Chapter 14

Turning Insults into Injuries

  I have two regular formations each day Monday through Friday that I must attend with my class. I get the idea behind this as team building. The idea here is that we will be spending so much time together in formation. Then we would move onto learning to grow and develop our different powers. So one could assume we would all be together for a very long time. The only problem comes, when one asshole decided they were better than everyone else and test out early. That one cadet effectively says screw this waiting around crap, I want to be special and start training with the real cadets right away. This asshole then causes problems, not only with not knowing anyone in the classes, but also causes tension with the starting group.

  Yeah, that asshole is me. Not only do I frighten my classmates power-wise, but I also have control, and finesse down to a science. Added to that my creepy glowing eyes and hair and you have the makings of a conflict. The conflict can be summed up in three words: me versus them. To make matters worse, Chet, again a name that sounds like a cross between a sneeze and a burp, can’t stop talking about me.

  Even at the other end of the formation, my heightened perception allows me to hear everything as if I was standing right next to him.

  “Yeah, apparently the freak has to go to mandatory psychiatric counseling.” He laughs.

  I sigh, knowing that at least from his perspective he is correct. Worse I can almost relate to his feeling of resentment. If I were in his shoes, I too would feel angry at having to follow the traditional route of the Academy, versus a devilishly charming and good looking man who seemingly has the world at his beck and call.

  “Come on man. Mental health is no joke.” Donavan Vickers says. I look at him and see someone who might be a good person who is stuck in a bad situation.

  Looking at this situation objectively it is clear that siding with me is a waste of time. I have neither shown interest in bonding with the group, my actions have also dictated that I will not be able to interact with them directly for the foreseeable future. Thus, it would only make logical sense for those who are still part of the group, to ingratiate themselves to the people who are seen as the core members of this class. That would of course be Chet and his cronies. Still Donavan is the only one of that group, who seems to not want to go down the morally repugnant domain of mocking someone for their mental health.

  Realizing that, I make a mental note that anything that happens from here on out will not involve Donavan.

  "Honestly, he just gives me the creeps just being near him." Cadet Chase says.

  Hearing them talk I just shake my head. They are describing the weird feedback my unbalanced powers give off. As a result of this, it has been recommended that I not use my Psionic abilities as much as I have been. I have to say this has been good advice, as I think I've been able to stay less agitated the whole time. In fact, I am often able to avoid using powers first as an automatic response, something that could be dangerous down the road. Well I can still use my Support Mage abilities, as those cancel out the Psionic feedback that I suffer from. Though it takes three times as much magic energy to counter out one Psionic ability, unless of course I use Mage Breaking abilities.

  Still, they have so many other things to choose from about me, why focus on mental health? Though in a way I guess it makes sense. If someone was both mentally unstable and super powerful I wouldn't want them near me either.

  Still, this lets me understand the character of Chet better. I make a mental note that if he comes after me for my mental health, I will go nuclear, meaning all trigger points are on the table at my disposal. I should also note that after twelve lifetimes' worth of lives, many of which I befriended these very people, I know a lot of personal history. That or maybe I only know these details currently, because I am causing my mind to focus my latent Precognitive abilities towards gathering information? This is such a mind fuck.

  I can see where the title PDD comes from. The more I see with my powers, the less I am truly able to tell the difference between what was a vision from a past life and what was just part of the present. Shaking my head, I try to focus on the current moment, to get these details solidified in my mind.

  “See that, the freak just had one of his mental episodes.” Chet muses loudly enough so the entire group can hear him. Me I just stare at him with a, is that the best you got look.

  “Oh, what the freak has something to say?” He asks. I notice he has stopped using the moniker Powder ever since I ground his bones to dust. It is a minor improvement, but an improvement. At the very least it shows that he can be trained through extensive pain. I also note he has not taken to touching my violin case anymore, a fact I am grateful for. Though he has made the snide comment about my needing it as an everyday inspection item.

  “Oh, look is that his security blanket? So cute.” Chet called out a few times as I passed him on campus.

  Still, I don’t quite get his game. Does he want me to feel so flustered that I leave? If so, doesn’t he realize that I can’t leave? I am in a binding contract, same as him.

  “Well, what is it, freak?” Chet says, again he seems to feel empowered by being surrounded by more of his classmates. They are his classmates, I am clearly seen as just a guest. Still, despite their antagonistic attitudes, like it or not, when I graduate those that remain will be noted now and forever as my graduating classmates.

  “You are like that really annoying yippy chihuahua that thinks himself a beast, even going so far as to bite and growl at forest bears when your master takes you for a scenic walk.” I say, mimicking a barking chihuahua with my fingers.

  “Let me guess, you think you are the bear?”

