SuperHero

“Come on! Concentrate!” Dr. Delacroix's voice had turned shrill and impatient over the course of the past two hours. I couldn't be certain if her frustration was because of me, or something else entirely, but either way, she was starting to get on my nerves. My head was throbbing with the worst migraine I'd ever felt, but the doctor was still pushing me.

“I've been doing this for hours!” I shouted at her, dropping my arm and subsequently letting the junk car I'd been flying through the air slam into the ground with a horrendous screech of tearing metal. I cringed and covered my ears, my head feeling so fuzzy and mangled that I could barely keep my eyes open.

“My son could do this all day when he was seven years old.”

Dr. Delacroix came up to me, the noise of her heels sharp and biting on the scuffed linoleum, and lifted both of my arms up herself. I gritted my teeth together, trying to hold strong and resist the urge to wipe the sweat from my face.

I stared at the balled-up scrap of metal that used to be a car as I clenched the muscles in my arms and furrowed my brow in heavy concentration. Holding my arms up like a stage magician was unnecessary to use my powers, but I found that it made it easier to focus. My hand gave my mind an anchor to the object I wanted to move—or more technically speaking, the area where I wanted to create magnetic fields.

A weak current buzzed through my head. With a protesting squeal, the car lifted off the ground once again, but I apparently had pushed too hard. It zipped through the air—almost too fast for me to see—until it slammed into the far wall. My ears rang from the noise of the crash.

“Why is this so hard to control?” I demanded, dropping my arms and glaring at the woman. “Hero can do it perfectly!”

Dr. Delacroix sighed and rubbed her temple. “Version 2.0 uses brainwaves and neural impulses much more efficiently than the prototype version Hero has,” Dr. Delacroix explained as she leaned against the nearly invisible, glass barrier behind me. “It creates magnetic fields faster. Your brain can't keep up. This is completely normal—”

“What do you mean my brain can't keep up?” I cried in horror. My voice echoed through the empty room.

“Elena, you just had brain surgery nearly two weeks ago, and this is your first time using SuperHero tech,” Dr. Delacroix said in a scolding tone. “Of course you'll have trouble with it. All you need is practice and time to get used to it.”

“Can I at least take a break?” I asked, falling back against the wall, next to the doctor. I looked over at her and cringed when I met her glare. She pulled back the sleeve of her lab coat to reveal something strapped on her wrist. It looked like a tiny computer screen, no bigger than the face of a watch. The doctor pointed to it, and it lit up.

“I'm monitoring your brainwaves, and you're nowhere near your limit,” she said. “Stop whining and keep practicing. You were the one that wanted this tech in you. I thought you'd be more diligent than this.” She pursed her lips together, and let out a sharp breath. “You of all people should understand why Hero needs to be stopped as soon as possible. The more time we waste training you, the more damage he'll do.”

That hit a nerve.

I didn't know where I got the self-control not to slap this woman across the face for badmouthing my Hero like that. Damon was the one doing the damage. Hero was trying to stop him. I didn't know where the doctor got her news from, but obviously, she'd been misinformed.

Somehow, I forced an stone-hard expression on my face. “Can I have some food, first?” I asked.

Dr. Delacroix sighed. She reached into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out a large chocolate bar. “Hurry up and eat. Then get back to work.”

I took the bar and ripped off the wrapping. Almost immediately after shoving half of it into my mouth, my head felt a little clearer. Whoever said sugar was bad for you was highly mistaken.

As I ate, the doctor watched me with a critical eye. She glanced down at the monitor on her wrist before locking her eyes to me again.

“Elena, I'm sure you remember our deal. I got you the operation, now you need to tell me where Hero is.”

I choked.

I coughed hard to get the chunk of chocolate out of my airway, and once it was out, I just stared at the doctor. I'd known this was coming, but I hadn't expected her to ask so soon.

“He's in Territory 63,” I said, hoping the doctor wasn't good at catching lies.

“63? I never would've thought to look in a Territory that hasn't existed for nearly a decade.” The corner of her lips tugged up, and her eyes sparked behind the thick lens of her glasses. “Territory 63 was a failure, ravaged by internal rebellions, and it was destroyed years ago. Now, it's just a dead zone. Surely you'd know that if you've been living with Hero all this time.”

Shit.

“So why would you lie to me?” she mused, placing her hands on her hips and staring me down, waiting for an answer she knew I couldn't give.

“I . . .” I clamped my mouth shut.

“I knew it was too good to be true.”

She touched the screen of the monitor on her wrist, and it lit up with a brilliant glow that sent shivers through me. My head pulsed, and I grabbed it.

“Every girl that falls in love with him always ends up the same. I was hoping you'd be different, but I guess his psychopathy is too potent.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, taking a step away from her. For a moment, her expression was as terrifying as Hero's had been when he'd kicked me out.

