Beacon of Hope



Chapter One

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yQOBUrRaPU0 ))

A soft, subtle “ding-dong” tone sounded throughout the cabin and my eyes instinctively looked slightly upward to be greeted by the illumination of the “Fasten Seatbelts” sign. It’s a good thing I relieved myself about twenty minutes ago. Following the command, I draped the belt over my lap and connected it just like the flight attendants showed us at the start of the flight. It fit well over my thin physique draped by dark blue slacks and a white button-up shirt. It was time for final approach.

Glancing out the window on my left, the wing of this particular aircraft was somewhere behind my seat but below was the grand expanse of Chicagoland. Home. It would be a lovely joke if I could say that I could see my house from here, but I seem to be on the wrong side of the plane for this approach. The weather is clear and winds seem to be blowing our direction as we’re coming in from Lake Michigan. I could probably see our old house in Oak Park if I squinted hard enough.

I have to make this conference trip every quarter or so. Sometimes, you have to schmooze the media and other firms when you’re the corporate communications specialist for a company so mid-level in the tech industry that nobody’s really heard of it. Most days, I loathe this job. On days where I actually get to rub elbows with some of my old colleagues that still work in the news media, it’s a better day. I only took this job because the Tribune went belly up and I got laid off back in 2015, right after my wife surprised me with her third pregnancy. I had to do something to keep the family afloat and we needed a bigger house for the kids. I did the right thing for my family, but the wrong thing for me. I just have to suck it up and deal with it because there’s no way I’m uprooting the lives of my wife and kids to New York, D.C., or L.A. just for my own ambitions.

Life wasn’t always this monotonous and filled with existential dread. At one time, I was a starry-eyed kid from Sheboygan, Wisconsin, watching Dan Rather and Peter Jennings carry on the legacy of Walter Cronkite. Part of me wished I’d been alive to see a Cronkite broadcast and I technically was but infants never remember things. When I learned the things Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein had done, I knew I wanted to be a journalist. After graduating high school, I went straight into college for journalism. During my senior year, I met the love of my life, Laura. We dated for a while as I got my career off the ground and she got through the rest of school then her residency. I’m a news man, she’s a healer; a registered nurse. The wedding was nice. Our first child was a bit of a surprise, but nothing we couldn’t handle.

Everything was coming along great. We planned to buy a house as our second child was coming into our lives. That three-bedroom in Oak Park was quite cozy. Then, simultaneously good news and bad news: Laura got pregnant again and I lost my job at the Chicago Tribune. I gave my all for twelve years to that newspaper and got a “thanks for all the fish” moment from the finance bros from New York as they knee-capped an institution that had been in operation for one hundred and sixty-eight years at the time. We needed a larger house and I needed a job so we could do it. So, I took this vampire of a corporate job for the sake of my family. It’s been sucking the life out of me for ten years, but it means Laura and the girls have a cozy, safe home and a decent standard of living.

The plane touched down and then taxied to the terminal while I wore my disappointed scowl. I don’t ever show this side to my kids. Laura knows I’m unhappy, but newspaper journalism is all but dead, anymore. She understands my convictions. I was taught that a man puts himself to the side and provides for his family. Is it healthy? I doubt it but I’ve never spoken with a therapist, so what do I know?

At the terminal, it’s the same old story: once the flight attendants announce that we’ve docked and are able to leave the plane, everybody stands up at once. I’ve done this enough times that I simply stay seated until there’s enough of a gap to accommodate me. It takes a few minutes, but once I see an opening I reach for my carry-on in the overhead bin and casually make my way off the plane. Some people get a little impatient with the process and start shouting or pushing at this stage. I’m not them. I merely blend into the crowd and don’t impose on anyone. I even move far to the side of the gangway to let the impatient ones pass by without objection.

Inside the terminal, there are reunions all around me. Whether it’s a return from vacation, college, or even military service, there’s always somebody waiting for one of the passengers on the flight. Nothing for me, though. It’s a routine business trip. Nothing to get all worked up about. Laura is probably still at the hospital working a shift and the girls would be getting home from school in about an hour. I simply drape my suit jacket over my forearm, adjust my glasses, and pull out my phone. Call me old fashioned, but I’d rather call a cab than hail an Uber on an app. Within moments, I’m on with a dispatcher who reserves me one of the drivers already parked outside the terminal and tells me the number on the cab I should look for. I thank her cordially, stick my phone back in my pocket, and make my way out of the terminal.

When my head comes back up, something on one of the television screens catches my eye. It’s tuned to one of the 24-hour news stations with the volume disabled and closed captions enabled. The bottom third chiron reads “Scientists Debate Mystery Stellar Energy Wave Headed For Earth”. There are two scientists sitting around a table with the behind-the-desk personality. My curiosity gets the better of me and I read the captions on the screen.

[Dr. Marquez: “This is unprecedented. We’ve never detected an energy signal like this before. We don’t currently know its origin or how it will affect us here on Earth.”]

The second scientist scoffs. [Dr. Pierce: “Oh, please, Isobel! There’s no need to frighten the public! We became scientists to study the unknown. We shouldn’t be afraid of it.”]

The first scientist pinches her nose bridge. [Dr. Marquez: “Alan, we need to be serious, here. People have the right to know the truth. We’ve been tracking this thing for several days and it will hit in mere minutes. We have to prepare for any contingency.]

The host finally steps in. [Host: “Are you saying this thing could wipe us out?”]

[Dr. Marquez: “We don’t know. It’s traveling too fast for intensive study. I would advise the people at home to at least hug their children.”]

The screen went black. Everything went black: all the televisions, all the lights, and even my eyes. I felt myself crumple to the ground and there were a couple screams that echoed as I lost consciousness.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It must have been only moments later that I regained consciousness. I found myself on the floor looking up at the ceiling tiles. My body felt rather heavy and my vision was blurred at first. My fall had apparently been cushioned by my carry-on luggage, at least for my upper body. Rolling over ever so slightly, I found my glasses and slipped them on. Now, my vision wasn’t blurry and I scanned the surroundings. Lights were on. Televisions were on. The only difference seemed to be a general unease the people around me seemed to wear on their faces. A lot of those faces were fixed on the television screens. My only concern was rolling over and getting out of this airport.

