shocking and tragic events, events that have called into question the very foundations of our system for regulating and overseeing the activities of metahuman individuals."

He pauses for effect, his dark eyes sweeping over the assembled witnesses and spectators. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry as dust.

"From the attack on Philadelphia by the terrorist known as Deathgirl, to the revelation of secret collaborations between government agencies and known criminals, to the recent incident of shocking police brutality against a young metahuman citizen, it has become clear that our current approach is woefully inadequate. And that's why I've convened this special meeting of the Governmental Affairs Committee - to root out those inadequacies, and to lay the groundwork for a new system. One that prioritizes transparency, accountability, and above all, the safety and well-being of all Americans, regardless of their metahuman status or lack thereof."

There's a smattering of applause from the audience, a few murmurs of assent from the other committee members. But I can see the skepticism on some of their faces, the calculations already spinning behind their eyes, and it makes me feel vaguely queasy inside. Like knowing that these perfectly reasonable sounding motions of procedure are already part of shell games and deals and compromises that you will never be privy to because you are a fifteen year old child and not a senator.

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Senator Kean leans forward, his elbows braced on the dais as he delivers his own opening remarks. He hits all the expected notes - the need for bipartisanship, the importance of hearing from a diverse range of voices, the gravity of the task before us. But there's something oily about his delivery, something a little too polished and rehearsed. Like he's reading from a script.

I try not to squirm in my seat, suddenly all too aware of the cameras trained on my helmet, the eyes of the nation watching my every move. For a moment I forget where I am - forget the stakes, forget the lines between truth and fiction that I'm supposed to be coloring between today. This is what it must feel like to be an ant under glass, pinned by the magnifying lens of a curious child who wants to see what I'm made of. Who wants to learn what makes me tick, what causes my guts to turn to goo.

And that's when I notice the woman.

She's dressed like an aide, all smart tailoring and sleek makeup, her dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. But there's something different about the way she moves, the way she holds herself. A coiled energy, a sense of purpose that sets her apart from the rest of the scurrying staffers that work in and out of the room like worker bees in a very expensive hive.

She catches my eye from across the room, and for a moment I'm sure she's going to come over, to pull me aside and… I don't know. Threaten me? Bribe me? Offer me a cup of coffee and a sympathetic ear? Something bad, probably.

But instead she just nods once, very slightly, and then melts back into the crowd like she was never there at all.

I blink, my heart pounding in my throat. Was that real? Did I imagine it? The lines between paranoia and precaution feel so blurry lately, like any day now someone's just going to run up with a knife and stab me.

I glance at my crib sheet again, smoothing my gloved fingers over the neatly typed bullet points on the page. The broad strokes of my testimony, the key points that Mrs. Gibson helped me devise. Stick to the script, Samantha. Don't deviate, don't improvise. Just tell the truth, and let the chips fall where they may. Like that was ever so simple. Like the truth wasn't a greased pig everyone in this room is desperately trying to catch and brand for their own purposes.

I'm so lost in my own head that I almost miss it when they call the first witness.

Margaret Huang, the head of the National Superhuman Response Agency. She's a petite woman, all sharp angles and crisp suits, with a face that looks like it was carved from ice. But her eyes are what really catch my attention - dark and glittering, like chips of obsidian set deep in her skull.

She takes her seat at the witness table, her movements precise and deliberate as she arranges her notes and takes a sip of water from the glass in front of her. And then she begins to speak, her voice clear and steady as she delivers her opening statement.

"Chairman Gantt, Ranking Member Kean, and members of the committee," she says, "thank you for the opportunity to appear before you today. As the head of the NSRA, it is my duty and my privilege to oversee the regulation and management of metahuman individuals in the United States. It is a complex and challenging task, one that requires constant vigilance and adaptation in the face of an ever-evolving threat landscape."

She pauses, letting her words hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "In recent months, we have seen firsthand the devastating consequences that can result when our systems fail, when criminals and terrorists are allowed to slip through the cracks and wreak havoc on an unsuspecting populace. The attack on Philadelphia by the metahuman terrorist known as Deathgirl was a tragic reminder of the stakes we are dealing with, and the urgent need for reform and modernization of our regulatory frameworks."

I shift in my seat, my stomach churning as I listen to her talk about Deathgirl like she's some kind of boogeyman, a faceless monster that exists only to sow chaos and destruction. In a sense, she's not wrong. But I don't think thirteen year olds drop from trees that bloodthirsty.

"At the same time," Huang continues, "we must also grapple with the troubling revelations of misconduct and abuse within our own ranks. The unauthorized collaboration between certain NSRA personnel and the criminal mastermind Illya Fedorov was a gross violation of our agency's core values and a betrayal of the public trust. Which is why I want to make it perfectly clear that we will be conducting a thorough internal review and taking strong disciplinary action against those responsible, up to and including termination and criminal prosecution, where appropriate."

I snort softly to myself, unable to help it.

Huang drones on, outlining the NSRA's plans for reform and renewal, promising greater transparency and accountability, vowing to work closely with Congress and other stakeholders to develop a more effective and equitable system for regulating metahuman activities. But it all feels like so much hot air to me, a lot of pretty words and empty platitudes that they've trotted out without any intention of ever following through.

I let my mind wander as the questioning begins, watching with a detached sort of fascination as the senators take turns grilling Huang on the finer points of agency policy and procedure. They ask about budgets and staffing levels, about inter-agency coordination and information sharing, about the criteria used to classify and track metahuman individuals.

But beneath the surface, I can sense the undercurrents of politics and power at play, the jockeying for position and the careful calibration of language and tone. Some of the senators seem genuinely interested in getting to the bottom of things, in holding the NSRA accountable for its failures and charting a new course forward. Others just seem to be going through the motions, ticking off their talking points and scoring cheap points with their base, and some of them want to score big points with a hypothetical future base, too.

And through it all, Huang remains unflappable, her face a mask of calm professionalism as she deflects and dodges, spinning every question to her advantage with the skill of a seasoned politician. It's hard to catch her off guard, and when caught, she uses words like "recalibration" or "pivot" or "course correct" to state that they were already fixing what was wrong, there's nothing else to do, and we can all go home now.

I can't help but feel like I'm watching a performance, like a real-life version of my eighth grade civics homework, and I'm just waiting for the teacher to call on me so I can give the right answer and get a gold star. These people hold the fate of every metahuman in America in their hands. It makes me feel sick to my stomach.

I just have to sit here and watch, and wait my turn, and hope that when the time comes, I'll be able to find the right words to make them understand.