Everyone in Neptune High had well-off parents. If not filthy rich, at least rich enough to pay bail. It was easier to manage when you brought a gun to school, allegedly aimed it at a teacher and a student, but failed to pull the trigger with no camera feed nor witnesses to prove otherwise.

It meant he had an Aggravated Assault case where he didn’t actually hurt anyone but could be sentenced to up to 20 years in prison or some sort of threat thing that Isabella couldn’t bother to research.

That was horrible.

So here she was, visiting him at home before his first trial. He would be on house arrest and wouldn’t be allowed access to any weapons. The fact that neither his family nor he had any sign of owning a firearm helped.

Figuring out the offender from the gun was apparently impossible so they were left with only her proof, which was already uploaded to the cloud and sent to an accomplice of hers, ready to be posted on the internet in case something bad happened to her.

“Mr. Gibson, I assume,” said Isabella as the door creaked open, revealing a man with a neat stubble for a beard and hair combed to the side. There was enough gel on them for its smell to overpower his cologne, if he wore any. And he was wearing a pink office shirt and jeans at home for some reason. She extended her hand, “I’m Isabella Blair, Josh’s math teacher. Can I speak with him?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Blair. He’s locked up in his room. Said that he won’t be talking to anyone after his homeroom teacher came and asked him to confess,” said Mr. Gibson as he leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed.

“But he’ll want to meet me,” said Isabella.

“And why’s that?” he asked.

“Because I happen to be the only one that’ll believe him. Among staff, that is,” said Isabella and gave him a short smile, “May I?”

Mr. Gibson reluctantly stepped back and nodded his head, if that’s what moving his head sideways with a pursed-lip meant.

“Have you gotten a lawyer yet?” asked Isabella, “For his upcoming trial, I mean.”

“Well, yes, but he said it’ll be a difficult case. Josh’s fingerprints are already on the gun and that’s all they found on it,” said Mr. Gibson and clicked his tongue, “The camera feeds cut off a few minutes before the incident, apparently. Smells too fishy for me. He has no business having a gun. I’d know.”

“Your hunch is correct. He’s innocent,” said Isabella and pulled out a flash drive from her inside pocket.

As she wasn’t busy teaching on a Saturday, she could wear her favorite blazer. It looked almost like black leather if you looked at it from the right angle, coupled with an actual leather belt tied around the waist. To complete the look, she had black dress pants and neat all-black Chelsea boots.

“This flash drive contains evidence that’ll prove your son’s innocence,” said Isabella and paced over to Mr. Gibson. She neatly placed it in his hands and looked at the only room with a closed door, “Is that his room?”

“What’s this?” asked Mr. Gibson.

“It’s what I was planning on giving your son,” said Isabella, “I have it on my phone and the cloud as well, in case they get lost.”

She pulled out her phone and played the recording from yesterday, holding it with one hand. Wh

“Oh, my. He’s taken the fall for me,” resounded Giselle’s mocking voice from the phone and Mr. Gibson narrowed his eyes. He took the phone out of Isabella’s hand and held it against his ears, despite the fact that it was at its max settings, which would no doubt be deafening at such a close range.

It was loud enough to hear from any part of the house. That happened to include Josh’s room as well, meaning he could hear it.

There came a click and the door opened. It didn’t creak like the one in the classroom or the one she walked through just now. From between the small gap that the door created, Josh stuck out his head and slowly opened it.

“You recorded it,” said Josh after listening to the recording from his room for a few seconds, then he slowly walked closer to the phone with each passing second until he was right next to his father.

“I anticipated that she’d start spouting nonsense the moment she started laughing like a maniac when you left. So I did what any sane person would. I recorded it,” said Isabella and gave Josh a pat on his shoulder, blinked him a smile, and turned around, “You’re safe. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Umm, that thing, by the way. You can trust me with it,” said Josh by the time she was at the doorway, showing herself out. Isabella turned around and raised an eyebrow, to which Josh gave an answer by pointing to his eye. Then he drew a circle in the air near his eyes.

So Josh ended up knowing about her being a Super?

That was alright, Isabella supposed.

It’s not like her being a Super changed anything, as far as being innocent went. There were Supers that were neither a hero nor a villain despite revealing their identity to the public. The ones that had already chosen a side pestered them, though.

And with the absurd amount of them in Eastmouth, it could possibly be troublesome.

Or maybe, it could be good for her.