Upon standing, I pulled out my phone and checked the time. A few minutes had gone by since I’d seen the time on the screen during the broadcast. The cabbie would no doubt be waiting for me and I needed to get home to my family. Getting on the move was proving a little difficult. Everything felt strange. My body didn’t want to work correctly as if I’d suffered a stroke or something. On the way out to the exit, I called my wife.

It only took one ring for the other end to activate and my wife’s somewhat frantic voice to answer, “Chris?! Honey, tell me you’re okay!”

I lightly chuckled in response. “I’m fine, Laura. I’m a little sluggish, probably because I fell over a minute ago.”

“Fell over? Sluggish? What are you talking about?”

“I think there was an EMP blast or something. All the televisions and lights went off, then I fell over. I landed on my luggage, though, so I’m generally okay.”

“Chris, that wasn’t an EMP. It was that energy thing they’ve been talking about most of this week. Are you tasting metal? Dizzy? Nauseous?”

I mentally take stock of my condition as she asks her questions. “No, honey. None of that. No stroke for me.”

“How’s your heart rate?”

“I don’t feel anything out of the ordinary there, honey. I’m just… sluggish. My body feels heavy. I’m going to catch a cab and head home. One of us needs to check on the girls. You may be stuck at the hospital for a little while. I’ve got this.” I finally reached the exit doors and scanned the surroundings for the area where the cabs were congregating.

“Be careful, Chris. I’ll look you over when I get home.”

I smiled at her as if she was right in front of me. “Wouldn’t expect anything less, Laura. See you at home. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Chris.”

Spotting the yellow cabs, my eyes started to scan the numbers on them for the one the dispatcher gave me moments ago as I tapped to hang up the phone and slip it into my pocket. It takes more than a few moments to find the actual cab I was looking for. It’s the standard Toyota Prius painted roughly the same yellow as a school bus with the trademark black-checkered stripe down the side. A guy in his mid-30s stood beside it. He was a bit shorter than me; most people are since I grew to 6’2” in high school. His polo shirt and jeans combo did little to hide all the body hair on his arms and chest. He looked up at me.

“Kent? Christopher Kent?” The cabbie asked.

I smiled at him. “Yes, that’s me. Thanks for waiting like this. I know you’re a busy man and I’d hate for you to miss a fare that got you more than my ride.”

The man shrugged. “It’s fine, my friend. Where to, today?”

“Home. Arlington Heights.”

He smiles and nods as he moves to help with my bag. “Oh, nice spot, Mr. Kent. Got lucky with that one, I’d think.”

I slowly nodded as I climbed into the back seat. “You might say that. We bought before the pandemic when prices were a little better. It still wasn’t cheap, but our three girls were not going to be happy sharing a room in a three bedroom.”

He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the meter. “I’ve got two of my own. Some say you can have them in the same room, but I’d rather avoid World War III inside my own house.”

I laughed. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Being a girl dad is not for the faint of heart.”

My smile grew wider on my face. “No, it is not. Wouldn’t trade it for anything, though.”

“Me either.”

With that, we drove onward toward my address. We chatted a bit more about our kids. His girls were younger than mine, but that didn’t matter. He was smack dab in the fun stage when they try to do your hair and makeup. My youngest, Olivia, is in that stage. Just last week, she did my makeup to mixed reviews from the others. She’s only nine, so I imagine she’ll get better at it. His oldest is eight. They probably go to the same school.

I do take a few moments to give him a little advice. In a few short years, his girls will get to a point where they may seem like they hate him for a couple of years. Hannah, my oldest, did for a while. Madison, the middle child, did for a shorter amount of time. Laura always assured me they’d come around eventually, which they did. The rapid hormone fluctuations and the reality of menstruation can do a number on girls. Laura informed me that female puberty is just all around painful, which I relayed to my cabbie. After relaying a few anecdotal examples, we pulled up to the curb in front of the house Laura and I bought in 2017.

“...and above all, be there for them when they ask you to.” I reassured him with a tap on the shoulder.

He blinked rapidly for a moment. “Well, thanks, Mr. Kent. I knew I was in for it, but I didn’t know how bad. It’s good to know there’s a light at the end of that tunnel.”

“There always is, my friend.” I nodded to him as I took my carry-on out of the trunk. Grabbing out my phone, paying for the ride with a little extra tip was simply a tap away. “You have yourself a good day, now. Drive safe!”

The guy waved as he drove away and I turned toward my home. Like almost everything else in American Suburbia, it really wasn’t very special. Two above-ground floors with a finished basement down below. It had fake shutters and a brick facade. The two car garage held both mine and my wife’s car when we were both home. I kept the lawn looking nice enough without having any semblance of a green thumb. It was just a typical house built around the time I was born and looked like it was the star of some family sitcom back in the day. The outside didn’t matter to me as much as what was inside.

Slowly, I made my way to the front door and then through it. Alas, no one was home. Calling out would do no good. School would be in session for maybe the next hour and shifts are long at the hospital. Letting out a sigh, I trudged over to the living room and set myself on the couch. The cushion felt lovely beneath my body. My eyes shut fairly quickly.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“DADDY!” Olivia’s shrill glee startled me awake.

My body rose to a seated position much faster than I would have liked. I turned to see a bouncing blur of blonde hair and orange sundress. She’d discarded her backpack near the door. The force she used to tackle me with a hug knocked a little wind out of me. Naturally, I reciprocated the hug.

“Well, hello, to you, too, sweetheart,” I chuckled.

Hannah and Madison nodded at me from the foyer in typical teenager fashion. “Hey, Dad,” they greeted in unison before heading to their rooms upstairs. I can’t blame them, much.

Hannah, our eldest at 18, had hair like mine: a deep chocolate brown with the slightest hint of a curl to it. Watching her grow into her 5’8” frame was truly a privilege. She’s always had a fierce independence, like her mother, and a love of sports even if she didn’t play on any teams at school. Madison, our middle child at 15, was blessed with auburn locks and a 5’6” frame. She was our creative type that dabbled in dance, theater, and played her electric guitar as often as she could get away with. Olivia, our youngest at 9, inexplicably has blonde locks with a bit more curl to them than even mine. Right now, her personality is changing by the day. I’m lucky if I can convince her to watch Bluey with me from time to time.

