THE ANGRY VIDEO I’D MADE WAS ALMOST POSTED, FULLY EDITED AFTER NO SLEEP IN A FEW DAYS, WHEN I GOT A CALL FROM A NUMBER I DIDN’T RECOGNIZE. ANSWERING IT, I REMAINED QUIET. NO ONE SPOKE, AND I WAS ABOUT TO HANG UP WHEN THEY SPOKE.
“Um, hello? Did she hang up…?” The voice was familiar.
“Hey. Who is this?” I asked.
“Lawrence,” The man sounded relieved, awkwardness easing from his voice, “Are you busy right now?”
“Just about to post another video, why? Did you finally write up the contract?” I asked, tapping my fingers as I watched it load.
It would be published as soon as it finished… In… Two hours. Three? It said ninety minutes but even with my good internet I didn’t trust that number.
“Yes. I don’t suppose you could hold off on publishing the video until after signing the contract? We have a car outside, waiting to retrieve you to sign the contract.”
I put Lawrence on speaker, texting Law-Rend. He texted back almost immediately, telling me not to go with them. To get my own ride.
“I mean, no thanks,” I said after a moment, texting Law-Rend back as I stood up and stretched, pouting at the screen as it went from 14% to 12%. Lying completion bars: humanity’s true enemy, “I don’t need a ride, right now. I need to get ready. Just text me an address and I’ll be there in… half an hour? Maybe? Depends where it is.”
The dust that coated my apartment floor made me slip, and I crashed into my thankfully-not-glass coffee table with a loud crash. My phone went skittering away, and I groaned, head ringing, as I kicked at the coffee table. It flipped, crashing further into the small, unused shelving I’d made.
“Quantify? Are you alright?” Lawrence called.
“Fine!” I called back, to the phone, dragging myself over, “Anyway. Text me the address. Will arrive soon. You know the drill.”
I hung up, groaning in pain. Maybe if the floor wasn’t painted in dust, that wouldn’t have happened, I mused. It wasn’t like my place was unclean. Not even spiders hung out in my apartment, so I thought it was pretty clean.
Dust fell off of me as I coughed, sending the address I was given to Law-Rend and also telling him my ETA after I checked with Google Maps how long it would take.
It said it would take ten minutes by walking to get there, so I figured if I took a quick shower and sprinted, I’d be there in half an hour. Maybe. If I jumped over traffic a bit and there were enough red lights to pave my way.
Rushing out of my apartment, wet hair curling down my back, I barrel someone over. Groaning from my neat new position from on top of them, I look up. Blond hair, blue eyes, buff.
The man looked very surprised, and extremely unhurt. I groaned again, head hitting his chest as I spoke.
My voice was more whine than whimper as I complained, “Ow. The world is against me, today. Slow loading times. Dust. Pain.”
“Are you… okay?” The man asked, pushing himself up.
I slid off of his chest, now resting on his lap as I stared up at him. He was pretty cute. He was my neighbor. The hallways had white wallpaper with nice polished tile flooring. It wasn’t like we weren’t in a nice part of the city, with the HA building so close. I was about as wide as his chest was, if not a bit smaller, his arms making him almost double my size. I took the small moment that we stared silently at each other to appreciate that I had an above average height.
My phone pinged, then, though, and my eyes widened. Oh, shit. Scrambling to my feet, stumbling over the man after I accidentally shoved him down, I sprint away.
“Nogottagohaveagoodonebye!” I called nonsensically over my shoulder as I reached the stairs and jumped.
Stumbling at the next floor, I took the two paces it was to the next staircase and jumped. Doing that a few more times, I managed to get to the ground floor with only bruises.
Feet pumping and legs already jelly from all the impacts, I see the white walking man at the first crossroads and, already gasping, continue on my run. Ten minutes early, I stop inside the reception area of the HA.
Rather, I try stopping. Instead I ended up slipping on the polished flooring, bowling a man in a suit over in the process.
“Ow,” The familiar, deep, nice voice of Savant deadpanned, both of us just laying, in pain, on the floor.
