Scene 4 - October 14th
Interior Townhouse, Early Evening
Quinn Kaufman
I checked on the stew as soon as I got home and found that it wasn’t quite ready. It needed another hour or so, so I texted Dad to let him know that I wouldn’t be over with dinner until a little later.
In the meantime, I was already finished with most of my homework. All I had was the essay that Professor Marigold had assigned, and I wasn’t ready to start on that yet - I was still turning the question over in my head and hadn’t decided what to write. So until the stew was done, I decided to continue the years-long project of cleaning up the attic.
After mom vanished, Dad had packed away all of her stuff and left it up there. It hurt him too much to see it, he always said, and for much the same reason he rarely spoke of her. In the last few years, however, the wound had finally healed enough that the two of us would occasionally go into the attic and go through some of her things.
We had found some interesting stuff, as well as a lot of pictures and mementos that would invariably make Dad stare into the middle distance for a while before ending our cleaning for the day. Books on genetics (some of them written by Mom, others heavily annotated in pencil), pictures of the two of them on dates early in their relationship (it was interesting to look at the two of them together and catalog which of my features came from which parent - I had my fathers curly hair, wide nose, and olive skin, but my mother had given me my pale blue eyes, sharp chin, and, interestingly, her smile. We had the same crookedness to our smiles, making us seem mischievous even when we were sincere), and even a collection of fantasy novels that she had enjoyed (Dad had suggesting donating them to the library, but I had snuck them into my own room to read in my sparse free time). It was where we had found the poster of Aaron Atwick.
Tonight, it seemed, would be a somewhat boring one in that slow process. The wardrobe containing her clothes that I was looking through surely held stories, but without Dad here to share them, they were just clothes. I went about sorting them into three piles - one for clothes that had held up well enough to be donated, one for clothes that would need to be thrown out, and a small pile for intact clothes that I wanted to keep for myself.
After all, my stork of a father couldn’t wear them. I, on the other hand, was around the right size, and a single college professor’s income only stretched so far. No sense wasting perfectly good clothes, especially ones as nice as these. I couldn’t help pulling on a t-shirt that I particularly liked (both “Mr” and “Mrs” crossed out, with “Dr” circled) before continuing.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
As I pulled out the lowest drawer, I resolved to head downstairs after finishing the wardrobe. I should check on the stew again soon, I thought, then stopped.
This drawer didn’t hold clothes. Instead, it was occupied by a wide, black box, with no adornment other than a white label reading ‘Psychic Augmenter Mark 4’. That wasn’t something I could just ignore.
Inside the box, I found a sheaf of papers which seemed to describe a series of experiments that had led up to the creation of the PA4. The way it worked was far above my level - I was pretty bright for a college student, and I certainly intended to go into the field of metahuman medicine, which this kind of thing probably fell under, but I was only a premed student - I wouldn’t graduate college for another few months! I hadn’t even heard of half of these terms.
I turned my attention to what lay beneath the papers, the PA4 itself. It wasn’t what I would have assumed a ‘psychic augmenter’ would look like - rather than a futuristic helmet, it looked like a relatively standard superhero costume. A dark purplish-blue fabric, almost black, which contrasted strongly with a pair of knee-high armored boots and elbow-length armored gauntlets, both in white, with a transparent, plastic-like material making up the soles and palms, respectively.
...was this what had happened to my mother? Had she been a superhero who had run afoul of something beyond her? Wouldn’t Dad have told me about something like that? He had been tight-lipped about her for years, yes, but he had opened up since we started going through the attic. And something this big...
Well, maybe he wouldn’t have told me. But on the other hand, now that I thought about it, it seemed unlikely. Mom would surely have been an incredible superhero, but she was a metahuman researcher - creating something which would augment at least certain kinds of metahuman powers would probably be right up her alley.
I started to pack up the PA4, then stopped. It was probably a bad idea, I admitted to myself, but I couldn’t help it. It was a genuine superhero costume, or at least, the closest I was likely to ever get to one. I had to try it on!
It was a little loose on me, which comes with the territory when you’re trying to wear what was a probably standardized outfit while being only 5’4” on a good day, but I found a button on the belt which seemed to bring the thing to life. My entire body tingled as it contracted to fit me perfectly - a little too perfectly, in my opinion. I wasn’t particularly body-shy, but I wasn’t eager to show off my figure in this much detail. Fortunately, the ‘fit me!’ button was inset into a dial, which I fiddled with and caused the suit to loosen slightly. Instead of showing every outline of my muscles, it was now about as form fitting as a typical piece of tight clothing. Interestingly, the transparent plastic had also lit up a bright blue, as did the buckle of the belt and the eyes of the full-face mask.
It was itchy, though. I stripped out of it as soon as I could.
Well, after taking some selfies.