“Psychopaths manipulate your emotions so well that you aren't even aware that they're doing it. If he wants to sleep with a girl, he'll get her to come to him within minutes because he knows exactly what to say. He's so good at it, that no one ever wants to believe what a monster he is, no matter how much he hurts them.”

I glared at her with so much loathing and hate that I could feel waves of anger rippling through me; I was shaking.

“Shut up. . . .” I growled, clenching my teeth in an effort to keep from screaming at her.

“He doesn't love you, Elena!” She frowned, staring at me with such intensity that it made me uncomfortable. “Psychopaths are unable truly love anyone but themselves. You still don't believe me, and I don't think you ever will. You'll always love him because he pretended to be the perfect man for you, and now nothing else will ever be as good.”

“Shut up!”

“This is what my son does. He destroys innocent people and leaves them to rot.”

The only time I ever remembered being this angry was when I last saw Sera mutilated and dying. The only difference was that this time, the person I was furious at was standing right in front of me.

And we were alone.

I let my anger flow through me unhinged. It controlled my mind—and the technology inside of it. Dr. Delacroix rose into the air, but she just stared calmly back at me, her head held high and proud.

“Kill me if you want. I deserve to die for creating Hero.” Her eyes were so deep, so wise. “Did you really think that after Hero betrayed us, we'd give someone this ability without being able to take it away?” She touched her computer again.

Right when it flashed, Dr. Delacroix's skull shattered as I whipped her against the glass wall.

I stared down at my hand, which buzzed with the after effects of the shock. Everything seemed to turn brighter and warmer.

Power. I had unimaginable power. No longer was I a weak slave who couldn't fend for herself. I could find Damon and kill him, and I could finally avenge Sera. I could make him and the entire Army suffer for enslaving me for so long, for destroying my life and making me live a nightmare.

I started running. Even my footsteps were full of strength, of will that hadn't been there before. Their noise was not meek and aimless as it echoed off the walls. Rather, they were filled with purpose and determination, ringing through the air like a hum of energy. Each step was like the cracking of a whip, leaving a sting on the world. That rabid dog couldn't hurt me any more; now, I could bite back twice as hard.

Upon reaching the door, I flung it open and came into the hallway of Dr. Delacroix's office. The old receptionist was typing away at her computer, and the screen flashed brilliant colors onto her face. The light in her eyes seemed to turn back her time, making her look years younger and full of life. Or maybe I was just projecting.

When she saw me dash out of the training room, her eyes suddenly turned inky black as the lights on the screen dimmed. Without paying too much more attention to her, I headed for the exit, but she spoke.

“Don't think you can escape.”

I turned to her, nearly fumbling over my own feet. Ignoring her seemed like the best thing to do, so I grabbed onto the handle of the door to the waiting room.

The old woman smiled.

The instant I touched the metal handle, electricity shot through my arm. This pain was unlike anything I'd ever felt. It wasn't my flesh that had bruised as if I'd fallen. Bruising didn't send fire coursing through my body and numbing it until my brain overloaded with agony.

I collapsed, shaking from the shock I'd just received. The creak of a chair somehow reached me as the old woman stood up, her joints cracking in the process. She scuttled over to me. I blinked, trying to see through the water in my eyes, but I what I saw terrified me.

The old woman was carrying handcuffs. She was going to chain me up.

No, that was impossible. I couldn't lose my freedom again.

“I'm sorry it had to come to this,” she said through thin lips.

I couldn't lose it again.

She crouched down and grabbed my wrists.

No, no, no, no, no! Please, no!

I started thinking. Thinking through the pain, through the wounds of my body. I was stronger than this, than her, than pain. I had power, and I could change the world with it. If she shackled me, I'd become nothing again. I couldn't be nothing.

I had to be stronger than the pain.

My vision blurred, but I still comprehended the old woman falling to her knees. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets. She tried to say something, to scream, but only a weak, “Ah,” made it out of her mouth—along with a trickle of blood. She fell over, her eyes still staring straight ahead, wider than eyes should've ever gone.

I let out a yell of agony, clutching my head; it felt like my brain was being grated from inside. Whatever that shock had done, apparently I couldn't even drive a pencil into the woman's heart without getting a migraine.

The pain was so unbearable now that I couldn't tell which was was up or down. I rolled around uselessly, trying to find my knees so I could bring them to my chest and curl into a ball.

It hurt. . . .

Everything hurt!

I vomited, and the bile burned my throat, only adding to the agony.

I wasn't sure how long it lasted—it felt like hours, though it probably only lasted a few minutes—but when the fog in my head began to clear, I was dripping sweat and gasping for breath.