I groaned. I’d not seen him in years and now there’s three chance meetings in the same week? Was I being punished for something? No way I wasn’t.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m a hero,” He answered, voice sounding enraged, for him. It was only slightly tense, for people who didn’t know him, “What are you doing here?”
I groaned louder, unable to feel anything but the pain coursing through my veins, “Regretting life.”
My feeling slowly came back as my dazed vision remained focused on the circular LED lights dotted evenly across the sectioned white ceiling. The floor beneath us was a dark, space-like purple-y black that I knew probably came from the seventies or the sixties. I’d found out, quite recently, that the floors were expertly polished. Very well taken care of.
The scent of coffee reached my nose, and I wondered if it always smelled like coffee in here. Probably, as I recalled any other time I was in here it smelled like coffee, too. I was in and out a lot more often when I was a teenager, and it gave me nostalgia. My boots in my Punt costume had been no-slip, so I honestly couldn’t say if the floors were always this well taken care of.
Finally, the feelings came back to me. In spite of being tile and stone, the floors were warm. Feeling where most of my pain was, I realized Savant and I were tangled, with Savant half-on half-off me, both of us somehow under and over the other. One of his legs was on top of my stomach, another underneath my legs as one of his arms pressed my shoulders down into the tiling.
“Get off of me,” He ordered roughly.
“You’re pushing me further onto you, you get off of me.”
“Code silver,” The receptionist’s voice rang out, droning, in the overhead speakers, “I repeat. Code silver. In the Lobby.”
After a moment of confusion, we both continued struggling. Eventually Savant’s arm shifted enough that I shoved it upwards, ignoring his pained cry. I immediately doubled over when he put his weight on my stomach, though, unable to escape like I thought I’d be able to. Shoving at him, finally we untangle, both ending on our hands and knees as we glare at each other.
“What happened to you?” I asked genuinely, giving him a look of disgust, “You used to be so logical.”
Savant growled in frustration, glasses no where in sight. That was probably the stabbing pain I had in my back, if they somehow shattered, “You were always this clumsy and idiotic, I shouldn’t have expected any growth over the years, you immature child.”
My heart jerked, feeling like I’d been stabbed. Anger rose up within me at the hurt, and I glared at him. What a hypocrite.
“You bastard,” I snapped, going forward with a scowl, “I’ll fucking hospitalize you for that. I’m not as immature as you.”
A heavy hand with a painful grip lands on my shoulder. Him, my mind whispered, breaking whatever anger I had. I feel the blood leave my face. Heart hammering, I carefully remove any expression from my face. From the man’s touch, cold spread, reaching my very soul.
“Hello, again, Alexandria. Long time no see,” His dreaded voice, calm, collected, empty.
“Hello, Dr. Johnson,” I said, voice just as empty, sounding vaguely peaceful if you were a psychopath who didn’t know what peaceful sounded like.
I swallowed, the hand tightening around my shoulder. My eyes were blank, unseeing, as I did nothing but focus all of my senses. They all screamed danger. My body was shaking with how hard my heart was pounding, and my breathing was shaking as I tried keeping it steady.
No one ever listened, when I begged them for help.
This time would be no different.
I was dead.
Oh, shit, I was so dead.
Pushing back the tears that wanted to form, I didn’t blink, further helping to dry my eyes. To prevent him from seeing. From knowing.
“You skipped the session yesterday,” My therapist said casually, “Any particular reason?”
Shit. Shit. Did Thursday pass already? Shit.
“Uh, yeah, of course,” I breathed, mind struggling to come up with words let alone excuses, “I was busy with work. Sorry. It won’t happen again.”
My eyes finally couldn’t take the burn anymore, and I blinked, eyes finding and focusing on Savant. His eyes were squinted as he tried focusing on us with a slight frown, hands still grasping around the floor. Looking around, I kicked my leg out, a small inhaling gasp escaping my lips as the hand tightened even further.
It hurt. It hurt so much. It was already bruised, and he was bruising it further.
