It Just Doesn't Matter
By: Camospam
A Whateley Universe Adventure featuring Outlook and friends.
The Tunnels, Whateley Academy.
“You wanna play a game?”
It took a second for Cameron to realize that someone was standing close by, and taking to him. He’d been so intently focused internally that he’d become disconnected to the outside world.
It meant he felt safe, to deep dive with around other people.
But Tricia stood over his shoulder waiting for an answer – to a question Cameron hadn’t heard.
“Sorry, what did you ask me?”
“We’re gonna play a game – you interested?” Tricia pointed to some members of Northern Lites sitting together around a table. Hyperbowl – the team’s clubhouse, had plenty of space for group activities, including a good selection of board games – if not somewhat dated from back in the seventies.
It was tempting to spend more time with his friends, but he’d found a problem with his red energy balls, if they gathered too much energy; turning from red to yellow – they became unstable and could explode. Which meant they could first off; take too much energy from out of a person, and second; explode while attached to someone. Neither of those situations was ideal, and why Cameron was looking for a solution.
“I can’t right now, I need to fix a problem I created.” Explained Cameron. His test at the firing range had resulted in an explosion that left a ten-foot-deep crater and rent a target practice jeep into a slag heap of twisted metal. So, yeah – a problem.
“Okay.” Said Tricia in a defeated – deflated way.
Cameron hated to disappoint, it’s why he tried so hard to make everyone happy, but his issue with the red energy balls took precedent – even if nobody else thought so.
Back at the table, the game had been set up: ‘The Game of Life’, it seemed simple enough, each player’s game piece consisted of a little plastic car that as you went through the game it filled up with more little people.
At the table sat Timothy, Charlotte, and Ro. Now with Tricia - they could get down to the serious business of having some fun. As one might expect, there was the usual joking and jostling among the friends, when the little cars landed on the space to add a marriage mate into the game, it of course elicited comments of ’who are you gonna marry?’ Certainly, asked as lighthearted ribbing, but a serious topic for youths growing into adulthood.
There was a buzzing in Cameron’s ear, very much like the sound when a mosquito is circling your head looking for a prime place to feast upon. But unlike that kind of pest which can be swatted, this buzz was Rachelle’s psychic method to get Cameron’s attention: an annoyance that couldn’t be ignored.
Psychic intrusion is a mutant ability which relies upon an energy alignment, so a psychic can match another person’s mind, thereby reading it. While Cameron could block an intrusion, he left a backdoor open for Rachelle, ever since it was the way the Northern Lites team communicated.
Cameron eased up his mental blocks thereby granting Rachelle full access, to then give a mental greeting: "Hi Rach, what’s up?"
"Security has taken Lynn to Kane Hall; she’s been in a fight." It wasn’t a yell, but the psychic equivalent to being stressed, Rachelle was agitated, understandably so. Rachelle was very protective of her friends and family – which pretty much described all the members of Northern Lites.
"Oye!" Summed up Cameron’s feelings about dealing with Whateley Security, not dreadful but not pleasant either. From appearances their approach was: everyone’s guilty, even if proven innocent. No wonder Rachelle reached out to him, he just wasn’t sure what he could do to help, but help he would.
"Anyone hurt?" sought Cameron, trying to determine if he should head to Doyle or Kane Hall first.
Overall, it was a reasonable question to ask. Lynn wasn’t an angel, she had a short fuse, and a hot temper to boot at times. But she had a really good handle on herself - and the situations around her, mostly. Getting into fights wasn’t Lynn’s style – something must have set her off, for her to take the gloves off, or was that throwing the hammer down?
Why did it always come down to sports metaphors?
Fortunately, Cameron didn’t need to contemplate long on what saying fit the situation best, Rachelle brought him back into focus.
"Lynn’s good. According to her: no-one needs to be hospitalized."
"Okay then. I’ll just be a couple minutes." confirmed Cameron.
Cameron curtailed working on his red ball problem. Originally, he’d been sitting in front of an art project Ms. Imp had assigned the art class, which he’d been avoiding in favour of the red ball problem
Art class had been dealing with making something to demonstrate movement, she’d used how in a comic the artist drew little lines around a character to illustrate the hero’s motion – along with tense muscles of course.
But it made a good point, how to show dynamic action in a stationary static form.
The artwork Cameron abandoned was a sculpture of a rainbow trout leaping out of the water as it climbed a cascading waterfall. The fish’s body twisted to infuse the scene with the effort it takes for a fish to jump out of the water, its scales glistening in the light which reflected the namesake rainbow of colour.
It would anyway, once finished. It had gone from being a simple art project to an emotional link to his mother, Mom had worked clay to make pottery bowls, cups or figurines. The exercise had been a trek down memory lane for Cameron, of good times spent watching her mom’s passion for art, his heart frayed while bound up in the exercise of making something his mother would be proud of.
Cameron left the fish sculpture sitting on a table in his office, enroute to going to Lynn’s aid.
A set of stairs from underground brought Cameron to the surface a short distance from Securities entrance into Kane Hall. Rachelle occupied a chair in the waiting area, a quick look around told Cameron that Lynn was in an interrogation chamber joined by another girl awaiting the inevitable browbeating. There was three people in the second isolation room being given the third degree.
Sitting beside Rachelle, Cameron asked: “What’s happening?”
“Security has put Lynn and her friend into a sweat box, everyone’s under the opinion that they started a fight which came to blows.” Rachelle’s narrative fit what Cameron saw. Lynn’s friend: a Were girl sharing training classes provided by the Medhiwla tribe. She shared some physical similarities with Lynn but wasn’t someone Cameron knew.
Sure, Cameron had observed this girl before in Crystal Hall, she had an energy halo like he’d associated with Devisors, but also the energy traits of a Were. So, taking Were training fit the picture. The girl beside Lynn had her head tipped back trying to staunch a nosebleed.
Cameron approached Securities front desk and asked permission to join the girls, under the pretext of providing first aid.
Being shown into the interview / interrogation room, Cameron greeted Lynn, to then approach her friend, saying: “Hi, I’m Cameron. Mind if I take a look at your nose?”
A quick glance, a huff of displeasure, then a begrudging nod of acceptance, followed by: “Paige”.
“A pleasure, I’m sure” offered Cameron as he took a deep dive to scan the girl’s nose.
“You have very complex blood vessels in your nasal cavity, typical of the heightened senses of Were. There’s a small rupture close to a major artery.” Informed Cameron, adding: “I’m here to help.”
Lynn provided a reassuring nod of her head, a visual cue that Cameron was okay. It lent credence that Paige could lower her guard - having this strange guy with shiny silver glasses taking so much interest in her.
The girl lowered her blood stained hand, clutching a soaked wad of tissues. A streak of blood ran down her face and dripped off her chin.
“Pardon me, if my observations are unsettling,” comforted Cameron as he moved from the side to deeply look frontally at her. “My guess is that you can detect scents beyond what most people do, not as well as a bloodhound perhaps, but better than most.”
The girl gave a minor nod of her head.
“That’s impressive, same as Lynn’s” noted Cameron.
“We’re related, in a convoluted sort of way,” Confided Paige. “Don’t ask.” She counselled.
“You had a single relatively small blood vessel leaking through a half centimeter long tear. I’ve sealed it up,” mentioned Cameron, handing her a coupe tissues “blow your nose to clear any remaining blood clots – don’t worry, it’s healed and shouldn’t bleed any further.”
She hesitated - but did as instructed, using the tissues to wipe her face as well.
“I would recommend you avoid fisticuffs in the future, your nose is very sensitive,” said Cameron, in a lighthearted – teasing manner.
“Trouble has a way of following me like a lost puppy.” Admitted Paige.
“Given Lynn’s aversion to dogs in general, I imagine it’s an undesirable situation for any Werecat.” Concluded Cameron.
The girl relinquished some details of events: “Some religious zealots tried to recruit me into their fold, apparently ‘No’ isn’t in their vocabulary.”
“Devotee’s of Reverand England?”
“You’ve had run-ins as well?”
