It was impossible to truly describe how it felt to wield a gift to someone who did not have it. A gift was a muscle and so much more. It offered a dimension to the human senses shared exclusively by the owners of such an ability. None were as true as telepathy, a power that was as powerful as it was easy to fuck up. Every human had their own perspective, their own version of an exact memory. It was possible to read a mind wrong. Misunderstandings have been had. People have been killed over nothing.

When Whitworth dove into the memories of Megan Howard, he did not see lines of text describing a biography in prose. He felt emotion, and saw vague imagery; only those with an eidetic mind could offer a cinematic experience. He saw a busy road. People blurred past. He felt a general feeling of contentment. What from? The woman had recently began living alone. Attached to the idea was a sense of freedom and relief. He dug further and found the thoughts of freedom from the house, and relief from an overprotective father. He doubted he needed mindreading abilities to glean that.

He felt surprise, then fear as the white van opened and men stepped out, walking towards her. The memories were clearer, crisper here. The fear was not wholly from the way her wrists were painfully grabbed and her throat obstructed from making noise, but rather from fear of a single phrase: ‘I told you so’. She had been more worried about her father being right about the dangers of the world even as she was manhandled onto the back of the van.

He saw darkness. Muffled voices. A beating heart.

“What are we supposed to do next?” One of the kidnappers said.

“Shut up!” He was told.

They drove for some time. Megan nearly fell asleep. Then they stopped. She was pulled to her feet and brought into a room in an abandoned building. This was the derelicts. The place the Mayor had once promised to clean up and produce cheap housing from. But nobody seemed to care overmuch when he did not fulfill that promise. The only people it affected were the homeless after all, who didn’t really have a voice on such matters.

Why should father care then?

That had been Megan’s sentiment, one thought with a bitterly aware tone.

A young activist, Whitworth thought, though he kept it to himself. Youth was passion and fire. Age was practicality and numbness. Both tended to pity the other from a distance, though only telepaths understood the cynicism both shared as common ground.

He sat in the chair Megan had been forced to sit in. Blinding work lights lit the room. She had sat there for what felt like hours. He had to commend her for being able to stay calm. Whether it was from inner strength or a symptom of shock was ambiguous. And it didn’t matter, for a disturbance had pulled the attention of two out of the four kidnappers. There were voices down the hall. If Whitworth had to guess, it sounded like two girls. The police had reported finding no significant evidence of interference at the scene other than a cleanly cut chain by an alleyway door. A dead end then. Whitworth let it go.

The remaining men in the room with their hostage began to talk. There was confusion in their tones. Anxiousness too. Their instruction had ended here. They had been told to wait until a time, and a time had passed. Then they began to discuss ransom.

Whitworth pulled out of her memories. He had seen enough. He turned to the police commissioner.

“They weren’t even planning on ransoming her,” he said. “They only began thinking about it their plan didn’t take.”

“What was their plan?”

“I don’t know. They didn’t either. They were likely paid to bring her to a spot and wait for something, only for nothing to come. They were set up.”

“So you’re telling me their whole plan was to waste our time?”

“There is obviously more going on here,” Whitworth said.

“Enough!” Howard interjected. “Clearly we have more work to do. The police have wasted enough time. They ought to be returning to their duties and getting to the bottom of this. I won’t hold any of you longer. Megan, you’re staying in this house for the foreseeable future…” He sighed. “Until we sort this out,” he added. “Then you can- um, leave.”

“Yes, father,” she said flatly.

The police excused themselves first. Then the men from the FBI, who had been silent the whole time. But as they left Whitworth felt a knowing shift in their thoughts. Whatever they had heard in this meeting seemingly affirmed something they already knew. He could wrestle it from their minds, but with their mental training, it would be too obvious.

“Mr. Whitworth,” Howard said. “Continue your service, please. I know that my daughter is but one person out of millions but…”

“I take your meaning,” Whitworth said. “I’ll ask for the help of one of my teams.”

“I’ve just been so busy. I have a press release today as well and…” Howard made an exasperated noise. “This is the last thing I needed.”

“I know the feeling. Good day.”

He made his return to the school, more bothered than when he had left.

--

She lingered to take in the blue sky for just a few more moments. The voices were as loud as ever. The world was even noisier, more so than when she had left it. She sighed and began to bend the space around her. That fish eye effect enveloped her vision, like she was staring through a bottle. When it ended the blue had been replaced by dark grey. The touch of wind on her skin became a musty coolness. The humming of engines permeated the walls. She could even feel it in her chest, competing with her heartbeat.

There was a man sitting in a chair in front of her. He was facing the wrong way. He glanced over his shoulder uncertainly.

“Oh.” The chair’s legs scraped against the metal floor as he turned it around to face her. “Hello.”