Olivia looked at me with those pretty green eyes her mother gave her. “Did you bring me anything, Daddy?”

With a small smile, I chuckle, “Not this time, Princess. It’s one of the places I’ve already been a few times and all the stuffies were pretty boring.”

Her entire body slumped in disappointment. “Dang it.”

“That’s what I said! I was really disappointed. I’m sorry, kiddo.”

She tried to grip me in a tighter hug. “It’s okay, Daddy. You tried.”

A tear forms in my eyes as I wrap my comparatively huge arms around her. “Of course I did, sweetheart. Anything for my girls.” We linger on the hug for a few moments. These are the moments I’ve always treasured. They’re gone so soon. She released the hug and I went back into parenting mode. “Okay, sweetie, why don’t you get your backpack upstairs and do your homework.”

She slumps again. “Homework?” she whines. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, ma’am, you do. C’mon. Chop-chop.”

I watched her move back toward the foyer in reluctant, dramatic fashion. It’s a skill preteens the world over have probably mastered. If nothing is said, then they’ll do as asked but they are certainly trying to get you to reconsider your request. There have been times in the past that I have faltered but after two other children who have tried this tactic I was on my A-game. Not feeling well was also helping.

As the girls settled in after school, I stayed on the couch. Remote in hand, I wanted to see what the world was saying about the current state of affairs. After being laid off, I lost all access to any of the apps or group chats people used in the business. Thus, I’d have to rely on them to find out what’s been going on. The challenge, anymore, was finding the truth. A lot of broadcast news sources just go for “dibs” and forget to actually do much journalism. My media literacy had always been fairly spot on, so I knew which channels to trust and which ones to not even glimpse at.

Settling on a channel that was usually quite truthful, I found myself in the midst of the broadcast about the events of the day. It would seem the “Stellar Energy Wave” from earlier at the airport is everywhere right now. There seems to be quite a bit of sensationalization about it. Getting to the truth of the matter took a few minutes. After sifting through the cross-talk, I was able to glean that some kind of energy wave or pulse had struck the Earth today. It knocked out a lot of electronic devices and lights. There had been more than a few car accidents as a result, but thankfully no plane crashes. Air traffic control had been set back about ninety seconds, which had caused massive delays for air travel all around the world. It’s speculated that supply chains have been affected, but no one knew by how much just yet. Worse, nobody had any idea what kind of energy passed through our little blue marble or what kind of long term effects will be felt.

All of it was giving me quite a headache. I sunk further into the couch and closed my eyes. Before long, I actually fell asleep. The sound of the newscast faded as I did so. No dreams came to me while my body lay there on the couch. No passage of time was perceived at all.

The next thing I felt was something impacting my face. My eyes struggled to open at first, but then another slap hit my face and they shot open. The first thing I saw was the worried face of my wife, Laura. Just behind her stood all three of our daughters with the same worried face. Confusion overtook me.

“Jesus, Christopher!” came the worried shrill from Laura. “I’m so glad you’re awake! I’ve been slapping you for five minutes!”

My voice emerged hoarse. “What? What’s going on?”

All three of my daughters breathed in relief. Meanwhile, my wife began taking my vitals like the seasoned nurse she is. “How are you feeling, honey?”

A sharp pain erupted in my head while a ring in my ears crescendoed like Madison had hit the highest note on her guitar and turned up the amp. “GAH! My head! My ears!” As my arms moved to cover my ears in a vain attempt to stop the ringing, the material of my shirt barely managed to slide over my sweat-drenched skin.

“Something is wrong, Chris. Very wrong! We may need to get you to the hospital! Your heart rate is up, you’ve got cold sweats, and your skin does not look right!” Laura frantically informed me.

After clamping shut with the sharp head pain and ringing ears, my eyes opened again, but something was very off. All I could see was some bluish tint to the world, the outlines of objects and the four people in the room, but the thing that got me the most was the fact I could actually see their skeletons. “WHAT THE HELL?!” As Laura moved closer, all I could see was a vague outline of her body and her skeleton, mostly her skull, move closer to my face. I shrieked.

I could clearly hear Madison whisper to Hannah as if she were whispering in my own ear. “When has dad ever used a swear word before?”

Then, Hannah seemed to be whispering in my other ear. “Never. This is freaky.”

When Laura spoke, it sounded like she was in a stadium at the microphone with thousands of speakers projecting her voice. “Tell me what’s going on, Christopher!”

I tried my hardest to move away from her… and found myself on the far side of the room in the blink of an eye. Turning back to my family, it was still the same blue world and skeletons. I couldn’t see the expressions on their faces. “All I see are skeletons…”

A pain erupted in my core that forced me onto hands and knees. All of my muscles spasmed at once and I felt a sense of vertigo. My entire body felt like it was radiating heat it shouldn’t be capable of. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth. My hands and knees felt like they were moving along the floor for a moment. Simultaneously, my clothes felt like they were getting bigger by the second. As my muscles vibrated my body with their spasms, it seemed to jiggle like Jell-O. I even felt my throat constrict ever so slightly. Inexplicably, my shoes completely slipped off my feet. I could hear the gasps and stunned grunts from my family as they looked on. Something tickled my cheeks and the back of my neck as I breathed through whatever was happening.

After a few moments, the world became a lot more quiet and there were no more strange sensations. Breathing heavily, I opened my eyes. Mercifully, the world was back to normal. My hands looked very strange and the sleeve of my shirt was very loose. I struggled to stand, but finally managed to do so. My clothes, which had fit quite well moments ago, felt like they had grown several sizes. When I turned to look at my family, all their eyes were wide as dinner plates. There was awe, fright, and worry written into their expressions.

“What?” The voice coming out of me was not my own. It had said what I wanted to, my vocal chords vibrated, my lungs released air, and I could feel vibrations on my lips. However, gone was the gruff baritone. It was replaced by the light lilt of a teenage girl. My strange hands shot up to clasp over my mouth in disbelief.

