I was walking to the subway station from work. Washington DC in July was miserably hot and humid. I was sweating through my new work dress and checking to see if I had enough cash in my purse for a cold drink at the 7-11. Just as I walked by, I heard the gunshot and froze.
The door to the convenience store flew open and a man pushed out of the doorway holding a struggling girl by the throat in one hand and a gun in his other hand. He was massive, over six feet tall and broad across the shoulders, wearing bright red chest armor and matching cargo pants. Dirty blonde hair was spiked in a mohawk. His tattooed arms were bare except for thick black metal bracers on his forearms. He had on a wireless headset. The girl held in his left hand couldn't have been more than 10 and she was crying and red faced from being choked. Her tiny hands clutched at the man’s arms and her legs kicked out frantically, trying to keep from being strangled.
“Out of the way,” he bellowed, firing the gun at a man next me who had started forward. The man crumpled, shot in the leg. The crowd backed away, as the man on the ground screamed. Dragging the girl to a blue pickup truck double parked by the curb, the man tossed her over the lip of the truck bed and vaulted in behind her. I could hear police sirens in the distance, but the truck was revving up to go.
As it roared away from the curb, I felt a chill and a shudder wracked my body. That girl was just like my daughter, I could hear her screams as the truck left. All my frustration and stress combined with the violence of the gunman and the fear of the girl broke drove deep into my soul and woke something in me. A flash of pain like lightning went through my bones and I screamed. My vision sharpened and a painful heat rolled over my body in the wake of the earlier lighting strike. I took off running after the truck.
I’d always liked running. My favorite was trail running. Being surrounded by trees and the soft loam under my feet put me in a kind of trance. But I was no speed demon, at best I was a reasonable endurance runner, able to manage ten miles at a time. But as I lunged into a run, the pavement rushed under me and my breath gusted trying to keep up. At first the villain didn't notice me, but as the police cars rounded the corner and started the pursuit behind us, he looked back and saw me. I was keeping up, almost close enough that I thought I could leap into the truck bed with him. Swearing and shooting an evil grin at me, he shoved his gun into his waistband and took a knee in the truck bed, bracing himself.
Pulling his shoulders back and stretching his arms straight out in front of him, his bracers lit up with yellow light.
“Shock wave!” he yelled. A concussive wave of air and electricity rolled towards me in a tight cone. With my enhanced vision I could just barely detect the edges of the attack, and I leapt. I almost cleared the focused blast, but it clipped my feet. I tumbled head over heels in mid air, the world spinning around me. But somehow I knew where the ground would be and landed in a crouch, scraping my hands against the pavement to redirect my rolling momentum. Using it, I shot forward again in a sprint and kept chasing. I couldn't see the girl, but I could sense, even smell her, a hot, sour ball of fear ahead of me. I knew I could find her anywhere.
Quickly the villain reached down and grabbed the girl again, and pointed the gun at her head. They both were jerking wildly with the movements of the truck, but I knew he meant business. He had a sick but serious smirk on his face. I could scent excitement and adrenaline on him. This girl's life meant nothing to him.
“Get back bitch! I’ll shoot her right now!” I slowed slightly, unsure what to do and my acrobatics catching up with me, breath heaving and palms burning. The truck suddenly slid sideways and came to a halt with screeching tires and smoke. As I slowed I could see the police had cut the criminals off, barricading the road ahead.
The criminal bellowed and beat the side of the truck with his fists. He had dropped the girl again.
“Get ready Drift”
He stood again one leg braced back and faced the blockade. I saw him draw back and electricity danced from his shoulders wrapping around his forearms and fists. He threw his hands out again, this time towards the police cruisers. The force of the blast threw cars down the street, and left officers seizing on the ground. Now there was just enough room for the truck to escape, if they didn't mind running over the cops.
He knelt back down again in the truck bed, braced against the cab, and drew his gun again, pointing it into the truck bed. “Try to stop me and I will shoot the kid.”
The truck lurched forward to make a break through the gap in the cruisers. The villain fell forward, catching himself on the edge of the truck. The gun went off. I was moving before any thought, feeling like I was flying. A dead sprint across 100 feet of pavement and a leap into the bed.
My vision went dark around the edges. I glimpsed the girl looking up at me, torn between relief and horror, a wound leaking blood on her arm. I remember seeing the face of the man holding the gun, eyes wide in shock as I lunged towards him, baring my teeth. The last thing I remember was grabbing the man with razor claws. Then nothing.
I woke up in some kind of medical facility. I felt groggy and my mouth was dry. My head hurt and I was exhausted and terribly hungry. There was a terrible itchy feeling on my face and my fingers. I tried to reach my hand up to scratch, but found myself with my hands bound to the sides of a hospital bed. I struggled. Why was I here?
“Hello? What’s going on? Hello?” Nobody was coming in the door and I started panicking. I could smell chemicals, bleach and the cool dry scent of air conditioned buildings. I could smell my own fearful sweat. I thought, maybe there had been a few people in the room recently. But the restraints and unfamiliar surroundings made me angry. The itchy feeling in my fingers and face turned into burning. Someone was growling…. I was growling. I lifted my head to look at my hands. I had claws, dark purple claws growing from my fingertips. I could feel my jaw changing, my teeth getting sharper. My heart was going 100 miles an hour. My growl changed into a high whine, and then an howl.
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A man in a lab coat rushed in the door, wide eyes on me and a syringe in his hands. He fumbled to inject it into the IV I hadn't noticed before.
“Just calm down Mrs. Chapman. This should help.” He took a couple of steps back, watching me warily. “The Capital Group rep should be here any minute.”