I watched as the glasses I’d kicked skidded towards Savant, and his hand reached out and deftly caught it, eyes not looking away. Reaching up, he put his glasses on, and his frown increased. To those who didn’t know him, it would look like a very, very slight, almost unnoticeable downturn to his lips as his gaze flicked from my therapist, Dr. Vincent Johnson, to me.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“See that it doesn’t,” He threatened, “Therapy is important. I can see that you still have issues with unreasonable aggression.”
My lips thinned. I’d tried already, to stop scheduling sessions. It was a requirement until either my therapist said I was stable or until five years had passed, though, or I’d get arrested. I was just glad it was almost over. Winter. Less than five months away.
Then I’d be free.
“Right Alexandria? You know how important your sessions are,” My therapist asked, tone still sounding light and casual.
“Of course,” I agreed, trying not to wince as his grip tightened.
“Excuse me, I’d appreciate it if you got your hands off of my client,” The beautiful, amazing, charming, wonderful, amazing voice of Law-Rend cut in, the clicking of his shoes in the otherwise soundless receptionist area a godsend, “Unless you would like an assault charge filed.”
Turning, I saw Dr. Johnson turn as well, both of us facing my savior. Standing up, to meet him, I brushed myself off, the crouching therapist standing with me. Dr. Johnson’s hand was still tightly pressing painfully into my pressure points between my shoulder and neck.
Law-Rend’s eyes were the most wonderful shade of brown on planet Earth, the tall, thin savior with styled hair looking more fancy and put together than anyone else in this room. Only Savant could possibly have matched him in style, and that was if I hadn’t accidentally plowed him down and broken his glasses. Aside from Savant, Law-Rend was the tallest man in the room, and he used it as he frowned at my therapist.
“Client?” My therapist asked, a small, confused frown on his face. Terrifying. Horror-inducing. Behind his almost black eyes there lurked a monster, as he stared, acting casual towards Law-Rend.
“Yes. I’m her lawyer.” The man didn’t need to stand taller or puff out his chest to feel wonderfully imposing, “Who are you?” He didn’t need to emphasize his words to make the derision, the absolute godly derision drip from his tone.
“Law-Rend? Your lawyer?” He asked me, and at my jerky nod he hummed, looking back towards Law-Rend, “She can’t afford you, you know,” My therapist said casually, ignoring the way my breath hitched, hand reaching up to try—and fail—to alleviate some of the pain.
Gasping quietly as the pain only increased as his grip grew stronger, my hands shakily fell, sighing in relief as it relaxed marginally, “Alexandria here is a habitual liar. Whatever she said she could pay you is a lie, I’m sorry to say. She just can’t help herself, though, so I hope you can forgive any transgressions she may have made.”
My jaw clenched, and if I didn’t know I’d get severely beaten, I’d refuse the words. Face burning at the embarrassment, I try not to speak. Not to deny his bullshit lie. I was glaring at him, though my expression immediately blanked the moment he even glanced my way.
My angry flush vanished, me blanching the moment his lips twitched up.
Some of his hair got in the way of his eyes, the dark purple silken hair that went down to his lower back expertly pushed back, like a way longer version of Boreas, Law-Rend, and Savant’s look. At least, whenever Savant bothered to actually do his hair, and if Boreas wasn’t physically fighting someone, it was their look. I’m pretty sure Law-Rend made that a trend, though it could have been Boreas.
“Who are you to be making that statement? I’m sure even if she hadn’t already paid, that she would be fine affording me after suing you for slander,” Law-Rend said, and I almost desperately wished he would stop talking.
My therapist didn’t know I was Quantify. He didn’t know about my extra cash. He didn’t know anything like that, and if he found out I was dead.
“Aheh,” I interrupt, “Sorry for the misunderstanding,” Shit shit shit what am I saying I’m so dead why is his grip tightening oh god, “Dr. Johnson, meet Law-Rend, my lawyer. Law-Rend, meet Dr. Johnson, my therapist,” I turned to Dr. Johnson, “Sir, I truly am sorry, but I’m a bit busy right now. Maybe we could talk later?”
The deceptively blank look he leveled me with made me physically flinch back, miraculously being let go as I did so, and he spoke.
“Of course. I’ll see you at our next session, Alexandria.”
