My voice rings out in the stillness of the room, strong and clear despite the hammering of my heart in my chest.

But then the spell is broken, and the murmuring begins anew, the rustling of papers and the clearing of throats as the senators prepare for their questioning. And I know that this is far from over, that whatever comes next will be a trial all its own.

Take a breath. Count to three. Picture them all in their underwear. And then into the breach once more.

The questions come fast and furious, a barrage of words and ideas and implications that make my head spin. I try to stay focused, try to remember the key points and the careful phrasing that Mrs. Gibson and I worked on together while we crammed overnight. But it's hard, with the lights and the cameras and the weight of all those eyes on me, dissecting my every move and expression.

Senator Padilla is the first to jump in, his voice calm but probing as he asks about my experiences with the NSRA. "Can you elaborate on any instances where their actions seemed obstructive or unjust?"

I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. "There were a few times," I say slowly, picking my words with care. "Like when they tried to keep information from getting out about Illya - about Mr. Federov's involvement with their agency. It felt like they were more concerned with protecting their own image than with actually keeping people safe."

He nods, making a note on the pad in front of him. "And what specific evidence have you seen that suggests they were collaborating with him?"

I hesitate, glancing over at Agent Shaw. She's sitting ramrod straight in her seat, her face a mask of barely-contained tension. "I mean, the fact that he was able to operate so openly for so long, without any real consequences… that seems pretty telling to me. And then there was the way they handled his capture, you know, the stuff with Agent Shaw at the trial - sorry, Mrs. Shaw," My voice trails off, and I can feel the frustration bubbling up inside me. "It just doesn't add up, you know? If he was really such a danger, why did they let him run wild for so long?"

Padilla seems satisfied with that, but Senator Castor picks up the thread, her eyes sharp and assessing. "What reforms or measures do you think should be implemented to ensure greater accountability within the NSRA?"

I blink, taken aback by the directness of the question. "I… I don't know, exactly. I mean, I'm not an expert on this stuff. But I think that, like… you can't, well… When you're inside the building you can't see where all the windows are, right? You need to have someone outside the building who can see the whole picture. Otherwise you just end up getting lost. Does that make sense?" I can feel the words coming out in a rush, my thoughts spilling out faster than I can filter them. "And there should be consequences, you know? Real consequences, for people who abuse their power. I mean. I feel like the analogy is getting away from me, sorry."

She raises a hand, as if she's trying to calm an angry dog. "Like an independent oversight board?" She suggests.

I nod at her. "Right. An independent oversight board. Who watches the Watchmen, right?" I say, feeling proud of myself for remembering something Pop-Pop Moe told me years ago.

She nods, a hint of approval in her eyes. But before I can feel too proud of myself, Senator Sasse jumps in with a question of his own, and I feel my stomach clench with a whole new kind of anxiety.

"Can you describe the physical and psychological impacts you've witnessed in individuals using the drugs known as "Jump" and "Fly"?" he asks, his voice calm but insistent.

I swallow hard, my mind flashing back to the fights I've had with Fly-heads, the wild-eyed desperation and unhinged aggression I've seen in their faces. I swallow. "Physio… Physically, something in the drug makes your blood just break down. Um, if you don't know, one of my superpowers is that I can sense blood in my environment, and if someone's actively bleeding, it lets me see their entire vascular system. And people on Jump and Fly have this blood that's, like, bright, fluorescent orange. And in my mind's eye it feels 'fizzy', like soda. And whenever someone takes Jump or Fly, I don't know if I'd know if it has any psychological effects…"

I trail off, thinking about Kate. Was it something in what she took, or was it just the power high that was dredging something to the surface?

"I don't know. I'm not really good at chemistry, especially brain chemistry. If you asked me if it did anything psychologically to people I would guess it just shows the sort of person you'd be if you got powers. And, um… I think there's people who wouldn't be good with powers," I say, folding my hands in front of me. "There are some people who take Jump and Fly so they can finally be superheroes, but, um, I'm not sure, but I think they might be a minority. I don't really have numbers."

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Senator Sasse looks down at their hands, maybe some notes? Then, he looks back up at me.

"And it's not just the users," I continue, my voice gaining strength as the memories pour out of me. "It's their families, their friends, their whole communities. This stuff tears people apart, rips them away from everything and everyone they care about. And it just keeps spreading, like a disease that no one knows how to cure."