“A few,” agreed Cameron. “Sadly, religious fever instills a righteous fury so that everyone else is wrong, but they can do wrong.”
“My sister is associated with the Catholic Church, so apparently that makes me fodder to be exploited.”
“A recipe for an emotional confrontation, I’m sure.” Deduced Cameron.
“Bingo.” Humoured Paige.
“And Lynn’s role?” sought Cameron to ease his greater concern.
“It was three against one, Lynn stepped in to even the odds.”
“She’s like that,” confirmed Cameron, to receive a derisive snort from his girlfriend as a show of her displeasure.
Cameron stood, facing the solid wall separating them from the trio in the next room. Cameron could see that of the three - one had an energy signature of a Regenerator – a pretty high level one at that, and he audibly groaned.
Turning to face the interrogation rooms glass wall, Cameron spoke to the observer behind it, saying: “Get in touch with Doyle,” pointing at the far wall, Cameron said: “the girl in pink needs medical attention, I hope I’m wrong, but it looks like regenerator cancer.”
The two girls looked shocked, it was bad news, that they’d fought would have exacerbated the condition, but not caused it. Still, such a serious diagnosis didn’t bode well.
“I’ll leave you two for now,” concluded Cameron, to add: “Rachelle and I will be waiting for you out front.”
Entering the waiting area Rachelle wrapped Cameron in a hug, her emotional investment had been nerve wracking, Cameron’s calm approach to the situation was a relief. The teammates engaged in small talk for the time it took for Whateley to finish its interrogation and handing out punishment.
When Lynn and Paige emerged, Rachelle pulled her friend into a long embrace. Paige looked shaken, so Cameron gave her a reassuring hug, at which she wept. Lynn wasn’t above getting hug from her betrothed too, so Cameron shared the emotional support he could give.
“You good?” he asked them both.
“We shovel snow off pathways for a week.” Informed Aware.
“Not too bad then,” agreed Cameron. “Would you like to head over to Crystal Hall?”
“Good idea, I’ll tell the team to meet us there,” instructed Rachelle.
Paige looked distraught, until Cameron asked: “You coming?”
“I’d better not,” Paige said, not cruelly, but scared by something as she looked around cautiously.
"Another time then.” Mentioned Cameron, diffusing the pressure his question had unintentionally brought.
The walk to Crystal wasn’t far, but Lynn made a point of keeping in step with Cameron.
“I was wondering,” he asked after a distance, “Are you close to Paige?”
“Paige Donner needs training to adapt to her Were form, she still fights trying to punch – instead of using claws. A common fallback when someone wasn’t raised being able to shift.” Explained Lynn as to why the girl had been included into her private sessions.
“I see.” agreed Cameron, to continue with: “I just hope she wasn’t targeted, because of her association to us.”
“I didn’t see any link,” added Lynn.
“My read on the situation didn’t reveal a deeper motive, but pawns are rarely privileged to know the whole story.” Advised Rachelle of her insights of recent events.
“Battle lines are being drawn, taking sides bears a great burden of responsibility, and blood guilt to answer for.” Muttered a deeply disturbed Cameron.
“When?” Rachelle’s question shocked all those in the group by her forwardness.
“Soon.” Responded Cameron, giving a huff of exasperation, “soon is all I know.”
Crystal Hall
Crystal Hall was a noisy affair, the geodesic dome had a propensity to refract sound back into the crowd, even when hardly anyone was there – it always sounded busy.
The majority of Northern Lites was already at their table, except Charlotte, she was talking with another young girl seated over at the Underdogs table. Taking up their usual places at the table, Cameron asked: “How did the game go?”
Timothy boasted: “I won.”
Tricia scoffed at that, saying: “cheaters never prosper.”
“I played by the same rules you did” defended Tim, offended by the insinuation.
“Then how come you traveled the board twice as fast anyone else?” decried Tricia.
“Better dice throwing technique” countered Tim.
“As if” huffed Tricia, “probably used loaded dice is more like it.”
“I’d never …” Tim’s reply was halted by an ”ahem” from his sister Charlotte to interrupt the scintillating exchange.
“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to my friend Jen, she’s in most of my classes.” Charlotte gestured to the girl standing at her side.
The shy girl stepped out of Charlottes shadow, saying “Jennifer – Gwynn.”
The girl was about the same age as Charlotte, still in junior high school. A brunette standing a touch over five feet tall, a little on the chunky side but that would change as she developed more in the coming years. What was most striking was her face, she had a distended nose – not quite a muzzle, but certainly a distraction.
A round of “hello’s” and “hi’s” got offered from around the table. The team as a whole recognized how difficult it was in a world filled by hatred towards anybody for being a mutant, to have a friend, someone to trust, it was a huge hurdle. So, for Charlotte’s sake, everyone made Jen feel welcome by introducing themselves. The nervous kid almost smiled, which had an odd effect on her face, but nobody said anything about it, she seemed like a good kid.
“Where are you from Jen?” asked Rachelle, as a Psychic she likely already knew, but it was a clever way to have the girl open-up some.
“I live in Coeur D’Alene Idaho, not all that far from the Canadian border. Charlotte told me you’re all from Canada.” Provided Jen.
“Pretty much,” concurred Rach. “Debbie comes from Rhode Island, and Tricia was raised in Wisconsin. But we don’t hold that against them.”
Lynn had been looking at the newcomer with a distant gaze, to then ask: “Jennifer Gwynn, did you know the MCO implanted a tracker into you?”
“No! Those asshats! How could they?” Flustered the girl, to look like a dog was one thing – to be treated as such was completely another.
“Hold still,” advised Cameron. He spotted the device under her skin in the small of her back, between her shoulder blades. He retrieved it, to then hold out to her a little metal container. “The tracker is inside, the containers metal shields it from sending out any signals. I recommend you notify Whateley Security about the MCO’s tracker; this school’s location is supposed to be kept secret.”
Jen took the metal box, bid goodbye, and headed out towards Kane Hall.
Charlotte watched her friend leave, saddened by events. “That was the last thing that poor girl needed.” Confided Char.
“Should you go with her?” suggested Tim
“She hates to impose, plus she hates how she looks, she’s got it bad.” Gave Charlotte as an insight. “I hope Security handles her with care.”
“We all do,” affirmed Rachelle.
Addressing Cameron, Charlotte asked: “Can you fix her?”
“Please define ‘fix’?” reeled Cameron at the implications of her request.
“You know! Her face,” came the reply to the most obvious question ever.
“Jen’s mutation has caused some extreme physical disfigurement. I could remove those changes, but not the mutation itself, when her mutation manifests again, she’ll undergo the same disfigurement – if not worse. I doubt she’d want to suffer that sort of pain again.”
“I guess your right, it’s just so sad.” Admitted Charlotte.
“The blame falls upon those who introduced the metagene into humans. It has caused much suffering to so many who did nothing wrong.” Said Cameron, in an effort to redirect fault from landing upon God’s shoulders, who most feel is responsible for the worlds sad state-of-affairs.
His audience held many views, but hearing what Cameron believed to be true gave them pause.
The Tunnels
It was a couple hours before mealtime, so everybody headed off to enjoy what remained of the day. Lynn stuck with Cameron, he’d said he wanted to get back to his office, and she wasn’t to be dissuaded from coming with him.
Nearing Cameron’s underground office, Lynn inserted herself in front of Cameron, refusing to let him past, telling him to stay back.
Lynn ran ahead and let fly a snarl – loud enough to raise goosebumps, a warning that a wild animal was on the loose.
Someone had ransacked Cameron’s office – again. This time however, that someone was still there.
Lynn had transformed into her black panther form, she leapt at the figure, who’s attention was focused upon Cameron’s faux wall safe. But the snarl had alerted her, and she was attempting to turn face.
Cameron was able to determine that the unknown someone was an Avatar, medium ranking, strong, with razor sharp claws imbedded into gloves and boots. Her costume mimicked a bird, the cape on her shoulders was fastened to each wrist, which when extended out looked like wings. How she moved indicated she was a flier; she was trying to float a short distance off the floor but was limited by the tunnels low roof. It made no difference to Lynn’s attack.