As far as anyone was aware, Josh didn’t have any real defense against Giselle’s lawyer and the only one that could testify was Isabella, and there was a very real chance of her being stopped from doing so. From how spoiled Giselle was, it was possible for her father to have Isabella kidnapped.

No one in their right mind would raise a child like that.

Isabella had never cared much for laws but she supposed that she had to attend as a witness, but didn’t know if that would affect the trial at all. No one in her immediate family ever went to court and even when a cousin of hers was trialed, Isabella’s presence was unnecessary.

That’s what ignoring them for the better part of her life entailed, especially when they lived on the other side of the country.

“Thanks for that,” said Mr. Gibson from behind, making Isabella stop in the doorway to give him a nod. Then Mr. Gibson added, “It means… a lot.”

“It’s only natural. As a proper adult, that is,” said Isabella and left the flat and closed the door behind herself. It locked by itself, like most doors in apartments.

They were on the 8th floor and on said floor, there were six doors. On all of them, there was a black, oval-shaped plate with white numbers on them. It wasn’t difficult to figure out which floor it was on.

Outside, there was a similar number plate, but larger, stating that inside this particular building, there were numbers 121 through 240, and once she figured out how many houses were on each floor, the rest was a piece of cake.

The building had electric lights with motion sensors that lit up when you walked beneath them. It meant that unless no one was out and walking, they’d remain shut. It also meant that whenever they were lit, someone was there.

The corridor contained the entrances to all the apartments and to the left, from Isabella’s perspective, there were the stairs and the elevator. She couldn’t see whoever was there but the bright blue lights were on and she could hear people walking.

She froze.

The design of the building was so that you’d have to walk past the elevator to go up the stairs, as it was in the middle of the stairs that led to the floor below and the stairs that led to the upper floor.

Maybe it was just a family.

Yeah, it could be that. Just a family going out for lunch, perhaps. Or coming home for it. That had to be it.

“It’s nothing,” Isabella quietly said to herself with closed eyes, “You have powers now, Bell. It’s no longer scary. You shouldn’t be scared.”

She opened them and gulped, trying her best to calm her heart running a marathon within her chest. The only thing she could hear was her heartbeat, the steps of the people around the corner completely drowned out by it.

Slowly, she placed one leg in front of the other and kept repeating that same action, trying not to think about the past. Thinking about that made her nauseous, and vomiting what little breakfast she’d gotten didn’t bode well with her.

The aftertaste was disgusting and she had no gum or mint in her pocket, courtesy of not wearing the suit to work as much as she wanted to. Both the gum and the mint were in her jeans.

That stray thought considerably calmed Isabella down and with her newfound clarity, she gathered herself and fixed her tie —it was a reflex by now. She did it whenever she felt like her hands weren’t busy enough.

“You’re a Super now,” mumbled Isabella, and that was the last push she needed.

Her heart was back to beating at its normal rate, its sound fading back to the background as it should be. She could finally hear the steps around the corner and indistinguishable speech. Then she could smell cigarette smokes.

That explained why they were there so long.

Probably some kids smoking out in the corridor so they wouldn’t be caught.

It was common practice in sour neighborhoods but Isabella expected more from a fancy place like this. Seemed that everywhere was the same.

Isabella turned and took a look at the elevator, which was on the 4th floor, not even paying any attention to whoever was smoking there. That proved to be a mistake when someone placed a hand over her mouth and pulled her aside.

“Thanks for that,” said Mr. Gibson, and Isabella stared at the door with wide eyes, slightly shivering, “It means… a lot.”

She was back.

She was back.

Isabella took a deep breath and turned around, just like before.

“It’s my responsibility as a teacher,” said Isabella and gave him a nod, but the smile she gave him last time wasn’t present.

But she wasn’t dead.

Did that mean there were other ways to trigger her powers? Like falling unconscious? What did it mean?

It was a can of worms that Isabella wasn’t willing to open right now. She had to know if whoever did that was related to Giselle and her father or not. If they were… she’d do something. If they weren’t, then she had to evade them.

Somehow.

Or not.

Isabella didn’t care if they were related to Giselle.

Whoever did something like that was trash —trash that didn’t deserve to be walking around free, or walking at all.

She was a Super now.

“Miss Blair, you’re doing it again,” said Josh before she left the apartment.

“Doing what?” she hissed, her hate for whoever it was that sent her back in time bleeding into her tone.

“Like, your eyes are glowing,” Josh clarified.

