Transplant’s Application E-mail

To: [email protected]

Subject: my application

To the staff at Justice Backers headquarters,

Hello, my name is (REDACTED) and I am extremely interested in supporting your efforts to help the people of this world. At first I thought I would be too young to apply, but then I read about Monkey Girl and she’s a touch younger than me, so here it goes.

I never felt right growing up. My clothes always felt like they didn’t fit even when they clearly did. To me it felt like wearing a skin that some reptile had shed and tossed at my feet. The problem was that I was wearing the wrong clothes. My parents put me in dresses when I wanted shorts. They put my hair in pigtails when I wanted to chop it all off. They bought me dolls with glossy pink lips that looked stamped on: a factory-produced sexy pucker. They told me I was a tomboy and that one day I’d look at a boy in just the right light and the unpleasant crust of my personality would crumble away and reveal the glorious armless Greek statue of a woman inside. It didn’t happen. I was not a tomboy. I was just a boy.

I came out as trans to my parents when I was fifteen and they took it better than I could have hoped. My dad even threw himself into it like a maniac screaming his way down the high-dive. He tried desperately to get me interested in football but that didn’t take. We ended up bonding mostly over nachos and bad commercials. I digress though.

I thought that was the hardest thing I’d ever have to deal with. I thought there was no way I could feel stranger than being a boy in a girl’s body. I was wrong. Something happened to me that plunged my mind and body into a world I’d never imagined. The world of plants. Basically my body now thinks it’s a fern or something.

I never knew what I wanted to do with my life until the moment I saw your Coinhat campaign. I backed you guys for a lot. Before I knew it I’d spent two months’ rent trying to make sure you could afford the bullet-resistant costumes. I’ve always had people staring and I’ve always been brave about it. I want to give them a real reason to stare. I want one of those masks. I think you’ll find that my abilities are a good fit for the team.

I went camping once when I was seventeen. It was a trip I’d planned with three other guys where we were just going to kayak up and down a lake until the mosquitos forced us to retreat to the fire pit. They chose to go out on the kayak and get a little drunk, but I figured at least one of us should stay sober. I stayed in the tent and cracked open a book.

Something attacked my tent. I thought it was a strong wind at first because the sides sort of writhed. Then it collapsed and something ripped through the fabric. The big squirming thing enveloped me. That’s when I started feeling strange. It wasn’t just the terror. It felt like a trillion little seeds germinating under the surface of my skin. For all I know that’s actually what happened. I don’t look any different but my skin and flesh tingles now. It feels the way I imagine a fruit feels while it’s ripening.

I communicate with plants by touch. I give off chemicals that send their growth into overdrive. I can convince them to change shape or whip around at high speed. I can encase myself in roots and travel underground rapidly. I can jump into a tree and transform it into a suit of armor. Vines, wood, thorns, roots, trunks… they’re mine to control so long as I keep my skin connected to the plant. I hope these abilities intrigue you. I hope you can imagine me binding a villain in roots and leaving him for the police wreathed in flowers like a spring centerpiece.

There’s something else you should know. The thing that attacked me and changed me never showed up again. When I heard the description Pawn gave though, I just sort of knew. It was the same ‘lichen’ that gave him his abilities. Small world huh? That was the only sign I needed that I was meant to be on your team. I hope you’ll consider me for a position.

Sincerely,

Transplant (The name practically came up with itself)

Pawn Diary #3

(transcribed from video log)

Hey guys, Pawn here again. I guess I’ve got a few things I can talk about before we do dinner. Golden Boy is making some kind of casserole he saw on the food channel. He said we had to try it. I asked him if his mom used to make it for him.

“No,” he says.

“So how do you know we have to try it?” I asked. He just looked at me in that funny way of his like he missed part of the conversation.

“Just look at how good it is,” he says, as if that makes total sense. I can’t disagree with his results though. He cooked a beef stew for us a few days ago that tasted like it should cost thirty bucks at a place that makes you wear a collared shirt. I think everyone else is afraid to cook for us now, because we’ll all look like crap in comparison. I know I am. I don’t think the microwave-rice stir fry I perfected in college can outshine his golden palate. We’ll probably just sneak around and store our food in our rooms like squirrels.