Flight was no advantage when confined underground.
In open spaces maybe a raptor had a chance against a feline, but take the aerial advantage away, and a cat is the clear winner in speed, dexterity, and cunning. Lynn showed little mercy in methodically taking her opponent apart: a broken arm, dislocated shoulder, and a crippling back injury that made her legs buckle underneath her. The intruder lay helpless on the floor.
Cameron’s office had been trashed, furniture smashed and the remnants scattered like offal, every picture shredded beyond recognition. Even his examination chair had been ripped apart with long gashes allowing stuffing to spill out.
The Avatar had been trying to open his safe, deep gouges had been etched into the thick and extremely dense metal in an attempt to gain entrance, to no avail mind you, it was a solid sheet of high-grade steel bonded directly onto the wall with no vault behind it – but she hadn’t known that.
Laying on the floor, near the downed thief, was Cameron’s art project: the rainbow trout, shattered into a dozen pieces. Cameron’s brow furrowed in a grimace, his mouth a thin line indicating his displeasure.
Lynn came to stand in front of him, cupping her hands gently on both sides of his face, holding his attention so he could look only at her – into those mesmerizing emerald green eyes.
“This mayhem means nothing, you can repair all this damage with just a thought. Don’t let it mess with your outlook.” counseled / comforted Lynn.
Her words hit home, like she’d worked them over for days to find just the right thing to say, to sway Cameron’s mind away from the hurt raging through Cameron. Cameron was fit to be tied, anger filled his heart, he wanted to inflict pain, retribution was more than warranted – it was deserved.
But his mind shattered at the sight, fragmented just like his sculpture.
Slowly a realization sparked, why Lynn had joined him, why she went ahead, why she took on the fight, she did it to prevent Cameron from acting rashly.
An internal struggle waged, he cared little about his office, but his art … it was a tie to his Mom, an offering to her memory, he was emotionally invested – and it lay smashed at his feet.
“Does anything I do matter?” mumbled Cameron, the rage that had burned brightly being extinguished slowly, turning into a shameful quiet, in that he had almost been provoked - succumbing to fury.
“Yes, it does. To me, and so many others.” Reassured Lynn as she touched her forehead to his. She held him so his eyes were only on her, her way of saying she understood the battle he faced everyday, and she wasn’t going anywhere.
Cameron couldn’t help but let a tear slip from his eye.
A moan broke the moment, the woman thief was beginning to regain her senses, as she felt the consequences of her actions – and her injuries.
Lynn stepped overtop the fallen woman, she was beyond a simple girl – definitely not a student at Whateley. “Who are you?” was asked in a tone that didn’t broker refusal to answer as an option.
“Peregrine.”
Not a name either Lynn or Cameron recognized but did explain the bird motif.
“Why are you here?” Cameron had knelt beside the woman, having regained composure enough to want answers.
“You’re to pay for your sins.” The bird lady sang in an often-said refrain from how practiced it sounded.
“I wasn’t asking you. I want to talk to the woman.” corrected Cameron.
“We are one, the host and the spirit.” Spat Peregrine.
“I don’t need your rhetoric. Your forbidden from inhabiting another. Let her speak freely or I’ll remove you in the most unpleasant way imaginable.” Cameron removed his visor while he said it, the glow of his golden eyes reinforcing he meant what he said and could back up his claim.
Peregrine gasped, followed by a shudder. “You can’t, we made a pact. I didn’t know you were the target.” The excuses flowed from her fluidly, like wastewater disgorged from a sewer pipe.
Target, that caught Cameron’s attention. “Who sent you?”
"I’m a debt collector; I picked up the Syndicates contract to recover a debt owed to a church. I was trying to recoup what you owe.”
“Why?”
“I get fifteen percent of what’s recovered.”
“I’ll rephrase that; How am I indebted to the church?”
“The contract only said you’d destroyed a church. The why should be rather obvious.”
“I had no part in the destruction of Dillon Chapel, you know I cannot lie.” Stated Cameron, reaffirming a well-established fact. “You’ve been sent on a fool’s errand. The question remains; who’s the greater fool? You, or the one who sent you?”
“I don’t know who put out the contract. I only received a dossier on you, which said nothing about you being chosen.”
“They wouldn’t want to admit that, but it doesn’t take a math wiz to add two and two together to know who hired you.” summarized Cameron.
“What are you going to do?” pleaded Peregrine.
“I haven’t decided. I’ll know after I speak with the host, let them speak.” directed Cameron.
“Hello” the timid word came out as a question; it held a much different tone and resonance to what had been presented before.
“Answer one simple question” Cameron didn’t mince words: “Do you want to remain bound?”
“She lied, I’m a prisoner in my own body, makes me do horrible things. Her boyfriend is – is – disgusting. She’s …”
“I get the picture.” countered Cameron with a nod of his head, noting that Peregrine’s countenance had reverted back. “I recommend you leave that body voluntarily. My options are limited to either killing the host or putting a blade into you like a stuck pig. I’m giving you the choice.”
“I own this one, I won’t leave. I’ve put too much time and effort into molding her into my puppet.”
“I assure you, you’re going to leave.” At which Cameron’s sword of golden light blazed bright in the partially lit room, to them be plunged into Peregrine’s chest. The resulting squeal echoed off the cavern’s walls, sounding very much like a pig going to slaughter. The squeal changed into becoming a scream of agony, as the wraith was forcibly extracted - pinned onto Cameron’s blade, leaving the woman spent of energy panting on the floor.
Her eyes fluttered for a brief moment before she passed out from exhaustion.
Cameron stuffed the wraith into a confinement egg that stood around a foot and a half tall. Lynn kicked the egg so that it rolled away from them, coming to rest against a wall.
“Are you going to heal her?” ask Lynn expectantly, however, her voice belied a judgement about how she felt it was a waste of time, but she also wanted to gauge his assessment of the situation, see if his earlier anger had abated.
“If asked, I could be persuaded,” reasoned Cameron. “But, in this instance, I think bearing responsibility for your decisions needs to be weighed, and spending time in hospital might be the best place to do some soul searching.”
The duo contacted Whateley Security and Doyle Medical, who’s response teams arrived at the same time, it meant only having to provide statements once. Only after which did Cameron renew his office, but he left his fish sculpture in pieces, a testament about keeping his personal wants separate from god’s will.
When all the dust had settled, his personal space restored, only then did quiet return. Cameron turned to Lynn, smiling: “Thank you for being a voice of reason, I let my emotions get the better of me.”
“I know, and your welcome.” Reassured Lynn, giving her betrothed a kiss on the cheek.
“Had you not interceded, what would I have done?” sought Cameron, his concern genuine.
“You really want to know?” doubted Lynn, she’d broken several of her own rules by stepping in as she’d done. “Sometimes the ‘What IF’s’ are better left unspoken than realized.”
“I guess not,” decided Cameron, his imagination didn’t need the fodder, and his conscience could do without the harsh burden of regret.
“Are you going to do something about the Reverend? Get him off your back?” wondered Lynn.
“No. No need.” said Cameron, to then add: “I was sent to provide a nudge to those who are redeemable, give those a chance to show what’s in their heart.” Cameron was going to leave it at that, but Lynn wasn’t convinced. “Religion, as a whole, has already been judged and condemned. I am to keep separate from any interactions with them, it’s pointless for me to worry about something that’s already been decided, despite their influence being corrupting – as we’ve just witnessed.”
Holbrook Arena
Northern Lites assembled at the gate into the compound ready for more Search and Rescue training, attired in their team uniforms – nearly identical except for the individual slashes of colour. They had arrived in anticipation of a joint training session with the Outcasts, a chance to learn from a more experience team.
Gunny Bardue, the master of ceremonies for these torture sessions, approached bearing a somber expression. “A distress call just came in, a primary school in Haiti has been hit by a mudslide after torrential rains, they’ve asked for help. Most of the Outcast’s have volunteered to go.”