That was a side-effect of using powers. Whenever it was used, the Super’s eyes lit up. That made it almost impossible to hide when you were using your powers or when you weren’t unless you wore shades.

Whenever she jumped back in time, it meant that her eyes would start glowing.

“Ah,” said Mr. Gibson after a few seconds of staring at her, “You’re a Super.”

“I’ll be taking my leave now if you won’t mind,” said Isabella and left the apartment. This time, she closed the door slightly harder than before.

She didn’t freeze up.

Not this time.

The only fears that Isabella suffered from were fear of the unknown and her severe case of arachnophobia, and whoever was around the corner was no longer unknown.

That meant her fear didn’t apply now.

She walked faster now, almost stomping on the ground with each step. It was like she wanted them to know about her approach, as easy as it would make it for them to capture her. But not being caught wasn’t the goal right now.

The goal was to know where they were standing so she could easily escape the next time.

Just when she was at the part where she’d have to turn around, Isabella pounced past the walls and swiftly turned to both sides. She caught a glimpse of both of them.

One was Mr. Green, but he didn’t wear his security guard uniform. It’d attract too much attention, but probably less than the fancy suit he was wearing that shouted secret agent or bodyguard.

The other one was a slightly smaller man, which meant that he was the same size as her. Isabella could take him down if she managed to get the jump on him, which she could with her powers. Just like Mr. Green, he had shades but what set him apart from his partner was his bald head.

Mr. Green nodded and the bald man grabbed Isabella from behind.

Repeat.

“Thanks for that,” said Mr. Gibson as Isabella faced the door, her eyes glowing a bright purple. It wouldn’t be visible unless she turned around, but she did. Isabella took a glance at her phone and nodded, “Mr. Miller’s men are near the elevator now. It seems I’ve wasted too much time with theatrics.”

She had proof now.

“Ah,” gasped Mr. Gibson and Isabella let the situation play out once again, “You’re a Super.”

This time, Josh didn’t remind her about her glowing eyes. Maybe because it was clear that she wasn’t hiding it at all.

“So, uh, what are your powers?” asked Mr. Gibson.

She didn’t think of that.

Having her powers known to the public wouldn’t exactly be dangerous to Isabella, but she didn’t want to reveal it. Her power was one that didn’t hinge on whether the opponent knew it or not. It would let her fix her mistakes and no matter what the enemy did, she would find a way out of the dilemma.

One way or another.

“I’m afraid that might be none of your business,” said Isabella and gave him a fake smile, with only her lips making the shape, “Now then, I think I spotted a fire escape. How do you get there?”

“You’ll have to walk past the stairs to reach it,” said Mr. Gibson.

Isabella stood there, staring at an empty spot on the ceiling.

She had to think and blank slates helped that.

“Jo, go back to your room and lock the door,” said Mr. Gibson and looked at the mirror.

“No way. I can help,” said Josh, almost pleading.

“No, you can’t. Now, go back to your room, now,” said Mr. Gibson, pointing at Josh’s room.

“Fine,” growled Josh and grabbed a kitchen knife, then locked his door from the inside.

The kid had sass covered.

“They couldn’t possibly break into your home… could they?” asked Isabella, her head slightly tilted.

“No, we bring the fight to them,” whispered Mr. Gibson and gave her a wink, and when his eye opened again, they were glowing.

Glowing red.

Red meant that he had a Manipulation ability.

“You don’t tell Josh about me and no one hears about you being a Super. Deal?” asked Mr. Gibson with a finger held before his lips, still whispering.

Isabella grumpily nodded.

Having everyone know her identity as a Super would be an annoyance. The only other one that knew it was Josh and he could keep a secret.

Probably.

“Where were they?” asked Mr. Gibson.

“Right next to the elevator,” said Isabella and rubbed her forehead, “One of them was to the left and the other one to the right.”

How the hell did she get into this mess?

If you tracked it to its root, it ended up being when she failed that brat. It was because she never attended class and only visited the teachers’ room almost at the end of the semester with a thousand dollars in hand.

Being the responsible teacher that she was, Isabella refused.

That ended up being a bad move, but she didn’t regret it.

Not one tiny bit.

“You tell me what your power is after, okay? Since you’re seeing mine,” said Mr. Gibson and raised a finger. Over his finger floated a coin and it spun around in the air a few times, “They had guns, right? If they did, I could scare them off. But I’ll have to see the guns first. If they don’t have it, it’ll be a lot messier. And that means the elevator door has to go somewhere.”