I have to get out of here, I thought as I touched my palms flat against the floor. Hero. . . . I have to find Hero!

It took me a while to reorient myself again. When I finally found the receptionist's desk, I tried grabbing onto the edge, but my hands slipped off from the sweat that slicked them. Gasping, I wiped them against my shirt, but my head pounded so hard that I had to wince and squeeze my eyes shut for a moment.

I was about to reach for the edge of the desk again, but my hand hit something. I looked down and saw the half-uneaten chocolate bar Dr. Delacroix had given me. A few pieces had crumbled off, but a good chunk of it was still in tact. I must have still been holding onto it without realizing. Like a starving dog, I scrambled for it and shoved it into my mouth, chewing quickly. It helped a little—not a cure-all, but enough to let me grab the desk and pull myself to my feet.

As I ate, I stared down at the corpse of the old woman, disgust bubbling in my stomach. How had she known? Had Dr. Delacroix somehow relayed my disloyalty to her? She'd been doing something on my brain monitor right before I killed her.

Killed . . . her.

I'd just killed two people.

What was I doing? How could I become a heartless killer like this? Did that make me no better than the Army, people who killed others to higher themselves and fuel their own corrupt ambitions?

No, that's where I could never be like the Army, like Damon. They were corrupt. They destroyed the world, ruined so many lives. Yes, I had killed two people, but they were fighting for the wrong side, fighting for corruption. They stood in the way of freedom, of the world I'd known as a child, and that meant they couldn't be allowed to live. If the world was going to be reborn, they had to die. It was as simple as that.

At least, that's what I tried to convince myself of.

Come on, Elena! Don't waste time moping about things that have already been done. Stop thinking about the past and focus on the future.

Focus on a free world.

I climbed onto the desk and looked into the waiting room. Thankfully, it was empty, so no one would've heard or seen what I'd just done. Taking a deep breath, I slid off the desk and into the waiting room. I looked at the door at the far end of the area, but I didn't want to get shocked again. The only way through would be to break it down.

I stuck out my hand and found the biggest thing in the room—the old woman's desk. With a flick of my wrist, it rose into the air with an ancient creek. I stepped aside so I wouldn't be in its way, and I slowly moved my arm. The desk followed obediently, though it wobbled a bit. I gulped in as much air as could fit in my lungs, but the desk dropped an inch.

Shoot!

Losing my concentration, I thrust with my mind in the direction of the door to the waiting room. The desk—computer and all—went sailing through the air and crashed into the door so hard that it ripped it from its hinges. I winced. I was going to go deaf if I kept this up.

It appeared as if my brain had gotten over the shock, and I could use my powers normally again. My control wasn't much better, but I didn't have to be too precise to make a hole in the wall. I ran to the self-created exit, but people in the distance started shouting.

Just as I was about to run, a stream of men and women dashed down the hallway to see what was going on. Some of them looked to be doctors or scientists from their white lab coats, but the others, I wasn't too sure of, nor did I care right now. All I could think about was escape. Adrenaline started kicking in, and my feet moved faster than my mind could keep up, as if I were on autopilot. I sprinted in the opposite direction of the mob coming at me, and they began yelling at me to stop. By no means did I try to hide the fact that I wasn't on their side.

After exploring this wing of the building for a week while I healed, I'd figured out my way around. I went turned into a small corridor, I emerged to the core of the building. Hero had brought me here before—this empty, circular space cut from the heart of the skyscraper.

I grabbed onto the railing at the far end of the ledge, and I looked out into the same, vast expanse of lights circling around and around until they reached a speck in the heavens. There was my means of escape.

My heart pounding at what I was about to do left my chest numb, but I still climbed onto the railing and crouched with both my hands and my feet on it.

Don't be afraid.

Concentrating on my feet, I thought about floating on the clouds and that feeling of elation I'd had when Hero would lift me off the ground.

Fly!

I pushed off the railing and leapt into open air.

A cushion of magnetic fields formed around me, and I grinned as I floated one story up. I was . . . flying. All by myself.

The lights around me started to blur as I moved faster and faster. I pushed with all my might, and I shot up so quickly that I screamed with fright and exhilaration as I cut through the air like a knife. Wind slammed into me, going through my body and chilling me to my very bones, but it made me more awake, more alive than I'd ever been. I was flying!

I was really flying—

A burst of electricity sparked through my head, a pain so immense that I lost control of myself and started dropping.

What's happening? I squeezed my eyes tight and touched the tips of my fingers to my temples, willing another magnetic field out. I stopped falling for a split second, but the field dissipated. I tried again, but nothing happened.

Come on! Fly!

Nothing.

Then I remembered Dr. Delacroix's last words: “Did you really think after Hero we'd give someone this ability without being able to take it away?”

My powers. . . . She'd taken away my powers.