It made sense, why train at Search and Rescue, if you don’t plan to use the skill. It only took a second for Cameron to ask: “Would Whateley allow us to go as well?”
“The school can’t ask you to go, but if you volunteer, we’ll back you in every way possible.” Confirmed the instructor.
“A show of hands of who’s willing to go?” Cameron asked of his teammates.
Only Werx declined, claiming she wouldn’t be of much use in the field. Everyone else was willing.
“Looks like you’ve got more volunteers,” stated Cameron. “How do we get there?”
“We’ve called up a contracted teleporter to shuttle groups of students down; he’s set to arrive shortly to begin transporting students.” Detailed Mr. Bardue.
Passport stepped forward, saying: “If I get taken first, I can portal back, and then get everyone down there in a single shot.”
“Your sure?” sought Cameron.
“I want to help; this is at least something I can do.” Assured Tricia, firm in her resolve.
Mr. Bardue nodded his acceptance of the alternate plans; he went off to make preparations.
A quick meet in the hallway between the two teams settled the first issue, Cameron asked Jericho if he would be the missions lead. Jericho for his part began to apportion Search and Rescue assignments: Razorback and Swift would search the area, Diamondback and Flambé would work together to provide first aid to those rescued, while Eldrich, Perspicacious, Aware, Outlook, Excelle, and himself would actively extract any survivors from the debris feild.
Everyone from the Outcasts and Northern Lites were kitted with emergency supply packs including first aid supplies provided by Whateley. Passport returned while the high visibility reflective vests were getting passed around, she too put one on – asking what her job would be, Jericho on the fly quickly added her into his plan – she’d transport rescued survivors to get first aid.
In his briefing Gunny described the political environment they were going into, the government was unstable, resulting in gangs now ruling much of the countryside. With little infrastructure remaining to rely upon, they had minimal support on the ground, which made the situation more dire for the kids caught in the mudslide.
The instantaneous transition from Whateley’s late winter to Haiti’s tropical climate was comparable to a slap in the face when stepping out of Passport’s portal. Tropical heat with humidity nearing one hundred percent, that change took both teams a couple minutes to register and begin to adapt to mentally and physically.
The need for layers of clothing was quickly abandoned, Cameron placed everyone’s discarded clothes into Cupboard. Razorback, Swift, and Excelle; the fastest movers, were sent off to scout around. Already, the plan had been adapted to circumstances.
Swift returned after only a few minutes, he’d been boosted by his sister and had already visited the site, describing how extensive the disaster site was. Charlotte stayed onsite, beginning to scour the school’s remnants, clearing building debris in the search for survivors. Razorback was hunting through the debris field as well.
Everyone else now quickened the pace, they had arrived at the towns center, the school was a couple blocks away. Moving into a fast walk that wouldn’t leave them tired out, so as to be of use when the got there.
Tim had since returned to assist Excelle and Razorback, and relay directions to establish a safe place to take survivors. Northern Lites members would work on the slides Northern edge while the Outcasts handled the South. It made sense to let those who knew each others’ strengths to work together rather than split up established teams.
However, Diamondback was given the task of setting up a makeshift recovery area, with Flambé providing assistance.
Now that everyone had arrived, Razorback and Swift began searching the area downstream of the mudslide, to find those who’d been washed away. Jericho surveyed the debris field and the damage rent from a rushing wall of muck, and directed Excelle to join in that effort – air support adding another dimension.
Perspicacious began working in tandem with Eldritch and Jericho, her Psychic ability pinpointing survivors’ locations more easily than just digging with wild abandon. Aware and Outlook being another pairing, they too relied on abilities to find people fast, it made sense to use people’s skills for maximum efficiency. Passport was kept busy shuttling survivors back to the first aid station.
At first, Rachelle’s Psychic ability was doubted, but she helped zero in on anyone buried underneath rubble, while Aware’s Precognition could also pinpoint exact locations of survivors – sadly that also proved true of those who’d succumbed.
The disaster scene was interrupted by the distinct thumping sound of rotating blades, a helicopter arrived; dropping off a medical team who had been in transit from the Dominican Republic to another region when notice of this emergency was received. It was a group of French doctors and nurses from Doctors without Borders; they brought medical supplies and experience to handle even the most critical cases.
Passport now brought those rescued to the now better-established medical tent that Diamondback and Flambé had established, so they could get checked over by the doctors.
Searching through the mudslide was messy, dirty work. It required hard digging, up to meters thick, through mud-caked debris consisting of soaked earth, jagged rock, and the remnants of buildings that couldn’t withstand the onslaught of a hillsides collapse.
Eldritch dug with her hands, throwing large objects away like they weighted nothing, in reality each of the stones were into the hundreds of pounds, it was dangerous to be near her almost frantic efforts. Same with Jericho in his powerframe suit, without Rachelle’s calming reassurances, and pointing where to dig, it would have been easy to lose composure, but both Eldritch and Jericho worked like machines, and didn’t stop.
Aware and Outlook took to the task in a slightly more methodical manner, Lynn would point Cameron towards an area, for him to then dissipate the overlaying debris until a person was revealed, alive or otherwise. That some had died was unavoidable, but recovering a lifeless body was heart wrenching, especially a child, something Cameron didn’t want his friends to contend with, so he sought to deal with that sorrowful aspect of the mission.
Despite Cameron’s best efforts, each pairing faced their own successes, and setbacks. Balancing the emotional highs and lows was like a rollercoaster, how that in a matter of minutes it could take you from unbounded joy to being racked with tears, then back again. The mind and heart being spun up and down like a yo-yo on a string.
Tricia sobbed openly, a confusing mess of happy and sad at the same time, but she didn’t falter in her duties of transporting people; dead and alive.
Lynn was stoic, saying little beyond giving directions to Cameron, and cautioning others about what was beneath them. Those in the know could see how it pained the girl, but she didn’t complain, or shy away from the task at hand.
Rachelle was a pillar of hope, her senses directing the Outback’s unerringly to those who held onto life by a sliver. On occasion she would check on her siblings: Charlotte was deeply immersed in the rescue, barely allowing herself to breath – lest it would take away from saving someone. Her commitment was intense, she and her brother had recovered the most survivors by far, a testament to their insatiable desire to help. Charlotte pulled double duty of looking for people and flying those found back to medical.
The sound of gunfire interrupted the progress being made but didn’t halt the steady activity of sifting through the mess. There were still several meters of separation between the search teams, and what remained was some of the worst conditions yet. Nobody wanted to be distracted, but when Eldritch left to find out what was happening, Jericho directing everyone to keep going, the rescue effort continued.
Tricia hadn’t returned for awhile to take the children pulled from the rubble for medical attention. The number of waiting rescued children was becoming a concern, but when Lynn left Cameron’s side and went to comfort the kids, motioning for Rachelle to join her, it triggered a mental alarm in Cameron.
A rapid burst of gunfire cut through the air, heads turned to see a trio of men, one shooter – a boy no older than fourteen holding his machine gun high, another man trapping Tricia in a strangle hold around her neck pressing a knife to her side, the third man stood brandishing a revolver which he casually pointed at the excavation groups as the guns muzzle moved threateningly between them.
Lynn and Rachelle placed themselves in front of the children, using themselves to make a human shield. Jericho; in his powerframe, emblazoned with internationally recognizable medical insignia, stood back from digging. Jericho’s actions weren’t confrontational; rather he tried to de-escalate.
Charlotte had an intense look of frustration, she had just returned with another child, wanting to drop the kid off and return to looking for more. But Rachelle’s pleading eyes, and no doubt mental begging, made Excelle reconsider priorities, nonetheless Excelle landed and didn’t resist, aside from fighting back tears.
Cameron’s heart swelled with pride at how his friends were reacting, weighing personal motives against the greater good. Cameron scanned his surroundings, at the makeshift hospital; the doctors, Rho, and Sandra, all being detained under similar conditions. Caitlin had found cover and was gathering intel about the almost militant group who’d assailed the relief effort.
Swift and Razorback were nowhere nearby, they had expanded their search area downstream, hunting for any who’d been swept away in the flood waters.