The coin started to twist and contort until it became far larger, practically a thin sheet of zinc and copper. Mr. Gibson placed it on his face and it created an eerie, makeshift mask in the shape of a human face. Then he created two holes for eyes.

“Guns, huh,” said Isabella and pursed her lips. After a few seconds, she added, “I’ll check. Don’t worry, I can run away if push comes to shove.”

That was a lie.

Isabella left the house, fully intent on looping back to the apartment after taking a glance at their guns.

That, and she wanted to look stylish. Like she knew everything all along. Like her power was far more impressive than anyone would expect. It was, but she wanted to make it seem like it was a lot more useful and practical in its approach.

Like she knew everything without failure.

Once again, she walked around the corner, and once again, she looked at the two of them.

They had guns in their holsters, and just like before, they covered her mouth.

“Thanks for that,” said Mr. Gibson and Isabella turned around smiling, her eyes glowing a bright purple. It faded after a few seconds, though. That stopped the ‘That means a lot,’ part.

Mr. Gibson gasped but Isabella raised a finger, halting the part where he remarks about her being a Super.

“Josh, go to your room,” said Isabella.

“O-okay, I guess,” he said and stomped off to his room, but quietly.

That was… a lot easier than when Mr. Gibson did it. Maybe because she hadn’t told them about the men waiting near the elevator yet.

Isabella walked closer to Mr. Gibson, who took a step back with each one she took forward.

“Don’t eavesdrop,” she said loud enough for Josh to hear and she heard him lock the door. Finally, she turned to Mr. Gibson and whispered, “I need your help.”

“Help? I’d be happy to help but I fail to see how,” said Mr. Gibson, his brows furrowed.

“There are two of Mr. Miller’s men near the elevator. I want you to take away their guns and point it at them,” she said, “That’ll give them enough of a fright.”

“You-” started Mr. Gibson and after a moment of silence, he changed his sentence, “How?”

“I know a lot of things,” said Isabella and gave a him tap on the shoulder, “So, will you help me?”

“But then I’d have to-” started Josh, but even before he finished that sentence, Isabella pulled out her wallet and tossed a penny his way.

“Make a mask,” she said after Mr. Gibson caught it, not with his hands, but with his powers.

The same red glow as before started to bleed out of his eyes. Just like before, Mr. Gibson created an eerie mask and placed it onto his face.

“This is genius,” said Mr. Gibson.

He didn’t know it was his own idea?

“Yes, I’m a genius,” said Isabella and turned to the door, “I’ll do the talking if you won’t mind. It’s a lot more threatening when the guy with the scary mask is quiet.”

“Aren’t you… scared?” asked Mr. Gibson.

“No, why would I be? I already calculated the likelihood of them winning,” said Isabella and gave him a smirk after turning around, both hands on his shoulders, “Try to guess their odds.”

“None?” he asked.

“Not quite. There are exactly 54,343 ways it could go. Out of them, they only win in 7. In all of them, you talk. So if you let me do the talking, we’ll win. Understood?” she asked.

It was a lie.

Isabella didn’t even know where that came out of. It was a lie she made up on the spot, yet it sounded far too real to be a half-assed lie.

“How do you even know they’re there?” asked Mr. Gibson, “And that they have guns?”

“I calculated it. The likelihood of them being here is almost 100 percent. Whenever something has more than a 70 percent likelihood of happening, it almost certainly happens. When it’s above 90, it’ll happen unless an unknown variable introduces itself,” said Isabella and stared into Mr. Gibson’s eyes, a wide grin on her face, “It’ll be easy. Don’t worry.”

He nodded after a few seconds of staring.

“Well then, you go in first,” said Isabella and walked out, “We won’t hurt them. Just a little fright is enough. So no matter what, go along with it.”

The handle couldn’t be turned from the outside but from the inside, it may as well not be locked at all. She left the door hanging and walked out into the corridor, and then waited there. Her smirk from before was still there.

Mr. Gibson closed the door behind himself and Isabella could almost feel the two of them around the corner, ready to catch her. Then he hesitated, which earned a reassuring pat on the back from Isabella, which stirred him forward.

The duo of thugs didn’t react.

They were there for Isabella so they wouldn’t touch anyone other than her, obviously. It was obvious.

But Isabella was a sucker for theatrics.

“Guns,” she said, her tone as it would be when she told cheaters to get out after catching them lacking —authoritative.