Alpha Dog’s not too happy that everyone is breaking one of his ground rules already. It’s the mask thing. It’s just so irritating to put it on when you just want to hit the bathroom or microwave some popcorn, you know? I’ve already seen Monkey Girl’s face and Golden Boy’s. I’ve seen Wallflower’s too, but I doubt she’s worried about hiding since she can just vanish. Impala doesn’t seem to care. I think she knows that it helps people bond when they know things about each other. He’ll cave eventually and we’ll all just be able to hang out together.

He shouldn’t mind that I criticize him a little here. He did tell us to be extremely candid with you guys. He says the more honest we are the more money comes in. I’d be skeptical if he hadn’t immediately pulled out a pile of charts showing our funds and views on certain days that proved him right. It also proved the girls’ diaries are more popular. Some of you guys still show up for me though right? Alpha Dog also said we weren’t supposed to watch our teammates’ diaries. He just wants them to be between each Backer and their supporters.

So… What am I talking about? Right. We had another day of training and we got a new member! I think he’s the last one for a while though, the Barn only has like two rooms left. I think. Alpha Dog’s got so many hidden compartments built into it already I wouldn’t be surprised if one day I steady myself in the bathroom by grabbing the shower head and I get dropped into a trapdoor leading to a secret sewer exit.

Okay so, the new guy. We didn’t actually meet him at the Barn. We were out in that field next to the (REDACTED) and doing some more training. I guess Alpha Dog knew we’d be out there all day and asked him to get dropped off there.

I think I told you guys already, but Impala’s giving us some basic self-defense and martial arts training. Obviously she’s good with kickboxing too. We had some dummies set up in a line, like the ones you always see football players running into and screaming at. Alpha Dog threw some plastic masquerade masks from the (REDACTED) on them so they’d look more like super villains. I’m still skeptical any costumed bad guys are going to show up. I’ll be happy just stopping drug dealers and getting people out of flooded areas.

Impala keep telling me to punch the dummy harder. I’m afraid to tell her why I hold back. It’s not that I can’t hit harder; it’s that I’ll break my arm if I do. I don’t mean the bone. I mean my arm’ll go poof. Fall away as confetti. Then I’ll have to wait like an hour for all the powdery bits to crawl or float their way back before I can applaud again. Three hours if there’s a strong breeze.

Monkey Girl and Golden Boy are having no trouble. Golden Boy has to restrain himself so he doesn’t break the damn things. Same with Impala when she’s kicking at them. Even Wallflower and Archive are better at it than I am and their bodies are normal. I told you guys why I picked the name Pawn right? I like to say it’s because I make the first move, but you can probably tell by now that that is just blatantly false. My name is Pawn because I’m expendable. If you need someone to die I’m the man for the job. I can take a bullet to the head. A magician could literally saw me in half on stage and nothing but white sand would pour out of the holes in that stupid box. Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad I have powers. It’s what lets me be here. I’m just not in the same class as the others though. They play a role. Me? I’m like the dummies. More training material. They can hit me as hard as they want without having to worry. I’m cannon fodder.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

You know how I know I matter less? I’m never around for the victory celebration. On the first day of training we were just practicing hand-eye coordination and letting Alpha Dog’s dogs scan our biometrics when Golden Boy tossed a ball to me. I didn’t see it and it hit me in the back of the head. Then the ball landed in the pile of dust that was me. I don’t know if anybody freaked out, since it was the first time most of them had seen me like that. I can’t really see or think when I’m sand; my body just does all the reforming on its own. When I finally came back they were all celebrating the first day with a picnic. The sun was going down and they had a checkered blanket and everything! It was covered in cold cuts, crushed soda cans, and open pickle jars. They did it without me.