Risking himself without having a bodyguard, Cameron took a deep dive looking into the debris field, while having guns pointed at him. Cameron was fully exposed, which meant little in comparison to the children still trapped within the mudslide. He discovered nine more children yet to be rescued, from appearances; these gun toting buffoons cared nothing about helping – only to be a hinderance.
Cameron checked his battery, to see how much juice he had available – could he expend himself to help others or did he need to conserve - to ensure his teams safety. His reserve was low – not critical yet, but low enough that he had a discission to make, risk his friends or help strangers.
If this question had been asked of him a couple months ago, the answer would have been different. Outlook spread out an energy wave that dissipated the overburden exposing all the kids.
The gunmen where startled by the intense blue flash of light that resulted from Cameron’s energy expenditure. They couldn’t trace its origin back to Cameron, they just stood there slack jawed, not knowing what had happened – or what to do about it.
That brief moment of incredulity waned, the gunmen began shouting that everyone move into a cluster, then pointing them toward the hospital. Many of the recovered children couldn’t walk, so as many as could be carried got picked up by the rescuers.
The ensemble was marched to the temporary hospital, which consisted of nothing more than a couple quickly erected tents. Within, the doctors and nurses had been tied up in pairs, then forced to sit on the ground.
Spotting Rho, who was tied to a young man in a nurse uniform, eased Cameron’s worry. Rachelle made a bold move; she rushed over to give her sister a reassuring hug. It was a calculated move, as they then got tied up together.
Cameron was situated next to Jericho, still in his powerframe, they didn’t so much get tied together as bound, ropes encircled the pair multiple times to ensure any effort on Jericho’s part to free himself would hurt Cameron.
The children where herded into small groups and told to sit still. Gun wielding men were stationed around the captives, looking for any resistance. The message was clear; disobey, and the children suffer.
After a few minutes the gang’s ringleader entered the tent, he wore a red beret and had a gun stuffed into his belt. They all wore similar green fatigues, not camouflage so much as a cheap mockery of a uniform.
“Who’s in command?” was barked in broken English.
Jericho brought attention to himself, saying: “I’m this mission’s leader.”
“Wrong!” sneered the man in the red beret, he made a motion to one of his followers, which resulted in a child getting hit roughly with the butt end of a rifle. “I’m in charge here. You do as I say, and these children may live to see another day.”
That exchange altered the gun men’s focus, two of the eighteen bandits now stood directly overtop Jericho and Cameron. Additionally, another captive, a doctor, was manhandled to get tied up to Tricia, with them positioned alongside Jericho and Cameron.
The red beret gang leader conferred with two of his men, leaving Cameron a moment to loosen his bindings by stretching the ropes which had started to cut off blood circulation. Looking around the space Cameron also helped relieve the same discomfort many others were experiencing. No-one was freed, but nobody was in pain either, no point escalating a confrontation until a better assessment of the situation could be determined.
Red beret left, leaving his goons posted to watch over the hostages. Whateley had warned that gangs might demand an exorbitant tax or hold hostages until getting paid. Hostage seemed the most likely, given the situation. Odd how people would only help themselves when others were just trying to help out – it made Cameron ask why even bother making the effort?
But he considered the children, who from no fault of their own, needed the assistance offered. It was an injustice, but life itself was unfair, the world turned on the principle of: ‘survival of the fittest’. Cameron didn’t subscribe to that notion, he dealt on sharing, giving, and love, why else would he and his team come here.
So, to be extorted for caring felt wrong on so many levels. To profit from misery was proof that these men deserved nothing.
The doctor tied to Tricia whispered: “They’ll be contacting our base in Dominican Republic, looking for a ransom. We’re a non-profit organization so getting money together will take a long time. Where are you kids from?”
“We attend a specialized school in the states.” supplied Passport, not wanting to reveal too much about Whateley.
“Private school?” asked the doctor, “Deep pockets?”
Cameron tilted a little closer, to whisper: “Yes to both. But not likely to negotiate with terrorists – sets a bad example. It’s most likely they’d send a response team to free us.”
“Are they insane? With all these children?” panicked the doctor, evidence that his heart was in the right place.
“Have you ever heard of Lady Astarte?” asked Cameron.
“Who hasn’t?” he acknowledged.
“She’s our headmistress.” supplied Cameron, letting that tidbit sink in.
The doctor quietened, from his appearance he wasn’t certain if the situation had gone from being in hot water to stepping right into the fire.
Jericho added: “We’ve still got friends out there who’ve not been captured, it may not come to that.”
Cameron asked of Jericho: “Any sign of Razorback and Swift?”
“Eldritch has corralled them, she’s no doubt got a plan. They’re hiding in the tree’s down by the river.” Explained Jericho.
Cameron’s back was to that direction, so he hadn’t spotted them. Outlook could see 360 degrees, but his rearview long-distance eyesight was poor, so having himself and Jericho tied together increased the field of view greatly.
Cameron sent Rachelle a mental message: "How’s Tim?"
"He’s good, would like a power up," replied the Psychic.
"Do you know how many in the gang?"
"Total of eighteen, only sixteen present, the rest are watching the road."
"Can you let Tim know?"
"Done."
"How are Lynn and Rho?"
“Lynn’s entertaining the kids, making animal sounds. I’m worried about Rho, I think she’s been drugged."
"What do you mean?"
"She’s happy, it’s weird. It’s like she’s glad to be tied up. I’ve never sensed her so relaxed."
"Is she in danger?"
"Noooo, doesn’t seem to be. No more than the rest of us."
"Alright", deduced Cameron. "Let Tim know we’re okay, that the guns here are neutralized – I’ve removed all the bullets gunpowder."
"Then why are we sitting here?"
"Too many kids to protect, odds aren’t good."
"Understood,’"agreed Perspicacious. "Message has been relayed."
Cameron was speaking with Jericho with a hushed voice about his mental interchange, when Rachelle sent another mental message.
"Caitlin asked what we can do to help supress resistance for when they attack?"
"Can you get the kids to fall asleep?"
"Most are dead tired already, a little nudge and most all of them will be asleep in minutes."
"Good. Start with that. Then let Caitlin know that I’ll slow the gunmen’s reflex’s – they’ll be oxygen starved and act dopey, for those within a hundred feet anyways."
The muffled sounds around them quietened, the kids slumping asleep as Rachelle’s suggestion took effect.
Rachelle’s mental warning to the members of Northern Lites had them prepare for what came next. Cameron disappeared the restraining bindings, which resulted in the guards nearest them being incapacitated with ease.
Rho’s freed hands grabbed two rifles, the heat from her hot hands melted the guns barrels instantly with the liquified metal dripping to the ground. The scared men ran, as they exited the tent Razorback met them, his toothy grin was enough to cause nightmares on a good day – matched with an ear-splitting roar, the men’s screams of terror nearly caused Jericho to double over in laughter.
Caitlin had dispatched the majority of the gang members, she went through them like a hot knife in butter, they men fell like dominoes, her quick – precise movements dropped the men with minimal effort. Almost a waste of her skill, but very much appreciated in that she didn’t kill anyone.
Swift had quickly checked on his sisters, and in doing so got boosted. Swift now ran at a speed human reflexes couldn’t track, he disarmed the gang’s outliers, giving them a gentle tap to the side of head with a short club he’d shaped from a branch.
In a matter of a minute, the tide had changed. The gang was disarmed and fully disabled. The doctors directed that the worst off of the kids get moved back into hospital beds.
All of the children had had possessions taken, even the dead, an effort was made to return stolen items. From the medic’s; watches, wallets, and rings got returned. None of the crew from Whateley carried much on themselves, so nothing more than student ID’s had been taken.
The children were under the care of the doctors and nurses; there was no longer a need for a continued search and rescue presence. Cameron scanned the survivors, there was a couple broken bones which he repaired, but mostly it was cases of exposure and bruises, which required time to heal.
