I blink my eyes awake.

Damn. I fell asleep.

I don't need it, on account of Sleep Immunity, but my one-night-stand with death still makes me feel nice. It's mostly a psychological thing.

I peel my mask off of my face. I sniff my hero/biker suit, finding it in desperate need of being launched into laundry. Walking into the bathroom, I pull the earpiece out of the mask with a small click. My short glance into the mirror turns into a stare as I see the aftereffects of my mask-sleep.

A nice, red oval outlines my face. Ugh. Explains the face tingles.

I turn my shower to the hottest setting available. The head spurts to life as the subpar plumbing of the subpar apartment complex is used for the first major time today. I undress, peeling and dropping each piece of clothing.

Something…goopy came out of my tail. It smells sweet, but, knowing New York, it could be anything. Especially since I went to a school yesterday. I mean, yes, a private school, but repressed kids are a prime target for…that stuff.

"Aria," I prompt, stepping into the lukewarm water. "I think I might need a new outfit."

"Do you not like it?"

"No, no. It's fine…" I trail off, choosing my words very carefully. "It's just…not me. I want to be there for my next one, if I get a next one. More input and individuality. I'm fine with leather. Mostly. But I just don't like the biker image."

"Hmm. I'll forward it to my dad."

"I'm kinda a cross between a brawler, mage, psychic, and…something stealthy, I guess. Mostly an all-rounder."

"There are heroes and villains with a much more diverse, and just as proportional, worse set of skills. Do not worry. I'll also be the one to tell you: Thomas skimped on your outfit."

"What?!" This is what I'm using to defend my life! It's important that it works!

"Calm down," Aria chides me. "The whole suit still costs two and a half million dollars." I eye the crumpled suit laying on the floor. "And it still can take enough pierce from a bullet to not kill you. My dad was putting you through a sort of trial; he wasn't fully trusting of giving you technology if you were to die."

"That's nice to know," I say while not letting anything into my voice suggesting fear. No, I did not toss a semi-annual's worth of rent on the floor casually.

"Just to note: the sensors—primarily cameras—in the mask are still active. I saw what you did with the outfit."

I freeze, slowly turning to the mask resting on my sink.

"Don't be afraid. It can take a little bit of floor. It's been flung to it with you inside."

I ignore her and turn to brushing crude oil out of my tail. It slick and sticky at the same time. I'll need to use the special shampoo and conditioner for my fur. Just for today.

"It's washing machine safe, but it will have to be air dried."

I stare at the wall, letting the water wash over me.

"Your breasts are also quite well-endowed," Aria comments with a little flirtatiousness in her voice. Modulated, at least. With my patience far from reaching its limit but still strained, I take out the earpiece and toss it next to the mask.

"Your ass is nice, too." Her faint voice echoes from the earpiece in the empty bathroom, despite the shower.

————————————————————————————————————

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

One long drying, combing, and laundry process later, and I'm standing on the front porch of the apartment complex.

Even with Perception Filter, I still have some loathing feelings for the subway.

"Aria, can you call a taxi?"

"Of course." I stand there, slightly awkwardly in my washed, and still damp, hero suit. Faint screeches and the roar of a crappy engine being pushed way above its limit fill my ears, signifying the arrival of the car.

A beat-up, mustard-yellow, taxi slowly coddles along the street towards me, contrasting to its blatant road violations to anybody with ears. No driver, huh. One of those semi-automated cars.

"Where to?" A gruff voice radios across the speaker once I enter. I don't even say a word as Aria gives the drone operator the school's address. "Alright, but that's all the way across town. It'll cost a sum."

"It's paid for," Aria says through my mask, mimicking my own voice. I didn't even know she could do that.

"Mmm." The car starts moving, plodding along at an abysmal pace. "Come on, you hunk of junk!"

*Bang!* A plume of black smoke bursts out of the tailpipe, and we begin picking up speed.

This was a mistake.

————————————————————————————————————

I had forgotten how boring school was.

I wasn't the most studious. Actually, I passed with A's and high B's, so that's a slight lie, but I didn't care for school.

Listening to the teacher lecture out of her book for the third time today, the bell finally—finally rings, giving me such a short reprise between the classes.

It's an English teacher.

The students hastily pack up their bags and cram their way into the halls. If I remember, the state governor mandated more time between classes recently, to give students some space, but they just kept rushing to their next class. I wonder if he knows about that.

The students that had sat in the seat were…not the types to be in desperate need of therapy. A jock obviously flaunting his cheerleader girlfriend like it's some movie. A kid that pathologically lies to sound cooler. A girl that needs to learn what breath mints are. Just normal stuff.