I could feel a cool wave slowing my heart, and the panic seemed to recede, but not disappear. I stopped struggling. But my changes stayed. I tried speaking, but tripped over my new jaw shape and teeth.
“What. Happened?” It came out with a growl and more like a demand than a question. I met the guy's eyes, hoping to convey my confusion, but once we locked eyes, I could feel some instinct rise. MY eyes sharpened and I felt like my gaze was boring into his soul. He dropped his gaze to the floor and I relaxed.
“You, umm, you attacked a man today, in the street. The police tased you.”
Another man barged into the room.
“Shut up Manson. Wait until the rep and cops get here.” The new man glanced at me , then away with a shudder. Another whine came from me, high and pitiful. I turned my head away from the one called Mason and the new guy. I could hear him dragging Mason out of the room.
Once they were gone, I tried to figure out where I was. It looked like some kind of medical facility. The small room had just the bed, my IV pole and a counter with a sink and some drawers. There were two video cameras in the corners, and no windows.
I felt some of my panic come back. I took a deep breath, trying to find some calm and as I practiced some deep breathing, I noticed smells I thought might be people; Mason, the other guy and maybe other people. What was happening? Some time passed as I kept focusing on breathing. I began to feel like my claws might be receding, and my teeth coming back to normal.
Then I heard the click of the lock and the sound of the door opening. Instantly my fingertips and jaw were stinging. I jerked at the cuffs, the feeling of being trapped and helpless fighting whatever drug Mason had given me. The growl began to rumble in my chest and my eyes narrowed. I felt like a stranger in my own body. I didn't understand what was happening and I couldn't seem to stop it either.
Three people entered the room, making it crowded, given how small the room was.
“Mrs. Chapman, my name is Detective Parsons, Metro PD. I am here to ask you some questions related to the robbery and attack this afternoon.” The man had stopped only a few steps from the door. He was business casual in the white button up and gray slacks, a badge hooked over his belt and side arm in a shoulder holster.
But the two other people approached me, coming right up to the bed. I started to snarl, but it turned into a whine when I caught the look in the woman’s face. She was clearly a hero, the Agency logo on her shoulder, wearing a soft white chongsam and large glasses with deep blue lenses. Something about her gaze calmed me.The man next to her was huge, over six feet tall. He had iridescent veins webbing his skin and was wearing navy blue BDUs and a white shirt with a sword belt crossing his chest and a hilt above his left shoulder, with the Agency logo embossed on the sword belt.
“Shut it Parsons. She doesn't have to talk here, she gets an Agency rep and lawyer before she says anything.” The big man interrupted harshly. “Get her out of these restraints and find her some shoes. We are taking her to HQ.”
The woman chimed in a more conciliatory, but still firm. “We told you on the phone and I handed you the paperwork. She is coming with us under Section 51. Questioning her without reps puts your department in a bad place.“ A faint accent tinged her English, maybe Russian?
“Mrs Chapman, you don't have to go with the Agency reps. You can choose to remain here with the PD. We will care for you until you can be released.” Parsons told me, almost pleading with me. But I could scent something bitter, anger or frustration on him.
All I could do was whine.
“She can’t even talk, Fox. I think you should leave her with us until she can consent., ” the detective demanded.
“We don't need consent with a 51 and you know it, but that’s why HQ sent ZM along. Do your thing,” he demanded, nodding at the woman. She glared at him, but then leaned over to touch my arm. I was helpless and my growl rose, my teeth lengthening further. She paused, smiling gently.
“My quirk will calm you. If you look into my eyes, after a few moments your quirk should recede and you should be able to speak again. We think it’s triggered by high emotion.”
God it would be good to be able to talk! I nodded, though the growl wouldn't go away. She moved slowly and lowered her glasses. I could see a swirl of blue light in her eyes. I felt her hand wrap around my wrist. She smelled cold, like a snowy day and like jasmine. I could feel my anxiety flow into her, first slowly, then like a river. She began to shake, her face flushing and breathing turned into panting. The man grabbed her hand, jerking her away and our gaze broke.
“That's enough, she’s changing.” I was changing, I could feel the itching and burning in my hands and face. I stopped growling and the tunnel vision dissipated.
“Can you talk now?” the man demanded gruffly.
“Yes,” I croaked, my voice dry and scratchy from the growling and a serious thirst. “What’s going on? Why am I here?” The woman, ZM, got a glass of water.
“Uncuff her so she can drink.” The detective tossed the big man a set of keys, and the Agency man unlocked the cuffs. I sat up slowly, noticing for the first time I was not in my own clothes, but a set of green scrubs. I reached for the water and took small sips until it was gone.
“We’ll talk about it on the way to HQ, but you manifested an unregistered quirk during a car chase this afternoon. No need to give the PD anything more right now. We have filed the paperwork to take you into protective custody of the Agency, Capital Group, pending identification of your unregistered quirk. The PD can’t help you with your quirk, just keep you sedated. We can help.”
My quirk was finding lost objects, like my Mom’s. It was a simple and common quirk. I had basic ethics and quirk training in school. I did not shape change, and from the fearful looks the medical staff and the cop was giving me, something terrible had happened. I definitely did not want to be sedated.
“I’ll go with you,” I said as I slid out of bed. I stumbled, unsteady from the sedative probably. The man caught my elbow to steady me. He smelled like mint and sunshine on grass. I leaned on him.
And that’s how I came to be walking barefoot out of the Metro PD holding facility with two heroes and headed to the prestigious Capital HQ.