Rather than stay where he wasn’t needed, Cameron returned to the mudslide, where he fashioned stepped terraces from the rubble coming from the failed hillside. Eldritch saw what he was doing and made recommendations on how to prevent another slippage, also she suggested making ditches and reservoirs suitable for irrigation.
Jericho had been puzzling over what to do with the gang, the land was nearly lawless, and nobody wanted the burden of prosecuting or imprisoning them. Tricia said she knew of a place that would make them re-think their actions, she presented a better solution than prison – and ensured due recompense.
When asked where she intended to take them, she refused to answer, only saying it was better that nobody knew, but promised no one would die.
The gangsters were rounded up to then disappeared under Passports hand. She returned a minute later ready to take both teams back to Whateley. A private moment was witnessed between Rho and a young man – the same fellow she had been tied to, she handed him a quickly scrawled note before she came to stand with her teammates. No-one said anything but Lynn had an amused smirk and gave her roommate a playful nudge.
Gunny Bardue directed both teams into a debrief room, demanding full disclosure of events. Caitlin gave a throughout recounting, detailing specifics laid out in a timeline starting from arriving in Haiti, at points of the narrative necessitating input from another perspective, comments were volunteered. It was a lesson in effective reporting which Northern Lites lacked experience with, something Cameron could effectively use while working with the RCMP. Northern Lites contributed when their insights were relevant, but mostly deferred to the Outcasts lead.
The instructor required a straightforward answer as to where Tricia had taken the gang, her answer made her teammates breakout in laughter: “I dropped them off at the emergency shelter we used on Baffin Island.”
Mr. Bardue stood slack jawed but quickly recovered, he moved on without further comment, but he had developed an odd facial tick; a cross between a grimace and smile that he had difficulty hiding from view.
The teams eventually got dismissed, and congratulatory handshakes shared, and a verbal promise for more joint training sessions in the future.
Leaving Kane Hall together, Rhododendron was distant in her thoughts, something her teammates hadn’t pressed her on – yet. But giving the Energizer girl room was only going to last for so long.
Lynn broke the ice: “You okay?”, she asked quietly, once they got into their dorm room.
“Fine, why do you ask?”
“You’re twirling your hair; you only do that before you go and do something …”
“Crazy?”
“Now that you mention it – yeah!”
“Humph! I’ll have you know, I was thinking about the guy I was tied up with, he’s –“
“Jean Pierre Garough, first year medical student, he volunteered with Doctor’s Without Borders to get field experience.”
“How did you…?
Lynn just smiled at her.
“Of course, how silly of me.” Resigned a deflated Rho. “If you must know he asked for my phone number.”
“And?”
“I gave him my families address if he wants to correspond.”
“You don’t want him to know you attend Whateley?”
“It’s not that – well, okay it is that. I did – don’t want him to be scared cause I’m a mutant.”
“Rho, sweety, the pulsating hair is kinda a dead giveaway.”
“Uhmmm.”
“Yes, he noticed. And he didn’t run away screaming.”
“You sure?”
“He asked for your number, that’s usually an indicator that he’s interested.”
“I just,”
“What?”
“He’s not fireproof, it could never work out between us.”
“Your right, it’s pointless to spend even a single minute thinking about it.”
“Hey! Whose side are you on?”
“Yours – obviously.”
“So, you don’t see a future for us then.”
“I didn’t say that; I said if you don’t think it’s right, then that’s the decision you need to make.”
“I, don’t want to hurt him, he’s a nice guy.”
“Rho, you’re my friend, and as a friend I need you to really think about something: You and Jean Pierre had your hands tied together, did he have any burns?”
A raised eyebrow signaled a realization breaking through. “Nooo.”
“And why, do you suppose, did that not happen?”
Flambé’s face was devoid of expression until Lynn snapped her out of it by asking: “Could it be that being around Jean Pierre was calming.”
Intermediary Art
Cameron wandered around the art projects put on display in the classroom, some of the student’s creations showed amazing talent, realizations of vivid imaginations and incredible ability.
A submission that truly impressed was a mobile; which at first glance looked like a lampshade but it turned slowly from the heat generated from off a lamp, which only shone a single beam. As the lampshade turned, the divided layers rotated, resulting in the depiction of a horse which at first prancing, then trotted, depending on how fast the lampshade turned which depended on the heat generated, it was lovely.
Another was a physical 3D recreation of M.C. Escher’s Waterfall, the original lithograph was of a perpetual motion optical illusion, but the gadgeteer student’s art project made your brain hurt at its sheer impossibility.
Razorback had made an eight-page comic book, laid out as a storyboard. His eye for detail, the use of character poses paired with fluid transitions made the drawings jump off the page. He had a promising future as an illustrator ahead of him.
Cameron had abandoned his jumping fish statue; its destruction had been a mental blow about his family memories which he wasn’t prepared to face yet. Rather, he had fashioned a cresting ocean wave as it struck the shore. The right side had the wave already spilling up onto the sandy shore as the waters rush dispersed out in a foam, spreading out over sand, meanwhile on the left side the wave was still in a whitecapped curl before crashing. The transition from one side to the other showed the endless motion of the sea meeting the shore.
Cameron’s use of colours and textures added to the impression of the roll, that back-and-forth movement found as water pounded a coastline in the relentless attack of water against land.
Cameron had started making his project from glass but found it didn’t possess the right clarity or versatility, so he’d chosen instead to make it out of diamond – but told everyone it was crystal. No point advertising all his abilities.
All told, his creation was roughly twelve inches long and weighed just shy of five pounds. It had taken considerable energy to make, a mental – emotional – and physical outpouring. But Cameron was pleased with the result, truly a one-of-a-kind sculpture, he hoped for a passing grade.
Art; as a course, wasn’t a major concern for Cameron, more like an elective he’d taken, something that tied his present to the past, an emotional bridge to his mother. Cameron was toying with dropping the course, it was a distraction. Worse, his recent reaction to the destruction of his first sculpture attempt had raised a question regarding his motives and goals.
Later, after Ms. Imp had graded each submission privately, the students got to wander around the classroom, check out their, and everyone else’s marks. As anticipated; everybody passed, for as unpredictable as Ms. Imp was as an individual, the teacher cared deeply enough to not hinder anyone’s effort at artistic expression.
Surprisingly, the top three submissions had colourful ribbons attached – like those you’d see for winners at state fair competitions. Cameron’s sculpture had won third place, Razorback got second, and the dancing horse was first. Beside each of the ribbons were sealed envelopes, opening his, Cameron was baffled at the invitation to have his project displayed at a prestigious New York art exhibit, in concert with the renowned artist: Candace Kade’s latest showing of her paintings.
Cameron was stuck in a mental feedback loop, weighing the implications, the potential distraction from his mission’s parameters. Ms. Imp chose that exact moment to come up beside him, he jumped in fright from someone sneaking up on him – that simply shouldn’t happen, but if anything, Ms. Imp was full of surprises.
“Congratulations, your piece is masterful, it was tough to chose who’s submission was best.”
“You’re very kind,” replied Cameron, to add: “I’ve always enjoyed watching the ocean, I find it restful.”
“You captured waters power beautifully,” enthused the art teacher with a swish of her tail. “Will you let your sculpture be displayed publicly?”
“You really think it’s worthy?” questioned Cameron.
“Really really,” smiled the devious lady. “But you’ll need to sign it, every artist attaches their name to their work.”
“Oh! But I already did, look at the sand beside the sandcastle – it’s just about to get wetted by the wave, my initials are etched into the sand.”
“Tricky! I didn’t notice that.” Admitted the teacher.
“No point being too obvious,” jested Cameron.
“True that.” Confirmed Ms. Imp with a smirk, her expression hinted at some private joke Cameron was in the dark over. The student / teacher relationship didn’t allow for personal insights, it was purely professional, but Ms. Imp was a study in boundary redefinition and destabilizing societal norms – it’s what made her classes interesting.
“Are the artist’s expected to make an appearance?” pondered Cameron
Ms. Imp tried to suppress a laugh – but failed. “Do you honestly think polite society is ready to meet Razorback?”