The last of the students pile in, sans the observed seat. Right as the bell rings, a kid jumps through the door, smacking into the wall, and sending papers flying from his backpack.

The kids been snickering at his…acrobatic non-capabilities. He glares at each of them in passing. In fact, one of the girls says, "Eww. Stop looking at me, Jared."

That's a cursed name. Doesn't exactly have the best connotation given events of centuries past. Before the seventeenth World War—before even the third, the Technological Regression, and Great Economic Deflation—a Subway spokesperson decided to get in some really small pants.

I only remember those select few history lessons 'cause the teacher made them interesting. Otherwise I was reading some biology book on creature variants I found in the library depths.

…Damn it. I was a nerd.

Back to the bullied kid, he sits back down while mumbling something about them getting what they deserve. His words, not mine.

Yeah, this is my guy.

I toggle the mask speaker off and say, "Aria, do we have anyway of apprehending this kid?"

"Not at the moment, no. Thomas is working on it right now, and besides, you have no physical evidence. The one person working at the Hero's CSI lab is loaded with other cases. Yours will take time. Might I suggest collecting other evidence? Maybe what that secretary was doing?"

"Yeah, alright." I leave the classroom, putting a pin in it on my Map for later.

I pass a math class. I think they're talking about soh cat toa? Yeah, trig. Nasty stuff, but you get used to it. I took a shine to math. Sucked at English, though.

Probably how I ended up as an accountant, tucked away in the corner. Keeping the company's branch in the black. I wonder what's happened since I left. I mean, I can easily sneak in now. On the other hand, I'd rather not see Creech.

I slip into the front office as a student walks out. He's furious about something, but I can't tell what… I'll deal with it later.

The secretary is doing secretary stuff. Forwarding phone calls, being the intermediary between parent and staff, the package router for information in the school.

I'm just kidding. She's sitting with her hands in her lap, staring straight at the opposing door to the outside world. With her eyes glazed over, I would assume she's dead if not for the rising and falling of her chest.

Her mind is something else. She's actually just sitting in seething rage, ready to snap at the first person to talk to her.

"Hey, Susan," a random administrator guy walks up and greets her. Neck audibly snapping as the receptionist, Susan, turns to the guy, he, and I, make the tact decision to back off.

Right, she probably won't be cooperative. An idea is forming in my head, mainly Psychic stuff, and it'll probably be a major basic right violation. Like, Fourth Amendment of the Bill of Rights violation.

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

The Fourth Amendment, verbatim. Rooting around in her mind would be an unreasonable search violating her person. I doubt I could support it in court if I said it was for an investigation.

Actually…I might need to request some past court cases the guild has been involved in. I really want to know how much power we have. Most details are kept secret from the public, but all we know is that they have a lot of permissions.

If I could…coerce her into telling me…then…

Fuck it. Ethics can go to hell. I'm not going to let another kid get assaulted.

I connect to her mind and vet through her short-term. I brute-force my way into her subconscious. Now, this is where things get theoretical. Clairvoyance is a two-way street with minds, but it's been effective for me to use Psychic-based skills in my mind.

So, I must be able to use them in other minds, right? Then…what if I tried to make a subroutine in somebody else's mind. Could I just…make the mind prioritize my command over what they think? It's against the definition of a subroutine, probably, but it's worth a try.

The familiar tingle of Subroutine Synapses prods at the back of my head. I grip that feeling and chuck it down the tether between the receptionist and me.

I create a rudimentary command. 'Answer my questions truthfully without any sass.' She shivers, struggling against my weighted words.

The part of me that wants to avoid going to court contemplates stopping here and finding another way.

The part of me that wants children to not be in a dangerous environment contemplates making a subroutine to delete the other part.

The final part of me, Me, contemplates a compromise between the two. I'll make a list of exceptions that, in the event that they are true, the ethical part of my brain will be shut down, and reactivate once the emergency is over.

I'll talk with Thomas on working out any code-like parts for that. He'll probably have some insight for me, like, 'Don't erase your moral code!'

Something like that.

Susan relaxes, signaling that I was successful. However, before I dispel the Filter and begin interrogations, I open up my two new notifications.

[ Through exemplary actions you have unlocked the skill: Synaptic Coercion(Minimum, Active) ]

[ Synaptic Coercion — Allows the user to coerce a target into following the user's will. Coercions can be broken by heavy physical or mental trauma, a stronger Psychic Affinity, or by issuing a command that the user would never comply towards. ]

I'll…have to remember to remove my command.