I shoved my trembling fingers into my pockets, and cleared my throat, nodding once at Law-Rend and glancing at Savant. Savant did not look happy. Nodding once more, I turned to the receptionist.
Before I could speak, though, Lawrence dashed into the lobby with several guards, looking exhausted, “A code silver?”
“Dr. Johnson took care of it,” The receptionist shrugged.
Savant spoke, “What is a code silver? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s an old code, used when you fought Punt,” The receptionist drawled, “It’s used every time you two are anywhere near each other.”
Savant and I glanced at each other, before I frowned, “No regard for my secret identity, huh Barb?”
The receptionist rolled her eyes, and I shook my head, taking a few steps away from everyone and just breathing for a moment. Rolling my shoulders, my hand automatically darts to where Dr. Johnson held, grimacing. Ow. Son of a bitch, that hurt.
“Right. Ahem, hello, Quantify. I have a conference room set up so you and I can go over the paperwork,” Lawrence gestured, giving Law-Rend a very, very tired, pleading look. His hopes looked crushed when Law-Rend stalked forward, me following next to him. Or him following next to me.
I wasn’t about to slow down and check.
After a long, trying moment—for Lawrence, I kind of just sat back and let Law-Rend speak after reading through the contract and making sure it looked okay to me—Law-Rend ended his intensive questioning, telling me that I could sign the contract.
Based on what I was hearing, Law-Rend was essentially going over whether my business was actually viable in accordance with the contract, which it is. Which was pretty cool. Law-Rend was amazing. The best neutra. A True Hero, with no regard towards what society expected a hero to be.
After that, I expected it to be over, but once Lawrence started packing away the contract—of which both Law-Rend and I gained a copy—he spoke.
“You are Quantify’s liaison, correct?” Law-Rend queried, sounding… off. His voice was casual, and calm, but based on my experience with that exact tone I recognized it was deceptively so.
Lawrence didn’t have the experience with it like I did, though, and remained relaxed as all the hard parts were done, “Yes. I was appointed to her case a week ago, and I will be her connection to the HA for the coming decade.”
Law-Rend nodded regally, “Then you haven’t yet settled in to the position. You could be easily replaced.”
Lawrence frowned slightly, “I suppose so, yes.”
“Of course. I would behest you to look into her Hero Association appointed therapist, then. I will also want the contract or papers that ordered her to be appointed to one, and if the therapist could be changed or removed entirely.”
My face paled, “No, wait, what are you—?”
“I saw your reactions to him, Quantify. As easily as I can see the bruise forming where he touched you,” Law-Rend said, frowning at me, “I cannot personally go after him, or press charges, as I know situations like this are delicate and I doubt you would have the time, but your liaison could look into him without him realizing, and remove him entirely from your life without you having to deal with him again.”
“…” I glanced at Lawrence, then at Law-Rend, face burning, “That’s possible?”
“Yes,” Law-Rend said, turning to frown at Lawrence, who was looking carefully at me, “That should be within your purview, should it not?”
I didn’t dare gain any hope, but my eyes were intently focused on Lawrence. Law-Rend was the best. I’d have to ask him how his powers work later, or just theorize. Make a video praising the ground he walked on, or something. I could do it subtly, like I bashed Boreas in my most recent video.
A realization washed over me, “Oh, yeah, can we add a time-stamp to the uh, contract? Just so we know what time we signed it at?”
Law-Rend sighed, “Please tell me the notification I’d gotten wasn’t you uploading a video? That will cause issues down the line.”
“Sorry,” I apologized quietly.
Lawrence also sighed, but nodded as he pulled out an actual stamp and all three of us put our papers on the table, “Yes, we can add time-stamps. We signed the papers at exactly 6:32 and 24 seconds in the evening, the pen leaving the page at 6:32 and 25 seconds.”
My eyes narrowed slightly, before returning to my casual look. Oh. So he really was like Savant. Not that Savant paid attention to the exact time, but he certainly had his quirks. All actual geniuses had their quirks, I supposed.
“Oh? That was exact, and you did not look at the time as we signed. Do you have a power?”