“No, most likely it would demonstrate just how impolite society can be. But if he wants to pursue a career writing comics, it’d be great exposure for him.”
“My thoughts exactly. What about you? Is being an artist something you’d consider?”
Ms. Imp was earnest in her question, it meant she felt the boy had potential, and heaven knows the world needs more creative artistic expression, but with his head dipping respectfully, Cameron shook his ‘no’. To then add: “I walk a different path.”
“Your sure?”
“I gave my word, made a promise. I can’t retrace my steps.”
“There’s no wriggle room?”
“I’ve already pushed the boundaries with having a girlfriend. I need to stay focused.”
“Sounds ominous.” Puzzled the mirthful lady, who deflected by asking: “Who’s the lucky girl?”
“Lynn Franklin.”
A look of surprise swept Ms. Imps features, “She’s, like, one of the top ten prettiest girls at Whateley. How …?”
“I ask myself that question everyday. But she’s a Precog, and for some reason has decided I’m the one.”
“I didn’t mean …” backtracked the teacher, trying to save face.
“It’s okay, I get it, I’m not the most handsome, or buff guy around. However, Lynn see’s a future with me, moreover she’s loyal and committed, something I’m eternally grateful for.”
“So, if I talked to Lynn, could she convince you to reconsider becoming an artist?”
“I’d say not. As a precog, Lynn travels a route with few distractions, I just happen to be going the same direction as her.”
“No attraction between you two?”
“I didn’t say that; she’s my everything. I plan to marry her when she comes of age.”
Ms. Imp put a hand over her mouth to mask her incredulity: “Your what … fifteen?” giving her student a critical side eye assessment.
“Close,” smirked Cameron: “But close only counts in horseshoes.”
“And hand grenades.”
“And curling. But throwing rocks at houses should be discouraged.”
“Point for you,” joked Ms. Imp.
“I just turned twenty-two. Lynn’s been forbidden by her parents to get married before eighteen.”
“I suppose you’ve got career plans, besides being an artist?”
“Plans? No. But something always shows up.”
“If you’re certain. Will you let your sculpture be shown?”
“I don’t see what harm would come from it.” Acquiesced Cameron.
“I’ll make sure it gets back to you without a scratch.” Promised Ms. Imp.
The Quad
A late season squall dumped copious amounts of snow on Whateley Academy, of course it did – right in the middle of Lynn and Paige’s week of detention. It was wet and heavy, somewhere between four and six inches worth, depending on how the wind blew it around.
The Werecat girls had to get up early to clear the pathways before all the other students even thought of waking up.
New snow had a way of making everything look fresh and clean, the thick white layer hide so many blemishes along with the dormant brown grass below. And quiet, it was like the world had stopped to catch its breath, a kind of peace that those with keen hearing found pleasant as a change.
Shoveling wet snow was labour intensive, taking a lot of effort to lift each scoop full. As long as you dressed for it, the experience could even hold a degree of enjoyment – to see your progress.
Both Paige and Lynn heard someone approach simultaneously, regardless that that someone was trying to mask their movement, Were senses were not so easily fooled.
Lynn readied her shovel with a huge amount of snow on it, at the perfect time – she threw it at the intruder, hitting him fully in the face. He sputtered, and cursed, shaking the white stuff off himself.
“That wasn’t very nice girly,” he barked.
“Neither is sneaking up on people,” retorted Paige.
“Which of you little tarts boyfriend is named Outlook.” Was asked – in a not very friendly manner.
That he knew of Cameron was an interesting tidbit of information, it set the stage for how this encounter would proceed – from Lynn’s perspective.
“Neither of us are tarts, as you so graciously inferred.” Defended Lynn to the insult.
“I don’t rightly care,” he said, shrugging off the comment. “But since you’re the one who took offense, you must be the one he’s canoodling.”
He made a lunge to get hold of Lynn, but she already knew his plan, and thwarted it by putting the shoves blade up against his chest – keeping them distant.
“State your business here.”
“Why sweetheart,” his insincerity dripping like spilled molasses. “I’m merely a debt collector slash bounty hunter, come to wring an exorbitant amount of money from your boyfriend’s scrawny neck.”
“He’s not going to pay a dime to that wicked Reverand.” Rebuffed Lynn.
“Oh! He’ll pay all right. You just happen to be my trump card that’ll ensure he’ll cough up ever penny.”
“There’s a flaw in you deluded plan.”
“Really! Pray tell?”
“You expect me to become a hostage for you to negotiate with.”
“You make it sound so – simple. But yes, that’s the crux of it.”
“I won’t allow myself to be used.”
“Girly, you don’t have a choice in the matter.” Again, he lunged at her, arms ready to encircle the girl almost half his size.
Lynn easily dogged his brute force attack by sidestepping out of his telegraphed trajectory. He didn’t even lay a finger on Lynn as he flailed to garb hold, winding up face down in the snow for his efforts. He roared, and full-on vocal release of rage. He was pissed.
“That’ll cost you.” He spat angrily.
“Tsk tsk! Look at the mess you made of our lovely snow.” Chided Lynn, taunting the man still laying face down.
“No more mister-nice-guy.” He shouted, as he rolled over and sat up. “I wasn’t going to hurt you - much, but I’m gonna enjoy making you suffer now.”
“As a friend of mine likes to say: ‘promises, promise, all I hear are empty words.’” Lynn quoted Rho, but this doofus wouldn’t know that.
Instead of words the man jumped up, faster than most people of his size, tightening his right fist to land a blow to Lynns head – but he didn’t even get close. Lynn had foreseen his move and countered it with her own.
As he extended his arm out, Lynn leaned back enough to have the punch swing wild, meanwhile, her left foot hooked the guy’s legs and took him off balance, followed by Lynn’s open palm strike to his chin. His teeth clattered as he dropped back to the ground.
His eyes didn’t focus, perhaps he saw stars – maybe tweeting birds – he didn’t say – spitting out teeth tends to limit conversation.
The man groaned, but using his hand to steady himself, he got back onto his feet. Taking up the classic boxing pose, indicating he was ready for more. And more he got. Lynn spun so quickly he didn’t even see her move, the Were’s foot caught him on his left temple, he was out cold before hitting the snow-covered ground.
Paige just stared, first at Lynn, then at the goon.
“Obviously I need more practice.” She whispered on an exhaled breath, said in awe, admiration, or disbelieve. That was an Ella problem to deal with at upcoming training sessions.
The Tunnels
Hunt stirred, he was a level four exemplar, there was no way that scrawny little wisp of a girl should have taken him down like that. He’d held his own against much bigger – and more power foes in the past. He even went toe to toe with Champion once.
It was like she knew his moves even before he did.
He ran his tongue around his mouth, and found three teeth missing, his gums still tender.
Opening eyes that objected to the abuse, he managed focus on his surrounding, not a hospital – unless they started putting pictures on their sterile walls. No bars, so not in the pokey either.
Being in jail would have been the better choice, as a bounty hunter, he’d be released once his credentials got verified. But he couldn’t quiet place where he was.
He was startled to find someone sharing his space. A young kid with sliver glasses sat in a chair a couple feet away.
Hunt clued in fast: that’s the kid he was contracted to collect money from – the same one Peregrine had gone after, but disappearing without a trace. What in god’s name is he doing in here of all places.
“Nice you could join us in the land of the living. Mr. Hunt Err,” spoke the boy. “My girlfriend doesn’t take kindly to being threatened. And I, for my part, don’t look favourably upon those who harm my friends.”
“I never touched her.”
“Not for a lack of trying.” Confronted the boy. “Just a lack of proper planning on your part. However, your intent was clear: take my girlfriend hostage and demand a ransom. A very dumb idea – did you research who you were targeting?”
“Don’t care; my woman went missing, you were last person she was hired to collect from, two plus two equals you.” Explained Hunt in the manner like a predator explaining how its prey was about to sacrifice its life for the greater good. “Naturally I was going to track you down anyway. But after my twenty five percent fee was accepted by the Syndicate – well, let’s just say it’s even more incentive.”