  Me I shake my head. “Nothing so minor as a bear. If anything, I would be a dragon!” I shout the last part as I cause a torrent of Pyrokinetic flames to burst out from my lips, while I simultaneously summon a small circulation of wind, with my Air Affinity, to direct my flames further and larger than should be possible for my Affinity rating.

  Okay, so the scene probably sounded better in my head. That said he does shut up, for a half second.

  The torrent of flames flies well over twenty feet straight up in the air, and for a second, I feel like I am one of those giant lizards breathing down blue flames on Tokyo. Then as quickly as the burst began, I kill the flame all at once, causing the morning darkness to once again take over. Most everyone stares on blindly as they wait for their eyes to once again re-adjust to the darkness that surrounds us in our morning formation.

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  Silence.

  Everyone is quiet. Until one moron decides to start talking.

  “Yeah of course the crazy person would consider themselves to be a dragon.” He says.

  Rather than fight the revelation that I am now being forced to go to counseling. Never mind the fact that talking about one’s medical history should be kept personal, that doesn’t matter to Chet. As such, I decide to go nuclear.

  “Actually, you are right.” I say, first to Chet, then begin directing my words towards the rest of my fellow classmates. “I do have mental issues. See I have a stalker.”

  I begin, as I speak everyone leans in wondering where this is going.

  “The woman won’t leave me alone. We had a perfectly ordinary one-night stand. She of course was, or rather still is, married to some guy name Stan.”

  I pause, letting that detail sink in, before continuing.

  “So, the proper course of action would be for us to have had our one-night stand, then end it there. But the woman was relentless. Cute in that MILF kind of way. A bit old, soccer mom-ish with shoulder length chestnut colored hair, fit. She does pilates twice a day and has freckles all over her professionally tanned skin. You know the perfect trophy wife for any would be successful husband. The only problem, the husband Stan is unemployed, and the wife has to take care of everything. Worse the man can’t seem to please his wife. I can’t blame him, the woman was insatiable you name a hole and I put it there, her mouth, her butt, everywhere. Still, she could not get enough.”

  All the while I was talking, I let a faint smirk fill my lips as I kept glancing over to Chet. Then I went for the coup de gras. “I should have known she was crazy; she has those crazy stalker eyes. Super green, but you can tell the person behind them is not all there. Anyways, if Loretta Lowell ever offers to take you home from practice, don’t it’s a trap…” I am about to say more when Chet flies into a fit of anger.

  “You BASTARD!” He screams as he swings a punch that is so telegraphed, I expect it to be delivered in Morse code. The moment he swings, I feel parts of my mind that have been dormant up until now, finally wake up. Fighting styles that I practiced throughout my previous lives come to mind. No, not my past lives, but past visions. I need to keep reminding myself.

  Still, one way or another he swings, and I easily redirect the flow of his swing with two fingers. His blow is easily directed over and past me. Then with quick squeeze his wrist quickly, followed by a hip check. Chet flies ass over teakettle through the air, before landing with a resounding thud onto the ground. He is stunned for a second. A second that I use to change my grip from just being on his wrist to a modified arm-bar.

  “That’s my mother.” Chet says, his voice somewhat muffled from eating dirt.

  “Oh, so you had her too?" I ask, before continuing. "No wonder she wasn’t satisfied. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, as they say. Figures that she would have to outsource.” This is another low blow. Part of the reason why the husband is currently unemployed, was because the mother outsourced his entire job to an outside industry planet. Now with the husband, Chet’s father, effectively unemployed and beholden to Loretta, he is her slave. In almost everything but title. The fact that she is overly promiscuous is well known within his family. Thus, it is a key pressure point for someone like Chet who idolizes his father.

  As I look at the knots of past and future events, I almost think there is a string I can follow. One where Chet and I can be friends. I see it, glowing golden for a moment. All I need to do is let up, apologize to Chet and… Nope, never going to happen. I see the amount of work that would be needed to become Chet’s friend and I realize that is too much.

  “Let me go!” Chet screams as he desperately tries to free himself.

  He is putting a lot of strain on his elbow. Now there are two things I could do at this moment. I can let go, which is what he is likely hoping will happen. He is probably hoping that I wouldn’t want to go beyond some imaginary line of no return. One where I snapped his arm and he would never speak to me again. One where I would forever be ostracized by my fellow classmates. The only problem is, I don’t really care about the opinions of my fellow classmates. Maybe it is PDD, or maybe it is just the fact that I would rather not associate with people who let an asshole like this be one of their leaders. Either way, I am okay with being the villain.

  Snap!

  As soon as I hear the sound, two things simultaneously happen. The first is that Chet lets out the most agonizing scream I’ve ever heard. The second is that I shout out with joy and satisfaction, “Bone Breaking BINGO!” I shout as I raise my fist into the air in triumph.