It’s not like I can expect them to wait. They’d waste their lives away just waiting for me to exist. I just have to accept that I’m only going to be around for part of our adventures. When the going gets tough and they really need me I’ll break under the pressure… literally. It beats high school though. My ‘friends’ there powdered me for fun. Any time I tried to go to a party some musclebound guy the size of Golden Boy, without being mean about it, would just playfully smash into me. Then they’d sweep me into a corner. By the time I was back the guy who had done it had left with a girl already and told someone else to tell me he was sorry. The closest I got to a girl (most of the time) was when one stepped in me.

I didn’t miss everything that first day though. It was the first time I really got to talk to Archive and, by extension, Wallflower. You guys know she’s mute. At first I only saw her in training because Alpha Dog said she had to be visible for that, but now she pops up for meals and the occasional game around the kitchen counter. She just watches, but she seems perfectly content to do that. I asked Archive about it that first night after the picnic, when we were playing a game.

“Doesn’t she want to play?” I asked Archive quietly. I could see Wallflower watching from the corner, stuck to the wall like a fly. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to look at her at all. Sometimes if you do she goes transparent or disappears completely. She doesn’t seem to like looking people in the eye.

“She’ll join in eventually,” Archive explains. “Probably not this game.” I looked down at the cards in my hand after she said that. It was a game I’d brought with me from (REDACTED) called Beach Detective. It’s this board game with all these different footprint trails in the sand that your piece has to follow. As you go you collect cards with story details on them and have to figure out who made your trail and why. It’s pretty much the best. The thing is… the cards have a lot of writing on them.

“What’s wrong with this game?” I asked. I was a little defensive about it because I enjoy it so much. It bugs me to think about how, if I was a character in the game and something happened, I wouldn’t even leave a trail of footprints. I’d just be the sand the real characters were leaving their mark in.

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Archive says. (By the way she promised she wouldn’t use her powers when we played games. I’m pretty sure she didn’t too, because she would’ve seen that I had the Amelia Dunbar card and three stat cards for her: her shoes, her current emotion, and her BAC. That last one helps you prove that the uneven steps belong to the person you say they do. I was totally about to win.)

“So what’s the problem?” I asked.

“She has dyslexia,” she says, “of a sort. It’s very difficult for her to parse written information. Her brain slides the letters together and makes them look like little black octopi jetting away.”

“Oh,” I said. I didn’t really know what else to say. I didn’t look at her, but I’m pretty sure she overheard. We were playing with Monkey Girl and Golden Boy, but Golden Boy was busy blabbing about his girlfriend back in (REDACTED). Archive sensed, or maybe saw, my tension and helped loosen it.

“It’s one of the reasons we’re so perfect for each other,” she says. “She has trouble with writing and sign language as well, so she feels like she has no way to communicate. It made her feel stupid and like she was alone because of it. I can see past her troubles though. Everything she wants to say is splashed across her brain like a beautiful pastel picture. I can see what she wants to say and say it for her. I can even look right now,” she turned her head and smiled at Wallflower, “and tell you that she’s fine with me explaining this to you.”

“Well I can’t read minds,” I said, “but if she ever wants a kindred spirit around… I know what it’s like to get shoved in the corner and not be able to do much about it.”

“I know you do,” she says with a smirk. Talking to her is weird. “In fact you and Wallflower think similarly. Your paintings have the same sort of brushstrokes,” she says. I took her word for it. She adjusted those silver glasses of hers and looked at her cards. Eventually Golden Boy realized it was his turn. Two cycles around the counter later, I threw down my hand and declared victory.

“These footprints belong to Amelia Dunbar,” I declared. “Her feet were bare, she felt betrayed, and her BAC was .09. She had just discovered that her husband Raoul was cheating on her with the lounge singer Connie Mist!” I grabbed up all the umbrella tokens greedily. I caught Wallflower giving me a thumbs-up and a smile in my peripheral vision. I think she’ll migrate to the center of it before too long.

“I thought those were Jerry Kalliper’s prints,” Golden Boy says. He looked genuinely confused. I don’t think he’s used to losing games on account of his powers, but sometimes natural ability just doesn’t beat practice. Plus there’s a little bit of luck in Beach Detective so…

Man I’ve been talking a while. These things go by fast. I guess it’s because my life actually contains events now. It’s not just work, drive-thru food, and then sleep. I still need to talk about the new Backer.