Lawrence shook his head, “A very weak one that allows me to see and ask after probability and truth.”
My eyes glimmered, all of my hopes and dreams coming true, “Oh my god I found you,” I muttered without conscious effort, eyes focused intently on my subject—I mean, new friend and buddy, “I knew it!” I stood up, psyched, “I knew there had to be someone out there with a probability power!”
Lawrence hesitated, “Please do not give the information freely.”
I gaped, “But… But you have The Ultimate Power!” I turned to Law-Rend, who looked only slightly more interested than a rock could, “He- he’s the- but…” I closed my mouth and sat down with a sigh, “Your talents are wasted.”
The future God Almighty gave me an unsure look, “I can’t control probability.”
“You don’t need to control it. No one controls it,” I muttered sullenly, before grinning, “I can’t believe my luck. My luck, oh my god.”
“I recall a lot of your videos reference ‘The Ultimate Power’, especially when you speak of certain things that don’t make sense in history regarding others’ powers,” Law-Rend said, “You do mean those, do you not?”
“Oh I absolutely do,” I said, salivating as I didn’t break eye contact with a very uncomfortable-looking future-God.
“Hm. We can focus on that later,” Law-Rend brutally ended, turning to Lawrence, “As liaison, it is your duty to make sure that relations between the Hero Association and our client is as smooth and friendly as possible, keeping an eye on them so that they keep to their end of the bargain and being the biggest connection between her, and the Hero Association.”
“Yes, that is my job description, though there are a few other things.”
“Of course,” Law-Rend said smoothly, turning to me, “Being totally honest, even if you don’t believe you should be, how do you genuinely feel about the Hero Association?” At my confusion he spoke, “Do you like it?”
“Oh. Um… No,” I shrugged with a frown, “I… really don’t like it. At all.”
“Is it because of your strenuous relationship with Savant?” Law-Rend continued.
I rolled my eyes at that, “Not even. I knew that asshole when he was a neutra, his pompous ways didn’t change.”
“Then why do you hate the Hero Association?” Law-Rend asked.
I frowned, opening my mouth, before closing it. No one ever listened.
You’re too young to be a hero. Vigilante’s are illegal. Listen to your therapist, he knows best.
No one ever believed me.
Stop saying your therapist is abusing you, those bruises are from you continuing to be Punt. Do you WANT to go to jail? Stop avoiding your sessions.
He was a part of it.
You know Savant doesn’t actually care about you, right? Based on what I’ve seen from your records, he was sent out to babysit you. Don’t believe me? They’re right here. I’m not supposed to show you, but…
He never stopped.
You can’t even keep a job? Wow, that’s… Ahem, I mean why do you think that is? Is it because you realize that no one cares about you? Or is it because your petty attempts at getting attention don’t work after you’re done being trained?
He was always there, goading, cutting, hating.
You’ll be respectful to me or I’ll tell them you’re still out frolicking as your sad attempt to be a hero. You know only strong people get powers, right? You’ll never gain any, that’s for sure.
I hated him. I hated that the association that claimed to protect people even hired him.
You want to be a hero so badly. You realize you have all the traits of a villain, right? Even if you gain powers, I bet the first thing you’ll do with them is hurt others. You’d be a villain, if you were ever strong enough to receive powers.
“Quantify?” Lawrence asked, and my eyes focused blankly on his.
“Hm?”
“Why do you hate the Hero Association?” He repeated Law-Rend’s question.
I shrugged, “Because they’re lame. Naive. Idiotic. Oblivious. I guess such a big, world-wide organization doesn’t really have the ability to really see anything that goes on, though, let alone address all of it. In any case, the papers are signed, my first pay will be eventually, and you’ll text me whenever you want me to coach a hero, right? I can leave now?”
“Yes, you can,” Law-Rend said, “Would you walk with me?”
“Sure,” I shrugged again.
Law-Rend spoke with me about what I’d signed, and about contacting him if I ever needed him and stuff. That he’d contact me whenever he had time to help me write up a business plan that he and whoever else he brought in would get shares in, and to ask how I’d promote myself and stuff like that.