Mr. Gibson complied and raised a finger, which caused the guns in both of their holsters to rise up into the air and after Mr. Gibson made a circle with his finger, the guns were pointed at their former owners.

“Oh my, you actually thought that I’d be walking around without a bodyguard,” said Isabella and walked out of the corridor. She saw them with their hands raised and guns aimed at their general direction, “How cute.”

“You bitch,” growled Mr. Green, the security guard from school.

“What? Giselle can make people do their bidding but I can’t?” asked Isabella and with the back of her hand, she pushed the gun that floated a few inches away from him to the point of being aimed at his forehead at a point-blank range.

“What do you want?” asked the bald man standing to the other side.

“Oh, please. Don’t act like you weren’t here to kidnap me,” said Isabella and turned to the bald man, “What I want you to do is… well, to not come after me.”

“Or what?” growled Mr. Green, “You’re just some useless math teacher. The Piper can do a lot worse.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but this good friend of mine has guns pointed at you. At my command, both of you die,” said Isabella and paced over to Mr. Green. Isabella then put her palm on his cheek. Then she slapped it, as hard as she could, so much so that her palm was stinging.

Mr. Green grunted and Isabella’s smirk from before turned into a grin.

“You have a problem?” asked Isabella and she put her hand in her pocket, and out of it, she pulled out a leather glove. She slid it on and grabbed the gun, which was aimed at Mr. Green’s abdomen, and placed it inside his mouth, moving it with her gloved hand.

The gun almost felt weightless, currently being controlled by Mr. Gibson.

“Do you have a problem with me, Tony?” hissed Isabella and she felt the security guard shudder.

It was too fun.

She shook her head and suppressed her grin, now her face a tad bit more serious. Then she caressed his cheeks.

“You come after me again, and I’ll hurt you a lot more. Oh, and I seem to recall that you have a family. I do know your name, after all. You’re employed at the school and I could feasibly get my hands on that information in what? Five minutes,” asked Isabella and half-whispered, half-moaned as she stared into Tony’s eyes, “Do you want that?”

Tony rigorously shook his head.

“Then, you don’t come after me. As simple as that,” said Isabella and turned around. But right after, she spun around and slammed her palm into his cheek once again, and this time, it didn’t hurt as much.

The glove helped, maybe, or maybe her hand was dull to the pain.

“You too, darling. Don’t come after me,” said Isabella and tapped on the bald man’s nose.

She knew how uncomfortable people you intruded their private space like that, especially when you held them at gunpoint.

Then a door opened on their floor.

“What are you doing? Chop chop, get lost,” said Isabella and clapped her hands a few times, and raised the hand that wasn’t gloved.

Mr. Gibson pulled away the guns, and the moment he did, both the thugs ran away. It wasn’t even a normal run, more like a sprint. He tried to make a fist, possibly to smash the guns, but Isabella placed her hand on Mr. Gibson’s, halting that as well.

She grabbed one of the guns with her gloved hand and put it into her inner pocket before giving him a nod.

The gun was immediately turned into a ball of metal that you couldn’t even recognize as one, with nothing to tell them apart. The gunpowder inside the bullets dropped down to the ground, though. During the mashing process, he’d pulled off his mask and had added it to the pile.

Just when whoever had opened the door came near the elevator, Mr. Gibson covered his eyes with both hands, as if rubbing them, and walked past the elderly woman that came out of her apartment, effectively hiding his eyes.

That was good.

Isabella followed him and gave him a pat on the back.

“I might’ve gone a bit too far,” said Isabella with a wry grin.

It was fun, though.

Very, very fun.

“Never ask me to do that again,” said Mr. Gibson, “You might start giving me ideas.”

“Hopefully, I won’t trouble you any further. All most people need is a little threat, after all,” said Isabella and after escorting him to the door, she walked away.

On the way back, she pulled off her glove and put it back into her pocket.

Each of her pockets had one leather glove each. If both of them were placed into one, then it’d bulge out, after all.

She placed her hand adjacent to her inside pocket and smiled. There was a gun in her hand now. It meant that she would be relatively safer. Guns helped even the odds in most cases but in hers? It could possibly make her invincible.

If she missed, she could always turn back time or-

Or it was better to not even think about using it unless it was a last resort.

Yeah, that made sense.

She wouldn’t use this gun unless her life was in danger.

So she’d definitely use it if she jumped back in time.