“If I had not just watched it happen, there’s no way you could convince me THAT is my father.” Hannah stated plainly.

“Deadass.” Madison responded breathlessly.

Laura cautiously stood up. “Christopher?”

The voice of a teenage girl came out of me once again. “It’s me, honey. What happened?”

Tears began to stream down Olivia’s face. “Daddy?”

My heart broke. “I’m right here, Princess.” My attention turned back to my wife. “Laura, what happened to me?”

She looked me directly in the eyes. “We’re going to the hospital.”

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Two

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_MlBCb9-m8 ))

The trip to the hospital was unsettlingly quiet and filled with tension. Laura insisted we take her vehicle and I was relegated to the passenger seat. The girls were in the back. A few times I glanced toward Olivia and she wouldn’t even look at me. A pit had formed in my stomach and a frog lodged itself in my throat. Many thoughts ran through my mind, none of them much intelligible. Sparks of emotion, really. Nobody said a word as my wife’s SUV weaved through the street grid toward her place of employment.

One thing I really noticed before we climbed into the car was that, beyond my clothes being uncomfortably loose, I wasn’t much taller than Laura or Hannah. At six-foot-two, I should be much taller than either my wife, who stands five-foot-nine, or my eldest daughter, who stands five-foot-eight. Walking to the car, it seemed I was roughly the same height as my wife and just a little taller than Hannah. There were other oddities such as: how my body felt, how it moved, and sensations in places there shouldn’t be any or where there should be. About a mile from the hospital, curiosity got the better of me and I flipped the sun visor down. Opening the lid on the vanity mirror, I caught my first glimpse at myself.

Wavy, dark chocolate hair draped from my head to just below my shoulders. There were no wrinkles on my face whatsoever. Overall, my skin seemed to have lightened a few shades and gained a youthful sheen. My eyes seemed to be a striking and vibrant shade of blue, which was close to how I remember them in my youth. My nose seemed smaller and my lips a little more plump. Examining myself, I tilted the mirror downward a bit more. My neck was as smooth as my wife’s or my daughters’. Looking a little further down, the mirror showed me two prominent fleshy mounds on my chest that could only be referred to as one thing. Startled, I closed the lid on the vanity mirror and flipped the sun visor back up.

“Honey, I have breasts…” I announced through quick breaths.

“Noticed that at the house, Chris.” Laura stated, keeping her eyes on the road.

“...and I look like a child.” I added.

“You look like me, Dad… except you… except like a girl.” Hannah stumbled through confirming.

Laura didn’t respond. She pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and prepared to leave the vehicle. “Enough stating the obvious, everyone. Let’s go.”

I could plainly tell that she was confused and frightened. We all filtered out of the car and toward the emergency department without another word. Olivia opted to hold Hannah’s hand rather than mine like she typically might. Deciding not to focus on it, I scanned our surroundings and found several ambulances near the entrance. It was perfectly clear this might be the case when I was watching the news at the house.

The headache came back. The crescendo was much faster than before. My hands flew to my head and I fell to my knees. In the next moment, a red filter applied itself to my vision as if it were a slow shutter until it closed in the middle. Panicked, I looked all around me. The moment my eyes fell on one of the concrete pillars outside the building, my eyeballs felt hot as if I had a fever. I watched as it seemed to be impacted by something. Adversely, my headache disappeared as I watched a localized blast impact the pillar like a large-calibur bullet. I quickly closed my eyes and held them shut, deducing that I must be causing the damage.

As I struggled to keep my eyes closed, Madison exclaimed, “Fucking LASER EYES?! What the shit, Dad?!”

“Madison! Watch your language!” My wife and I chorused in scolding her.

“Looked more like a red-orange phaser to me,” Hannah quipped.

The heat finally left my eyes and I opened them cautiously. With the world looking the same as it always does, I lowered my hands and turned to the others. “Let’s get inside and find out what’s going on.”

No one objected.

Through the doors, our first stop was the security station. The rent-a-cop behind the desk checked everyone in but me and gave them little identification stickers. Further in, we reached the registration desk. The person behind a computer looked up at us and saw me as the only one without a visitor sticker.

“What seems to be the issue, folks?” She asked.

I spoke up. “Something really strange happened to me and I need to get checked out.”

“Gonna have to give me more than that, sweetie. What happened?”

“Well…” I began.

Laura stepped forward. “Until about ten minutes ago, this person was my husband, Christopher Kent.”

Some of the nurses behind the counter looked over at us and one recognized my wife. “Laura? Didn’t you get off shift about half an hour ago?”

Laura nodded. “I did. Can we just get checked in so somebody can take a look at Chris and figure out what happened?”

The nurse pointed at me. “THAT is your husband? The teenager that’s a dead ringer for one of your kids?”

I got a little angry at this point and raised my voice. “Can we just can it and get me checked in, please?! This is weird enough without the scrutiny, thanks!” I took a quick breath to calm down. As I exhaled quickly, frost formed on the plexiglass dividing the waiting area from the staff area, a protective measure from the pandemic. “Christopher Kent. Date of birth: April 18, 1980.”

I could hear my daughters gasping in the background. Madison leaned over and whispered to Hannah thinking I couldn’t hear. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” She waited for a non-verbal response I couldn’t see. Once she got it, she responded, “It’s giving Superman.”

Rolling my eyes, I simply extended my arm awaiting the inevitable hospital bracelet. Laura finished relaying our address, my phone number, confirming herself as the emergency contact, and confirming our insurance information. Typical hospital things. Finally, I felt the bracelet being wrapped around then fastened to my arm. We turned and did our best to find a spot to sit together. It wasn’t easy with the number of patients around. It had been a weird day, so more than the usual amount of weird things happened that sent people to the hospital emergency room waiting area.

We sat there for HOURS while we waited. It was clear I wasn’t actually hurt, so I was definitely not a priority. That suited me just fine because it was definitely my feeling that the people actually hurting should be seen first. Comparatively, I’m just having a weird day. Hannah and Madison messed around on their phones. Laura had brought a tablet for Olivia. After a while, I stood up and started pacing.

