The afternoon session is like a high-stakes game of hide and seek, except I'm it, and instead of people, I'm searching for blood. It sounds macabre when I think about it too hard, so I don't. Dr. Harris has this look of boyish glee as he explains the setup, like he's just set up the best scavenger hunt ever.

"So, Samantha, I've placed several containers of blood around the gym," he announces, gesturing to various points around the room. "Some are open, allowing the scent, so to speak, to fill the air, and some are sealed, completely airtight."

I nod, rolling my shoulders to release some tension. It's weird, but I'm starting to get excited about this. It's not every day you get to flex your superpowers in a controlled environment, with no one getting hurt.

Dr. Harris hands me a blindfold and a pair of noise-canceling headphones. "We'll start with the open containers first. I want you to try and locate them using your blood sense."

Blindfolded and deafened to the world, I focus inward, honing in on that primal, shark-like part of me that just knows where the blood is. I can't exactly explain what it is, because it's not quite smell and it's not quite sight. It's more a sort of vision that isn't in my eyeballs, like a thermal camera or something like that, but in part of my brain instead. I'm not seeing red, but I'm thinking red, red-on-black. Black for no blood, red for blood. Stark contrasts.

I make short work of finding the rest of the open blood sources, each discovery a small victory that has Dr. Harris making excited little noises that I can just barely hear over the headphones.

"Now for the sealed containers," he says once I've uncovered all the open ones. I can tell he's trying to keep his voice neutral, but there's an undercurrent of anticipation there.

I'm back in the darkness, the blindfold and headphones in place, but this time it's different. I turn in circles, trying to get a bead on the blood, but there's nothing. No pull, no tingle, no sense of direction. It's like I'm searching for a ghost.

Dr. Harris waits a moment before he finally gives in to what I assume is a burning curiosity. With the slightest sound of a pinprick, one of the sealed bags is opened, and it's like a switch is flipped inside me. Suddenly, there's a clear line in my mind, pulling me towards the source. I can see it in my mind's eye, a bright red glow, and I can tell where it is in relation to me. It's instantaneous, and I follow the line without hesitation, reaching the bag in seconds.

The blindfold comes off, and Dr. Harris is scribbling notes at a mile a minute. "Remarkable! It seems your blood sense is activated by the presence of blood exposed to air. It's a sensory response to airborne particulates, not just the scent!"

I can't help but feel a mix of pride and weirdness. It's one thing to know you have a cool superpower, it's another to have it dissected and laid out in scientific terms.

"And the range!" Dr. Harris continues, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "Over eighty meters, easily. The only reason I can't measure further is because we ran out of room, so I'm sure it may be even bigger! You have a sensory radius that would be the envy of any predator in the animal kingdom."

That part makes me pause. Eighty meters. That's... a lot. More than I thought, and it makes me wonder about the implications. What does it mean for my superhero work? For my everyday life?

Dr. Harris seems to read my thoughts. "Oh, the applications are endless, Samantha! Search and rescue, tracking, surveillance. With proper training, you could refine this ability to be one of your most powerful tools."

"So, wait, someone... told me once that I have sort of, what's it called, ESP? Not a literal new sense. But you said I was reacting to, uh, airborne particulates?" I ask, a little confused, adjusting the headphones as they linger around my neck. "Do I be smelling it or not?"

"That's... Well, that's a matter of a lot of debate. Short of prying open your brain, which I don't plan on doing today - that's a joke - the distinction is probably more academic than anything else. Suffice to say, your abilities are certainly anomalous, which is our big science word for 'defies natural explanation'. Given you don't seem to have any other advanced olfaction abilities, I'm inclined to agree with the view that it's some sort of extrasensory perception," he rambles, confusing me as to what side exactly he takes until the very end. "You do not be smelling it, per se, but it seems like your brain does need there to be airborne blood particles to trigger the effect."

"Groovy," I reply, sitting down on the floor. I glance at Gale, who looks up at me from her phone, and smiles, and waves, and my heart flutters a little bit.

----------------------------------------

The last round of tests feels like it's tiptoeing into mad science territory, but Dr. Harris assures me it's all standard for people with... unique talents. The thought doesn't exactly soothe the jitters rattling my bones.