Senator Gantt clears his throat, his eyes filled with a mix of sympathy and determination. "How widespread do you believe this problem is, beyond Philadelphia?"

I shake my head, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on me. "I don't know for sure. But I've heard stories, you know? From other heroes in other cities, my, um, professional colleagues. And it's not just a Philly thing, or an East Coast thing. It's everywhere." I take another hard breath, trying to keep my composure. "I couldn't tell you if it's more widespread in one city or another. And I don't know enough about foreign cities to know if it's spreading there, too, or if it's something uniquely American."

The questions keep coming, hard and fast and relentless. They ask about my relationships with law enforcement, about the challenges of being a teenage superhero in a system that doesn't quite know what to do with me. They ask about the incident at school, about Patriot and his goon squad and the mess they left behind - asking me for my opinion, as if I wasn't there, because they don't know I was there. Or maybe they do?

I do my best to stick to the facts, to focus on what I know for sure without speculating or throwing accusations around. But I can see the gears turning behind their eyes, the calculations and maneuverings, the way these tiny little groups of mostly old men and a few old women are trying find some way to herd the entire country one way or another

"Do you think there should be stricter regulations on superhuman activities?" Senator McMahon asks, her voice sharp and probing.

I hesitate, feeling the weight of the question hanging in the air. "I… I don't know," I say finally, my voice small and uncertain. "I mean, I get why people are scared, why they want more control over what we can do. But I also know that most of us, we're just trying to help. We're trying to make a difference, to use our powers for good." I swallow hard, feeling the emotions welling up inside me. "And I'm not sure if rules and restrictions will make it harder for people who want to do the wrong thing, even if they make it harder for people to do the right thing. That's sort of the age old question, isn't it?"

I can see some of the senators shifting uncomfortably in their seats, their faces tight with disapproval or skepticism. But others are nodding along, their eyes filled with a kind of grudging respect. Even if I'm just a kid in a costume, my voice still matters. My truth still counts for something.

But then Senator Ernst asks about vigilantism, about the way I and my friends operate outside the law, and I feel my hackles rising, my defenses slamming into place. "How do you justify your actions?" she asks, her voice cold and accusing. "What gives you the right to take the law into your own hands?"

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my cool. "I don't… I don't think it's about having the right," I say slowly, choosing my words with care. "I think it's about doing what needs to be done, when the people in charge aren't willing or able to do it themselves. I could defend myself by pointing out my LUMA, and my association with the Delaware Valley Defenders, but I think that shouldn't be necessary. I think people who want to help should be able to do so. Not to go out and punch bad guys, but, like, anyone can go and pick up litter or rescue a cat. And sometimes superpowers make you really good at rescuing cats, and I think we have a responsibility to help people help each other. That's what I think, I think."

I can see the untrust in her eyes, the way she's sizing me up like I'm just another punk kid with delusions of grandeur. But I refuse to back down, refuse to let her make me feel small or ashamed. "I've seen firsthand what happens when the system fails," I continue, my voice growing stronger with every word. "I've seen the damage that can be done when the bad guys are allowed to run wild, when the people who are supposed to stop them are too busy covering their own asses. When that happens, people die. People like Liberty Belle."

There's a moment of silence, a held breath that seems to stretch out forever. And then Senator Sanders, this crumpled looking old man with a voice that sounds distinctly like my Pop-Pop, speaks out for the first time. "What measures would you recommend, to prevent incidents like the one at Tacony Charter Academy from happening again?"

I blink, caught off guard by the question. "I… I don't know if there's any one thing that can prevent something like that," I say slowly, my mind racing. "But I think there needs to be more accountability, more oversight. Like, maybe body cameras for superheroes, or regular psych evaluations, or… or something. To make sure that the people with the most power are using it responsibly, and not just abusing it for their own gain. I think we have a responsibility to be doing the right thing with our powers. I'm… I don't think G-d would… well, not to sound religious, but I don't think we would be given these powers if we weren't intended to do good with them."

I can see some of the other senators nodding along, their faces thoughtful as they scribble notes on their pads. And I feel a flicker of hope, a tiny spark of possibility that maybe something good can come out of all this. That my pain and my struggle can be used to make things better.