The girls were all born over at Rush Oak Park Hospital about twenty miles from here. We don’t go to hospitals much. I was accustomed to the surroundings at ROPH. I was not as familiar with the interior of Northwest Community, where we had gone and Laura works. The difference in my surroundings was what was affecting me. Generally, everything is a little further away than it was at that time. The tops of doors seemed a little higher. The chairs seemed a little taller. It wasn’t just the comparative heights between myself and my family. It was such a slight difference. The only comparative concept is an “uncanny valley” in art or film: where a face looks almost human but our brains know it isn’t, subconsciously, so it looks weird to our conscious minds. That’s what I was feeling about the world around me: the uncanny valley.

At one point, I stopped to stare at a television screen while the news was on. It was one of the stations I know to be a little more loose with the truth, but I was looking for those kernels of truth. It was all still much the same. Nobody knows what exactly happened. Scientists are baffled. There have been some casualties and fatalities linked to car crashes all across the United States. No plane crashes but massive delays. The airlines have been delayed four to six hours, they speculate. The thing that caught my eye was isolated reports of people with certain… abilities. In the exact words of the commentator: powers like people in comic books or comic book movies. Could that be what’s happening to me?

I’ve read several comics in my day and seen a few movies on the big screen about superheroes. In 2025, who hasn’t? They’re fantasy, though. Some are science fiction, but that’s basically the same genre in a round about way. They’re not real. Like the gods, monsters, heroes, and villains from antiquity we study in literature classes, it’s all myth with a deeper meaning. They teach lessons as well as entertain people. The things they can do are larger than life. They were never meant for the real world.

On a whim, I returned to sitting with my family. Each of them looked bored, except for Laura who seemed to have the weight of the world behind her eyes. Olivia was slumped against her refusing to make eye contact with me. Letting out a sigh, I turned to the teenagers.

“What did you mean by ‘It’s giving Superman’, Madison?” I asked cordially. The pitch of my voice was still confounding me.

She leaned forward from behind her sister to look at me as we were all sitting in a line with Laura and Olivia opposite us. “You heard that?” She asked, an eyebrow raised.

I closed my eyes and took in a breath. “Yes, Madison, I heard you.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “There’s another one.”

“Another one what?”

Hannah scoffed. “Madi, don’t.”

Madison sneered at her sister. “He’s gonna figure it out eventually.” She then turned to me. “Okay, so… remember back at home when you said all you could see was skeletons? Did you mean that literally?”

That creepy image came back to my mind and my eyes widened in response. “Unfortunately, yes. There was this blue filter over my eyes. There were all kinds of outlines of the things in our house. I could see the electronic structure of the TV. When I looked at all of you, all I could see was the outlines of your bodies… and your skeletons.”

“So, x-ray vision.” Madison concluded. “Also, when you moved from the couch to the bay window, none of us saw you move. It was REALLY fast. Then, you shot these beams out of your eyes that took out a chunk of that pillar outside. When we got here, you frosted over the plastic spit barrier at the check-in desk. Just after that, you heard me whisper to Hannah.”

My brow furrowed at her. “What are you saying?”

“Your power set, Dad.” She counted on her fingers as she listed things off. “X-ray vision, super hearing, super speed, heat vision, and frost breath. If we find out you’re super strong, basically invulnerable, and you can fly, you’re basically Superman.”

Hannah joined in. “Normally, I’d call my sister an unhinged, cringe-worthy nerd but she’s got a point. Some weird stuff is going on today. Especially with you, Dad.”

Letting out a sigh, I allowed my head to fall while closing my eyes. “No kidding.” Taking a large breath, I continued. “The reason I asked is because I was watching the news on the TV over there. The desk anchor was reporting about some people actually having powers, like in the comic books or in the movies. Unsubstantiated, of course.”

“What’s ‘unsubstantiated’?” Hannah asked.

“In the news business, it means they’ve heard some rumors but haven’t been able to collect enough sources to report it as fact.” I rolled my eyes. “In the rush to be first to report on something, they’re forgetting to tell the irrefutable truth.”

Laura finally joined the conversation by rolling her eyes and responding, “The old ‘some people are saying’ that some stations get away with.”

I nodded in her direction. “Exactly. Perversion of the news, if you ask me.”

She managed a smile in my direction. “My husband: the news man with integrity.”

“Darn tootin’ I am.”

My teenage daughters slapped their faces with their palms. Hannah spoke for both of them. “Geezus, Dad. You can be so corny, sometimes.”

Olivia finally spoke, looking up at Laura. “Mom, why does Daddy look like Hannah?” Her eyes then finally landed on me.

“We don’t know, yet, honey. That’s what the doctors are going to figure out.”

As if on cue, one of the nurses approached us. “Hello. Are you folks the Kents?”

Laura turns to her. “We are… ?”

“Which one of you is Christopher?”

I held up my arm with the hospital band on it. “That would be me.” I may have to get used to the double-take she gave me at that moment.

The nurse led me to the triage room and set about taking my vitals. Laura and the girls waited just outside the room. She first put me on a scale with a ruler on it, getting my height and weight: five feet and ten inches tall, weighing in at one hundred and fifty three pounds. Last I checked, I was six feet and two inches tall while weighing about one hundred and eighty six pounds. In a matter of moments back in my living room at the house, I’d lost four inches of height and thirty-three pounds. That doesn’t take into account an apparent change of sex and return to youth. The other vitals such as blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen saturation, temperature, and breaths per minute were all within normal parameters.

After a heated discussion about not being seemingly sick or injured at all, I was finally escorted to an exam room with my family in tow. Once again, we had to wait a while for anyone to even come into the room to attend me. When they finally did, they were rather dismissive but cooperative. Nearly an hour passed before the doctor even came into the room. In his green scrubs, he looked utterly exhausted and a little confused when he walked in. He did that double-take in my direction.

“Am I in the wrong room? The chart is showing that there’s a forty-five year old man in here.” The doctor asked.

“You’re in the right room, doctor.” I sighed as I spoke. “I’m Christopher Kent.”

He blinked several times. “Wow… okay… I mean… you’re the third one this shift.”

“Third one what?”

“Mysterious, almost instantaneous sex change or age regression… or both.” The doctor announced before taking a strong breath. “Okay, we’ll get a full blood panel, some CTs, and a full MRI. I don’t know if we’ll be able to get any answers about how or why this happened. You’ll probably be here for a while. Are you okay with that?”