"Next, we'll assess your tolerance to different substances and check your liver and kidney functions. Quite standard, I assure you," Dr. Harris explains, gesturing towards a tray that looks far too clinical for my liking. "I mean, standard for people who profess your particular abilities. Regeneration and saltwater tolerance isn't an unheard-of combination."

I eye the vials of saltwater and the alcohol, then the medical gear that's going to map out the bits of me I can't see. I'm okay with that part. It's the needles that are going to be a problem.

I can feel my face drain of color as he lays out the blood test kits. "Ah, you seem apprehensive. Fear not! I am a trained phlebotomist among other things. Quite dexterous with a needle," he says with a chuckle that's meant to be reassuring.

Great, a jack-of-all-trades with a syringe. "Is it cool if I get Gale over here? Just to, uh, keep me company," I say, my voice an octave higher than usual.

"Of course, of course! Whatever makes you comfortable," he responds, busying himself with the vials, seemingly oblivious to my discomfort otherwise.

Gale's by my side in an instant, her hand a warm anchor in mine. "You're going to be okay, Sam," she whispers, but her voice sounds like it's underwater. Already, I'm swimming. Can you imagine? I can handle being stabbed with a knife no problem, but stab me with a needle and I'm about to pass out.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Dr. Harris preps my arm, swabbing with something cold and wet. I turn away, trying not to think about what's coming. My hand tightens around Gale's, probably too much, but she doesn't complain.

"Let's just get this over with," I murmur, focusing on the numbers of prime numbers in my head. Two is fine, three is okay, five is good, seven is lucky, eleven is...

As I mentally tick through the prime numbers, trying to distract myself, Dr. Harris starts talking about what a phlebotomist is. "The term comes from the Greek words 'phlebo-', meaning 'pertaining to a blood vessel', and '-tomist', meaning 'one who cuts'. Not that I'll be doing any cutting, per se. It's just a fancy term for someone trained to draw blood."

I'm only half-listening, the words 'cut' and 'blood' doing nothing to ease the knot in my stomach. Thirteen, seventeen, nineteen...

"And there we are, all done!" Dr. Harris announces cheerfully.

I blink, my gaze shifting to him in surprise. "Really?" I ask, not quite believing it.

"Indeed. I told you, I'm quite adept with a needle," he says, a touch of pride in his voice.

I chance a glance at the tray and immediately regret it. Eight full vials of blood, a deep red that's too familiar. The sight hits me, and a wave of nausea quickly follows. I turn away and take the opportunity to put my face in Gale's never mind, I changed my mind.

"Okay, let's move on," I say quickly, eager to put as much distance between me and those vials as possible.

Dr. Harris nods, jotting down notes, and then begins to strap me with equipment. Heartrate monitors, blood pressure cuffs, stuff like that. "Now, we'll proceed with the tolerance tests. First, the saltwater."

He hands me a cup with a measured amount of saltwater. "Please, drink this. We'll monitor your reaction and measure how quickly your body processes the solution."

The saltwater goes down with a grimace. It's like gulping down ocean water by mistake - not pleasant but bearable. I drink far too much of it. He waits a couple of minutes, occasionally pumping up the cuff on my arm until it hurts, takes down measurements, and then continues.

The alcohol is next, and it's weird because it smells slightly of booze but not quite. Almost like cleaning equipment. I take a sip, and the equipment beeps and whirs around me, taking note of how my body reacts.

My heart's still racing from the blood draw, but I'm starting to feel a little like a science experiment superhero. It's a strange badge of honor. He waits a couple of minutes, occasionally pumping up the cuff on my arm until it hurts, takes down measurements, and then continues.

The regeneration tests are less invasive, thankfully. Dr. Harris uses a dermatoscope to inspect my skin, looking for any signs of regeneration. There are a few scars, ones that never quite faded, and he hums thoughtfully as he examines them.

"You have a remarkable healing factor, Samantha. These scars, they're quite old, I presume?"

"Yeah, had them for a while," I say, feeling self-conscious under his gaze.

"Interesting. The body's ability to heal itself is one of nature's wonders, and you, my dear, are a prime example of this," he muses, making me blush despite the clinical setting.