  There is a silence as even Chet pauses to look at me like I’m crazy. Truth be told they should have already known this, Chet especially as he was the one shouting out my need for counseling in the first place.

  “What?” Donavan asks for the whole class.

  “Bone break bingo. You know, you break a bone it makes a sound. You get all three sounds to come from one person and you yell triumphantly BONE BREAK BINGO at the top of your lungs!” I shout.

  “Bone break bingo sounds?” He asks again, like he is slow. I don’t know perhaps he is he is, after all he is hanging out with Chet. So, I spell it out for him.

  “Yeah, the other day I got Crackle and Pop from his fist and finger respectively. Then just now I got Snap. So, you know, bone break bingo. Or you know the Triple Bs for short.”

  Once again not for the first time that night, everyone looked at me like I was ape-shit crazy. Who knows, perhaps I truly am.

  Fortunately for everyone’s sanity DI Wagner walked up saw the look of fear on everyone’s faces. Then looked down to see Chet holding his arm to his side.

  DI Wagner looks at me with a raised eyebrow as if to ask what happened?

  Seeing his look, I shout out joyously, “bone break bingo!”

  He looks from me to Chet, then back to me.

  “Which one were you missing?” He finally asks.

  Everyone gathered looks on at us, like we are speaking some alien code.

  “Snap.” I answer.

  He looks at Chet, “your elbow?”

  Chet just nods his head. “He’s crazy.” Chet says, almost twisting his body to point at me. But then he thinks better of moving, as any movement seems to set off his pain receptors. See once again he is learning through pain. Too much pain happens when you move, thus don’t move. These are small things, but clearly showing signs of progress on his part.

  No sooner do I have that thought, then I realize, I really might be the villain of this whole story.

  After a few moments DI Wagner just turns to me. “Well?”

  “Well, what, DI?” I ask, pretending not to know.

  “Are you going to fix him?” He asks.

  I think about it, even going so far as to hold up a finger like I am about to do so. Then I pause and shake my head. “No.”

  “No?”

  “Not until he admits to being a yipping chihuahua.”

  “Bastard!” Chet says, getting up to his feet while still holding his arm to his side with his one good hand.

  “Bastard can be in there, but you also need the words yipping and chihuahua.” I continue, pretending like I’ve lost my mind. Sadly, this does come easily for me. It isn’t even so much turning off parts of my mind, but rather forgetting the attachments to things in this world.

  “Enough of this, I am going to the clinic now.” Chet says as he begins to storm off angrily, only to change his pace as he realizes the pain from jostling his arm is too much. So, he goes at a slower, gentler pace.

  “Dr. Holister is gone for the day, family emergency.” DI Wagner says.

  Chet turns to look at the DI, who just stares back at him. Meanwhile during this time, I am trying to understand this new aspect of myself. I want to understand the aspect that can put on a mask to fit whatever emotion I wish to showcase. It is an odd sensation, but one I know I can harness if needed.

  Skill Acting is now available. Would you like to add this to your Skill list? [YES] or [NO]?

  Did I want to add it?

  That was a good question. For now, I shelve the question. I am not quite certain how many focused skills one can have, and I already have twelve, one for each of my previous lives that I’ve lived. Each skill is a testament to the work and sacrifice I put forth to become better. I am about to chastise myself again, for falling back into the same old pattern of thinking of the visions as past lives, when my mind snaps my attention to the current moment.

  “I am a yipping chihuahua.” Chet says.

  Sadly I am left with an empty feeling from winning. I have won this moral low ground, but only after I get it, do I realize how petty this victory was. He likely doesn't even feel the meaning of the words, only the crushing defeat of needing help from someone whom he despises. Oddly, I find this moment as one I wish to speak about to the good doctor. One of many so far that I feel I need to reevaluate once more.

  I look at him, then I realize while part of me is feeling shame. Another part of me is giddy at the thought. I also realize on impulse I mentally engaged my wrist communicator to hit the record button. Please tell me I got that. I think to myself, both wishful in his suffering and angry with myself for sinking below his level.

  I know I got part of it, but maybe not all. Still a promise is a promise. I think to myself as I begin healing him.

  Snap.

  I snap my fingers to give my casting of Mend some type of flourish. The gesture is completely unnecessary, but no one believes you did anything, unless you at least move. Thus, the snapping of my fingers.

  Within seconds the look of extreme constipation subsides from Chet’s face, until it is back to his normal levels of constipation. From there we get into formation and begin our morning physical training regimen.

  There is a silent somber air that settles over us, as no one says a word all morning. Even DI Wagner is unusually quiet throughout the whole process. The whole time I can feel everyone's eyes piercing my back, as if I am some type of monster. Perhaps I am, perhaps I am. How do I feel about that? I don't really know.

 I didn't use any powers, well aside from healing. So I at least have that going for me.