I turned to my wife. “Laura?”

She firmly nodded. “We need to know, Chris.”

My gaze turned back to the doctor. “Let’s do it, Doc.”

He simply nodded and got to work. I turned again toward my wife and kids. She looked worried still and they all looked tired and bored. My conscience would not allow me to inconvenience them for many more hours. A minute or two after the doctor left, a phlebotomist came into the room armed with needles and vials. She began to prepare my skin for the needle poke.

“Honey, maybe you should take the kids home. They look really bored and tired. I don’t want to feel like I’m forcing them to stay here or anything.” I stated toward Laura.

None of them responded at first and all of them looked at the arm the phlebotomist was trying to get a needle into. I turned to look and she’d already broken or bent three needles. She was trying one last time to put a needle in my arm. It wouldn’t penetrate. Instead, the needle bent under the force. The phlebotomist looked at me with surprised eyes.

“I can’t get a needle in. Your skin isn’t even indenting when I try.” She stated plainly.

Madison raspberried her lips. “Invulnerable.”

“Madison, don’t jump to conclusions.” I scolded her before turning back to the phlebotomist. “Has this ever happened before?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve never bent or broken a needle against someone’s skin. This is too weird. I’m gonna talk to the doctor.”

“You tried your best. Thank you.” I softened my tone toward her, understanding the plight.

She shuffled her cart away with the bent and broken needles. I felt really bad for her. As soon as she left the room, Laura turned to me.

“Okay, Chris. I’m going to take the girls home. They have school in the morning.” She sighed. “I’ll get them settled in and come back.”

I nodded slowly. “Sounds like the best idea, honey.”

No one hugged me or gave me a kiss when they left. There’s never been a time in my life where a parting from my kids or my wife didn’t involve some sort of hug. Laura and I don’t part without a kiss good-bye. My heart sank as I watched them leave. Part of me longed for that connection but the other part understood that this entire situation must be just as weird for them as it was for me.

The next few hours crawled along like anyone that’s been in the hospital and subjected to such a vast battery of tests would experience. The staff had me strip out of my sweaty clothes and into a hospital gown. There was a moment that I marveled at how completely my body had changed. I’d seen very few naked women before Laura and I got together. This body seemed fairly standard fare. I didn’t dwell on the moment too long before slipping on the hospital gown and subjecting myself to whatever tests they deemed necessary. CT scans, x-rays, MRIs, a pelvic exam, and urinalysis were all conducted. I had empathy for my wife at the gynecologist before, but now I knew exactly what that was like. Laura came back after the CT scans and held my hand through the pelvic exam like I’ve done for her numerous times. They at least let us order some food since we were there so long.

After a couple hours more, the doctor finally came in to speak with Laura and I. It was a different doctor than we’d seen hours before. This one was a thirty-something woman that actually wore a lab coat over her scrubs. She came in with a clipboard that contained the chart information that had been gathered through the night.

“Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Kent. I’ve got good news and bad news, depending on your perspective,” She announced.

“Doctor, I’m a journalist. There’s no such thing as good news or bad news. There’s only objective truth. Please, proceed.” I stated.

“Well, that’s good at least.” She responded. “So, there’s nothing wrong with you, medically. No broken bones. No internal bleeding. We didn’t detect any pathogens in your urinalysis. We, apparently, can’t take any blood samples, so that’s not saying much.” She held the clipboard to her chest and took a quick breath. “As you no doubt already discovered from the pelvic exam, you are definitively female, Mr. Kent. MRI confirmed the presence of a female reproductive system with no trace of any male systems. Based on corroboration between the CTs, x-rays, and MRI, you seem to have anatomically become a young woman approximately seventeen years old. I have no explanation for you, other than that.”

“How is that possible? One minute, I’m a forty-five year old father of three and the next minute I’m my own daughter’s younger sister? It’s madness!” I exclaimed.

“I agree, Mr. Kent. If I knew how this happened, I’d be getting a letter from the Nobel Committee. Complete change of sex is something less complex organisms do every day, but not creatures as complex as humans. There’s no scientific precedent for age regression.”

Laura actually took my hand in comfort. “What are we supposed to do?”

The doctor shrugged. “I have no idea, Mrs. Kent. The only thing I do know is that we’re going to discharge you. There’s absolutely no medical reason to keep you. I suggest you go home and… I don’t know… adapt?”

Both Laura and I slumped. “Thank you, Doctor,” I sighed and moved to get off the gurney.

While getting myself dressed, Laura and I didn’t say a word. Neither of us were really prepared to face this new reality and “adapt”. Something quite profound had happened and a lot of things had changed. Worst was: there were no answers. Questions swirled around in my mind about what this meant for me, for Laura, and for my children. Yet again, there were no answers.

Laura accepted the discharge paperwork on my behalf and we shuffled out of the hospital. All I had on was the button-up shirt, boxers, slacks, and socks I’d worn home from the airport. They were stained with dried sweat and it smelt horrific. None of it really mattered. The chill of the forty-five degree weather didn’t even register. My feet walking on the hard surface of the sidewalk and parking lot on the way to the car didn’t even register in my mind. It was as if my entire body was as numb as my mind. I settled into the passenger seat of my wife’s SUV, buckled in, and just stared out the window watching the suburban landscape pass by. Neither Laura nor I said a word to each other on the way home.

Once home, I followed Laura into the house. It was fairly quiet. It seemed like the girls were all in bed sleeping. We ascended the stairs to our bedroom. Laura excused herself to the bathroom and closed the door, which was a new behavior to me. I stripped out of the sweaty clothes, deposited them into the hamper, and found a t-shirt and sweatpants combination. My usual choice of underwear was proven unnecessary, so I didn’t wear any.

Laura and I climbed into bed and turned off the lights without exchanging a single word.

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Three

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOTcr9wKC-o ))

Waking up the next morning, every fiber of my being wished the prior evening and night was all one long dream. Maybe I fell asleep on the plane? Once I opened my eyes and shifted, reality set in. Laura was nowhere to be found. There was a thrown aside comforter and an indentation in the bed where she slept. The call of nature forced me out of bed and toward the bathroom. The act of relieving myself confirmed yesterday was no dream. The corroborating second source was the mirror.