We were out in the field battling the masquerade dummies when Alpha Dog ran up to us and told us to huddle up. He was huffing and puffing. I think maybe he needs to be running rather than punching dummies. He still had his earpiece in, so I assumed he’d been talking to the new member and giving them directions or something.

“Okay,” he starts, “Transplant is going to be here in like five minutes. You guys should know… he’s a transsexual. He was born as a girl but switched it up when he was a teenager. So you know, fair warning.”

“Why do we need to be warned?” Archive asks. Alpha Dog rolled his eyes.

“I’m just saying,” he says. “You guys need to stay on your toes and make sure you always use the right pronouns and stuff. I want everybody to play nice. He is a he. He, him, his.”

“It should be no trouble,” Monkey Girl says. I think she might have though Alpha Dog was directing that at her because of her awkward English. It was a pretty strange thing for a leader to say. I noticed Impala didn’t feel she even needed to mention it. He just kept going too.

“Oh and you guys probably noticed, but the Barn’s bathrooms are unisex,” he says. “So there shouldn’t be any problems there.” That was when I rolled my eyes. We’re not children.

A couple minutes later a (REDACTED) dropped Transplant off in the field with us. He seems nice enough. We all shook hands and everything. Impala talked about his application for a second. That was the first I heard about the lichen. I had no idea that thing was still out there. Maybe there’s more than one. Transplant said he had a theory about it; he thought it was an ancient lifeform that adapted by engaging in horizontal gene transfer between species. Apparently that’s something some bacteria can do. It means they can do a little DNA swapping and wind up with new qualities. It might also explain why the two of us got different abilities.

Sometimes I wish it would show up and get me again, especially since Transplant’s powers are flashier than mine. Alpha Dog handed him his new costume, an armored tunic with exposed shoulders so his body can make contact with the plants he uses. It’s got nice colors too: burgundy and dark green. For a second I thought he’d just train with us in his regular clothes because he didn’t have anywhere to change, but he had a different idea. He took the clothes over to the nearest tree and literally opened a hole in it like he was opening a curtain. Then he stepped inside and closed it.

I ran my hands across the seam of the wood. It had actually grown closed. About a minute later he popped out in full costume. He’d even added a tiny twig from the tree that went from the tops of his ears around the back of his head. It was covered in little berries and leaves and kind of looked like it was burrowing into his skin right next to his ear. It looked like the kind of thing a faun in some myth would wear.

I’m definitely jealous. Who doesn’t want to use a tree as a dressing room? He immediately joined us in training. I don’t know how much he needs though. I saw him grab a network of roots and just start knocking those dummies out of the way like bowling pins. Meanwhile I’m just standing there hoping I don’t break myself in front of everybody.

Alright, that’s enough for today. I’ll do two questions but then I’m hitting the hay.

FLORIDAGAL432: DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON ANY OF THE OTHER BACKERS?? YOU HAVE TO TELL US I PROMISE WE WON’T SAY ANYTHING.

We haven’t known each other long enough for things like that to happen yet. With nine people in the Barn and the majority of them under thirty I’m willing to bet it’ll happen at some point. In a couple of weeks Alpha Dog will probably have the happy couple splashed across the site like they’re on a tabloid. Won’t be me though. I’ve got bigger things to worry about than getting a date.

Socialjusticewalrus: My mom caught me donating to you guys and took away my phone. She thinks you need to get real jobs. I keep telling her that nobody wants a real job when it means working retail, the grill, or a mop. I respect you guys for finding your own way. How did your parents react when you told them you were running off to be a crowdfunded superhero?

First, thanks for your donation Walrus. I know we sound like a broken record, but it does make all this possible. Second, they didn’t take it too well. I don’t think they’ll blow my cover but I think that’s largely because it would embarrass them. They wanted to know why I wouldn’t just join the police. I want justice, not authority. The day the Barn becomes a prison is the day I’ll leave the team. As long as we simply stop the bad guys and turn them over I don’t see any reason to jump through the hoops and do the paperwork just so I can pepper spray homeless people sleeping on benches. Goodnight everybody.