The stress response test is last. Dr. Harris explains that he'll create a small scratch, nothing major, just enough to activate my healing. I brace myself, squeezing Gale's hand again, but this time I'm ready for it. The scratch is nothing, just a flick of sensation, and then it's over.

I watch, fascinated despite myself, as my skin knits back together like one of Gale's crochet projects. It's fast, almost too fast to see, and Dr. Harris is practically dancing with excitement.

"Remarkable! Truly remarkable!" he exclaims, and I can't help but smile. It is kind of cool, in a freaky superhero kind of way. "Obviously, I don't have permission to cut big gashes in you, nor do I have the desire or the stomach. I've already read your file and I'm afraid if we want better quantifiability on your regeneration factor, we'll have to do some more invasive testing. And that's something I'll need your parents to sign off on. And other stuff. It's a whole mess. We can avoid it for now."

I crack a weary smile. "Thanks for not cutting me open, doc."

"There's a secondary factor as well," he muses. He brandishes the needle, causing me to wince, and then smiles. "When I was trying to withdraw the needle, it broke. I'm unsure why, but I have a feeling that there may be elements to your powers that we haven't even begun to discover yet. You're a regular seafood buffet, Samantha."

Gale giggles next to me, gently grabbing hold of my biceps.

"I'll take that as a compliment, I think?" I reply, reaching for the inside of my elbow. I find it quickly - a small, pointy little chunk of syringe that's caught in my skin, and pull it out with a grimace, gently depositing it on the nearby table. The puncture wound lasts only for a second or two before it closes itself up.

Groovy.

----------------------------------------

Trudging through the streets, the snow is light, a sort of gentle dusting that's just enough to crunch under my boots. It's a wet kind of snow, the kind that sticks to your hair and makes it a bit of a mess, but it's not too bad. It's just... peaceful. The sky is this purplish-blue hue, the kind that you only get in the evenings of winter, and the streetlights cast a warm, orange glow on the snow, turning it into a field of sparkling gold.

I just dropped Gale off at her place after a bit of flying with her. But now, I'm taking the long way home, stretching my legs and getting some exercise. After a whole day of being poked and prodded by Dr. Harris, I need it. All those tests, the bite thing, the blood sense stuff... it was weird, but in a cool, 'I'm a superhero getting tested by a superpower nerd scientist' kind of way.

I can still feel where the sensors were attached to my skin, little ghostly tingles that come and go. It's funny how you can still feel something even after it's gone. Like the band-aid they put on after taking blood samples, or the pressure of the bite meter. It's a reminder of what I went through today, a sort of badge of honor that only I know about.

As I walk, my boots leave a steady trail of footprints behind me. The snow is just thick enough to hold the shape of my soles, a temporary mark on the world that'll be gone by morning. It's kind of poetic, in a way. Everything's temporary, fleeting. Just like how I felt flying with Gale - up in the air, everything seems so small, so... manageable. Like you can just leave all your troubles on the ground and soar above them.

I pull my jacket closer around me, the cold starting to seep through. It's not freezing, just a bit chilly. The kind of cold that wakes you up, keeps you alert. My breath comes out in little puffs of white, each one a small cloud that hangs in the air for a moment before disappearing.

As I walk, I think about the tests. Dr. Harris was so into it, his eyes practically lighting up with every measurement he took. It was kind of infectious, his enthusiasm. Made me feel like I was part of something important, something bigger than myself. I mean, I know I'm a superhero and all, but sometimes it just feels like I'm just a kid who got lucky. Or unlucky, depending on how you look at it.

But today, with all the machines and the numbers and the data... it made me feel real. Like my powers are real, tangible things that can be measured and understood. Not just some freak accident, but a part of who I am. It's a weird feeling, being dissected like that, but also kind of validating.

I pass by the park, the benches covered in snow, the trees bare and stark against the darkening sky. It's quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of the city muted by the snow. I like it, this silence. It's rare, in a city like ours. Makes you appreciate the small moments of peace when you get them.

I remember what Dr. Harris said about my regeneration. How it's not just about healing fast, but about how my cells rebuild themselves. Stronger, more resilient. It's like every time I get hurt, I come back a little tougher. I guess that's kind of like life, isn't it? You get knocked down, you get back up, and you keep going. Stronger than before.

I take a deep breath. Halfway there.

I don't notice the crowbar until it slams into my skull.