Much like the vanity on the back of the sun visor in the car last night, I got a good look at myself. The wavy, dark chocolate brown hair was in disarray from a restless sleep. My brilliant blue eyes stared back at me, albeit with dark circles under them. My nose was basically the same, albeit smaller. My jaw had lost all pretense of masculine angular profile and become more rounded, even streamlined. My chin was more of a point than before. My lips seemed a little more plump, but basically the same. The wrinkles on my face were completely gone. There was almost a bioluminescent sheen to my skin. The overall shape of my head was smaller. At least my ears didn’t change much. My neck was smooth and thinner than it had ever been. Two mounds tented my t-shirt but I couldn’t see much of anything else with how loose the shirt and sweatpants were. I was glad for that.

Hannah was right, though. The girl in the mirror did look like her, but only in age range and familial resemblance. Thus, like her but me but female. There is no self-respecting editor that would ever allow a sentence like that to reach a page.

Turning from the mirror, I ventured back into the bedroom Laura and I shared to make the bed. Once it was tidy, I ventured further into the house. All the family bedrooms were upstairs. Laura and I had our own ensuite bathroom. The girls shared a bathroom in the hallway. They each had their own room. Descending the stairs brought on sensations I was not ready to face right now. At the bottom of the stairs, the living room where my own personal nightmare began was to the left. I rounded the corner and followed the hallway to the kitchen near the back. There was a good cup of joe calling my name.

Even as I went through the motions of pouring cold coffee into a mug, popping in the microwave, and waiting a couple minutes, there was the feeling of isolation. The five bedroom and three bathroom house felt like an enormous cavern. All that space for one person. Laura had probably gone to work. The girls had already gone off to school. I glanced at the digital clock on the coffee pot. Eleven twenty-two in the morning. I hadn’t slept in like this since my raucous college days. At the microwave beep, I grabbed my now hot cup of coffee, added some sugary liquid creamer, stirred it, and padded my bare feet on the laminate wood flooring we’d had installed to replace carpet a few years back.

The only activity that came to my mind was to watch the news. I’d missed a lot overnight, so it was time to catch up. Entering the same living room where everything happened last night gave me momentary pause, but I slowly overcame it. Finding the remote in the same place I left it last night, I tapped the power button. In much less than a second, the TV was on and still tuned to the same channel.

For the next few hours, I lost myself in the stories of the day: Russia v. Ukraine, Israel v. Palestine, Sudan v. itself, and the President v. everything else. Unfortunately, those pertinent issues are relegated to side stories. The breaking news was all about yesterday’s events. Per usual, most of the “reporting” was speculative. Nobody seemed to have any hard facts to report. They were making it up as they went along. Such is the nature of 24-hour news. Real journalism requires time. Time to investigate, time to corroborate, time to organize into coherent reality, and time to actually inform people.

Frustrated, I decided to check for any local news coverage on the situation. I managed to catch the WCIU broadcast. They were also talking about this breaking story. However, they decided to interview a scientist rather than talking heads with national scope. The anchor was the usual late-20s pretty boy. The interviewee was a Hispanic woman that appeared to be a little older than him. She was dressed very well in her suit jacket but looked uncomfortable wearing it. Her dark hair was tied back in a tight bun and black plastic rim glasses sat atop her nose.

“Here with us today is a researcher from the University of Chicago, Dr. Isobel Marquez. As the world has been trying to sort out what exactly happened yesterday, Dr. Marquez has been at the forefront of solving that puzzle. An astrophysicist and cosmologist, she has dedicated her life to discovering the mysteries of our universe. It’s an honor to have you in our studio, Dr. Marquez.” the anchor introduced his guest.

She nodded cordially to him. “It’s my pleasure to offer insight into the truth of what we’re all experiencing, Mr. Olsen. Thank you for having me.”

He shifted his posture ever so slightly as he began the interview proper. “Dr. Marquez, the elephant in the room is obvious: what, exactly, happened yesterday?”

“I’m glad someone finally asked that question. It’s simple, really. A wave or pulse of energy was detected by the Gemini Observatory in Hawaii several days ago. Many astronomers and cosmologists have been hypothesizing what it could be because we’ve never witnessed anything else like it. We believed it to be a novel astronomical phenomenon. As we observed it, we became aware of its blueshift wavelength.”

“Mind breaking that down for our viewers, Doctor? What’s a blueshift wavelength?”

“A blueshift wavelength refers to the frequency of the light getting shorter. Adversely, a redshift wavelength refers to the frequency of the light getting longer. In astronomy, these denote an object or phenomenon moving closer to the observer or further away. It’s called the Doppler Effect. You can observe a similar phenomenon watching a video of a semi-truck blowing its horn or in person. The horn seems to increase in pitch as it approaches you and decrease in pitch as it moves away. We have observed many of the galaxies in our cluster moving away from us. The light coming from them is in a redshift wavelength pattern. However, our neighbor the Andromeda Galaxy is moving toward us, its light emitting a blueshift wavelength.”

“So, you’re saying that this unknown thing was moving toward us?”

“Oh, yes. Observatories all around the world were confirming it within hours. We had no idea what it was but it was, by all calculations, going to hit our planet. We were able to deduce that it was, in fact, energy rather than a solid object, which brought immense relief. There was no use tracking its speed as it was the speed of light. At first detection, it was well outside the solar system; approximately twenty-five times the distance from the sun to Pluto. We didn’t have much time to really study it before it was going to hit.”

“The public was notified that some disruptions to our lives may occur mere hours before it happened, but why weren’t we notified much sooner if you and your colleagues knew it was going to hit a full six days in advance?”

The good doctor clenched her jaw. “National Security.”

This kid was really asking some hardball questions. I had underestimated the guy.

The anchor, now identified as Jakob Olsen on the screen, nodded quickly. “I see. What do you make of the reports of ‘people with powers’ coming in? Could this be linked to your phenomenon?”