“Hi…”

“Good to meet you, Lyssa. I’m Jackson, I keep the school safe.”

“No first name?”

“No.”

Lyssa already did not like being here. The man’s stained glass eyes betrayed nothing about his character. And neither did his mind. It wasn’t psychic resistance. When Lyssa reached out she felt the definite presence of a mind, but there was nothing to read. How was that possible? A gift that nullifies other gifts? No, she could still her powers like primed muscles beneath her skin.

“Busy day,” Jackson said. “You caused quite a scare at the campus. Haven't seen someone fold space since Rachminau.”

“Sorry.”

“What is that? Dark energy manipulation? Casimir bending?”

“I… don’t know.”

“You can generate gravity from it too, it seems. There are a couple hundred cases of gifts like that. Very intriguing.”

“Sir, what is this about?”

“The institution is worried about you,” Jackson said. “We know you’re troubled, but there has always been an unofficial system in place to assist gifted with great potential, even if they do not pass the mental evaluation.”

“Because I can be of use.”

“Well, yes,” he replied matter-of-factly. “That’s what the hero program is. We’re training the younger generation to provide utility to our society. Not just in the form of protection. None of this is a secret.”

“So what now?” Lyssa asked. “Do I just return with you to the ground? And then none of this ever happened?”

“Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“Professor Verruck forced… this situation. I panicked.”

“She has always been a little zealous in her curiosities. We will deal with her.”

“And then I am to return to class like nothing happened?”

“Hm, yes I see. This feels off to you doesn’t it? You know you’ve done something wrong, but you’re surprised so little consequence is coming of it. You think ulterior motive is at play.”

Lyssa stayed silent.

“This isn’t the first time, you know,” Jackson continued. “That a gifted student lost control, I mean. Gifts can be finicky things. We’ve covered up instances of this before. Why are you so nervous?”

Lyssa did not want to say anything at all. But if what he was saying was true, her staying quiet would be dangerous. As she grew older she realized how important grandfather’s science was. It simply cannot be revealed to anyone’s eyes. But if she continued acting this defensively, M.A.G.E might catch on that there was something she was hiding. Sometimes the best defense was no defense.

She lowered her shoulders and reluctantly dispelled the energies she had held ready in her grip.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just- I don’t have money. I can’t pay for the damage I caused. I thought I would get expelled. I just got so scared.”

“You’re very conscientious. How about this. Once you progress far enough in the hero program to earn a paycheck we’ll take the costs of repair out of that?”

“Okay,” she replied.

“I think I understand you a little better now,” Jackson said. “Whitworth thought you had potential, not just because of that unique gift of yours, but because your heart was in the right place. If you’re still suspicious that we’re giving you special treatment, feel free to look at our public records. We’ve accommodated troublemakers before. Hell, Peregrine was especially hard to deal with, but he’s in the top 3 of public rankings now. You should try and get a hold of him once he returns from abroad.”

The Magpie turned around and began its descent back into the hangar bays of the facility. Lyssa paid close attention to her body language. She needed to appear relaxed, relieved. Against all odds, it seemed as though she would get to resume an academic life. As soon as the ramp lowered, Jackson simply excused himself and left. The talk they had was just like any other errand, and now that it was over he had other matters to attend.

They did not escort her back onto campus. She had to find her way to the elevators, but she remembered the way from the last time she was in the facility. This awkward escapade was over. The last thing she needed to do was return to the cave. Reality was making her itch.

--

“Doctor Terelich.”

“Hm? Ah, welcome, Mr. Jackson.” The doctor left his scopes to shake his lab guest’s hand. “What can I help you with?”

“How is Whitworth’s little request coming along?”

“Oh, jeez you know everything,” Terelich said. He flushed with embarrassment. “It’s not progressing well. We just don’t have the compute power. The subject’s genetic code is exceedingly complex. You have to realize how much memory a single gift takes up. The subject not only has to contain all those genotypes, but possess the necessary genetic sequences to allow all of them to coexist without the cells exploding. Most we’ve seen is six? Seven?”

“I suppose he’s had you put it on the backburner,” Jackson said.

“I told him it’s pointless. It’ll take longer than humanoid life has existed to brute force this problem with the computers we have.”

“Have you perhaps missed something obvious?”

Terelich gestured to a console.

“You’re welcome to take a crack at it,” he said flippantly.

“No,” Jackson said, laughing. “No, no. Have you looked at her parents?”

“Her father has category 1 resilience I believe. Her mother is ungifted. It’s a dead end. Sometimes evolution is spontaneous.”

“Go back one or two more generations. Be thorough in your background check.”

“I fail to see-”

“Humor me. You can do it in the middle of your workday. Call it a productive break.”

“Well when you put it that way.”