“It seems the Reverand is digging a bigger hole for himself,” reasoned Cameron. “That he’ll resort to any means necessary to extort money, be it by hook or by crook. This is becoming intolerable.”
“I’ll make it easy on you kid: fork over the dough - and it all goes away: I go away. After, of course, you tell me where Peregrine is.”
“I fear you have greatly misinterpreted the situation. I will never provide moral or financial support to a church, any church. It’s a pointless exercise since very soon all religions will be destroyed as part of god’s judgement.”
“Not my problem. Your name is on the Syndicate’s marker, you owe a debt, I get twenty five percent of that; I always get paid – because I never fail to collect. Once I break out of here, you’re in a world of trouble.” Defied Hunt, as he tried to test the restraints holding him down.
“Again, you fail to fully garner the situation you’re in, just now you’re starting to figure out that there’s nothing tying you down, but that you can’t move any of your limbs. Let me explain it to you: You tried to hurt me by going after my girlfriend, that isn’t allowed.” Said Cameron in a slow – deliberate tone.
“What are you going to do to me?” Hunt’s first indication of worry.
“I’m going to ask you a question, the answer to that question will determine what comes next.” The boy removed his silver-coloured reflective glasses, to then stare into hunt’s eyes: “Tell me; what do you believe in?”
“I don’t buy into any of the faith crap – religious fanatics are a bunch of morons.”
“On that, I happen to agree with you. But I asked what you believe in.”
“I don’t trust what can’t be seen, I only believe in what my strong right arm can touch, feel, and hit.”
“Sadly, a philosophy held by many; expecting God to meet your terms, as if the universal judge should answer to you.” Countered Cameron. “Peregrine left Whateley under her own steam - to move on with a life of her choosing. Her comment about you, pegged you as being entirely unredeemable – I find that to be a valid assessment.”
“What did you do to her?” sought Hunt in disbelieve that she would leave him.
“To her: nothing. To you: fair warning was given; ‘come after me at risk of losing a part of yourself’. Consider it a gift that you’ve been kept alive.” Cameron said with finality, for Hunt to then loose consciousness at Cameron’s command.
Whateley Village
Reverand Englund lived in a modest little house at the end of a quiet street, none of the houses in the village were opulent, more functional than statements of power and position.
His was a single-story bungalow, single car garage, gingerbread style trim. He’d lived there for many a year and he planned to stay for many more years to come.
Distances at Whateley were such that he could easily walk to his religious studies classes, he opened his front door after donning an overcoat and boots. He froze – laying across his front porch was an arm.
Just an arm, not attached to a body, leaking blood all over his welcome mat.
Clenched in the fist was a note. Reverand Englund needed to tug firmly on the paper to pull it away. It read:
“Further pursuit will have personal consequences.”
Not addressed to anyone, no signature, but the message was clear.
Doyle Medical Centre
On the third floor, at the end of the hallway, was Doyle’s psychiatric ward. Patricia Conner had been admitted after being diagnosed as suicidal, she was under constant observation and dosed with anti-depressants. Dr. Hewlett wasn’t taking any chances with the emotionally distraught girl.
Suicide watch among mutants happened more frequently than among the general population, the stigma of being shunned by society, the angst of not being normal, the fear of being a danger to yourself and others. All potent mental issues that the teens attending Whateley Academy faced.
Tricia had at least sought help, she’d begged for an appointment with the doctor and had sat in his office until he could see her – she’d dropped all her classes that day, she knew she had a problem and needed help. Not all who entertain death as an escape seek another persons help.
Rachelle had been instrumental in prompting Tricia to get help, and she was the first to come visit, once visitors were allowed, once her condition had stabilized enough.
Tricia could entertain guests in a small lounge; it held a few armchairs instead of the spartan accommodations found in a hospital room. Present were Rachelle, Cameron, and Tricia. No more than 2 visitors were allowed at a time to keep interactions sedate. But Rachelle kept her Northern Lites teammates psychically updated.
“How did your session with Dr. Hewlett go today?” asked Cameron, hoping it wasn’t a taboo topic to ask Tricia.
“We talked; he’s trying to isolate what triggered my episode.”
“Have you narrowed it down?”
“You’re not going to believe it if I tell you.”
“Why?”
“It’s stupid, that’s why.”
“Stupid or not, something upset the apple cart in your mind.”
“Is that the polite way of saying I lost my marbles?”
“Sometimes it’s the smallest of things that unravels the mind.”
“How would you know?”
“I suffered from anxiety attacks and survivor’s guilt. It was a revolving door to my therapist’s office for a while.”
“I didn’t realize.”
“It took time, but I got my head screwed on right.”
“Why?”
“My family died in a car crash, and I was poisoned. I had to contend with how come I lived and they didn’t? I was pretty messed up there.”
“Were you suicidal?”
“No, I had a solid reason to live.”
Tricia perked up at that revealation, “What is it?”
“Are you asking because you don’t have a purpose in life?”
“I’m asking, because my world crashed around me, my mother died from a drug overdose, my father is living on the streets somewhere. I’m a mutant, and I saw a pocket dimension with ghouls that sucked life out of people. I don’t exactly have much going for me – Oh! And I’m supposed to pay for a ruined church – the latest volley is that I’m to go into indentured servitude until the monies paid back. Sanctioned slavery is what Mr. Paulson call’s it."
“They can’t do that; you’re still a minor.”
“The priests don’t care; they just want their money.”
“So, everything’s been piling up and weighing you down.”
“Exactly. It’s like that game: ‘Life’ you just spin your wheels as more and more crap gets loaded onto you, more demands on your time and energy, until …”
“Until?”
“Until you quit, end the monotony or is that mockery.”
“No hope of winning?”
“The game is rigged against you; there is no winning in life.”
“Trish, I’m sorry you feel that way. Hope is the single most important defense against giving up.”
“As if! Just what do I have to hope for? All of it, it just doesn’t matter.”
“I can tell you what my hope is, what’s kept me going, what works for me.” Relented Cameron. “I hope for the time when God will restore man to perfection, no more blindness, no more being sick. I hope to have a hand in making the earth a paradise – which was man’s original purpose, before the wraiths ruined everything. I hope for the time when hatred and violence aren’t mans way to solve problems.”
“How can you believe in such things?”
“Faith. I have hope because I have faith in gods promises.”
“That might work for you, but I don’t believe in an all-knowing god.”
“You don’t have to, it helps, but it’s your choice. However, setting worthwhile goals, something to work towards, you can hope to achieve reasonable goals to build your world around. Give yourself a reason to try.”
“What sort of goals?”
“How's about finishing high school? Finding good friends? Getting a job? Staring a family? Buying a car?” I heard a wise piece of advice from a friend of mine: ‘To climb a mountain it takes a lot of small steps, not a big one. So putting one foot in front of the other gets you on top.’”
“I don’t know if I can. I’m not worth the effort.”
“That’s just your head stuck in a negative loop; with rest you will start to see things in a positive light.”
“Something your therapist said?”
“My mentor always emphasised a good night’s sleep to get the brain running down the right tracks.”
“I don’t see it.”
“Consider this: a person has four pillars that makes up who they are: Mental, Emotional, Physical, and Spiritual. Now, imagine a wheel, the outer tire is composed equally of the three biological parts: mind, heart, and body, for that part of a person to be well rounded, spokes hold the outer tire to the inner hub, if the spokes are out of tune, the tire wobbles.”
“You’re saying I need a mental tune up.”
“It not just mental, it’s emotional, and physical.”
“You said there were four parts.”
“Yes, the spiritual person. It is key to provide motivation and purpose. You can take in knowledge, but when it sinks into the spiritual it becomes wisdom. We all feel emotions but its a spiritual response to love someone.”
“And Physically?”
“We need to eat healthy food and get plenty of sleep in order to restore our bodies. On that note, a nurse is signalling visitor hours are over.” Cameron and Rachelle stood in preparation to leave, but before going Camron hugged his friend, saying: “We care deeply about you Trish, all of us. See you tomorrow.”
The end of ‘It Just Doesn’t Matter’ – it does matter.