“My hypothesis on the topic is this phenomenon originated from interstellar space. It could perhaps even have originated in a neighboring galaxy. I’ll have to retroactively track its trajectory to be certain. As a cosmologist, I know that there is still quite a lot we don’t know about the universe. What I won’t do is respond to speculation and rumor.” Dr. Marquez stated plainly.

The anchor smiled. “I think we’ll punctuate with that. Thank you, Dr. Marquez.”

The broadcast moved on to the weather afterward. Why had I never heard of this guy before? Who was this Jake Olsen person? What was readily apparent was that he was quite the journalist. He wanted the truth. He danced around the speculation, but wasn’t concerned with it. Good, solid, honest reporting. The good doctor handled herself well opposite such a journalist. She kept to the facts without veering off course. She never took his bait. This interview could go national.

A phone rang. The sound hit my ears as muffled. I started searching the couch cushions to no avail. It rang again and I did what I could to discover its location. Slightly frantic, I rushed upstairs, but had to stop myself. I had just ascended the stairs in less than half a second. I looked behind me to marvel at the achievement for a moment before the phone rang again. It was coming from mine and my wife’s bedroom. I once again experienced myself move at incredible speed and heard the tail end of the ring. It was coming from the hamper. I dug into it and discovered the pants I’d worn yesterday with my phone still in the pocket. Pulling it out, the screen read “Mom and Dad”. Without thinking, I answered the phone.

“Hello?” I greeted.

“Hannah? Madison?” My mother’s voice wondered. “Why do you have your father’s phone?”

The realization of what I’d done hit me like a ton of bricks. I answered honestly, “It’s not Hannah or Madison, Mom.”

“You sound too young to be Laura. Who are you, young lady?”

“Mom… it’s me… Christopher.”

My mother has always been a pragmatic, facts-oriented woman. It was never a mystery where I inherited those traits from. She was quite skeptical at first. As I explained the events of yesterday, she began to understand more. I told her about the trip, the airport, the pulse thing, the ride home, and the rest of the evening. I left nothing to speculation. Just the facts, as Joe Friday used to say. She asked a lot of probing questions and I answered honestly. Our conversation carried on for over an hour and I still wasn’t sure whether or not she believed a word she was hearing. She then asked the one question I didn’t expect.

“What’s the family secret? Christopher would know this.” She asked firmly.

Caught off guard, I didn’t know how to answer at first. My mind searched for the one fact she was looking for. When my mind finally reached the answer, I breathed a heavy sigh. “We’re Jewish. Grandma barely escaped Europe after being planted with a Catholic family in the Netherlands when she was six, just before the German invasion. They hid her until the liberation, when she met an army corporal, fell in love, and moved to his hometown: Sheboygan. You found her original birth certificate hidden in a letter written in Yiddish in her cedar chest. You also found her Dutch passport with her assumed name: Mieke Keller. Most people called her ‘Marie’, though. We don’t talk about it because grandma was really traumatized by it all.”

The sound of the phone dropping on the ground was rather loud, to my ear. It had never been that loud before, but I guess this is part of that “super hearing” Madison was talking about. Noises denoting she’s fumbling with the phone followed before it was back up to her ear. Strangely, I could hear her heart rate increase.

“Christopher…” She breathed shakenly. “...is… is it really you?”

Not that she could see me, but I nodded. “It is, Mom. I can’t explain how at all, but it’s me. I don’t even know how to tell you how alien this voice is and I’m not even going to entertain the idea of my body, right now.”

Her voice was still shaking and her heart rate was up. “How… how did this even happen?”

“It happened right here in my living room in front of my wife and children last night. We went to the hospital, but all they could tell me was that I was a perfectly healthy seventeen year old girl. All the parts and everything. It’s all the same thing we just spent the last hour discussing.” I sighed, emotion climbing and causing tears to build up in my eyes.

“Your father and I have been hearing about that pulse on the news. It tripped his pace maker.” Her heart rate remained high.

It was my turn for a rise in heart rate. “Oh my god! He’s okay, right?!”

I could hear her skin glide against the phone. She was nodding. “Yes, honey. Your father is fine. It was only a few seconds.”

The well of tears increased in volume. “Geez, Mom… please don’t scare me like that.” I swallowed a knot in my throat. “Yea, so… there’s a correlation between the wave and what happened last night. Nothing definitive whatsoever.” I let out a groan sigh. “I wish I still had a newsroom full of people to work the angles with.”

I heard my mother nod again. “We noticed that, too. There’s a lot of talk on the news, but very little being said.” She took a moment to think. “Have you heard them talking about people with powers? What kind of nonsense is that?”

I hung my head and closed my eyes. “That one is probably true, Mom. I’ve had some really strange experiences since last night.”

“Christopher, I need to be honest: I still don’t know what to say about all this. I know my son to be a forty-five year old man. He’s a good husband to his wife, a good father to his children, and a positive member of his community. He makes sacrifices that might harm him but lead to a good life for his family. He’s engaged in his children’s lives. He’d give the shirt off his back or the last dollar in his wallet if he felt someone needed it more than him. I know it’s you, but… it’s really throwing me off that I think I’m talking to Hannah or Madison in the back of my mind.”

“I know, Mom. Can you imagine what I’m going through, right now?”

“Oh, HEAVENS yes. What are you going to do? Are you even going to be able to go back to work? How are you and Laura going to work? What about the girls? There are so many unknowns right now.”

Tears finally began to fall. “I don’t even know, Mom. I’m scared. I don’t know what I’ll do to provide for my family and back Laura up on the bills. She seems so withdrawn, Mom. This is probably just as confusing and scary for her. And the girls…” I sobbed. “Olivia wouldn’t even look at me, last night. Wouldn’t make eye contact.”

My mother’s voice shifted to a tone I’m convinced only mothers can achieve. The soft, comforting, soothing tone they adopt when their children are in crisis. “Oh, sweetheart… I know it’s bad now, but it can improve. A lot of people are going to doubt you. Honestly, right now, I do. You have to hold your head up and show us who you are, honey.”

“I’ll try, Mom. I’ve always tried to be the son you deserve. Everything’s upside down now. I don’t know which end is up and I’m the stuffing of a bratwurst in a casing that isn’t mine.”

“What was that thing your English teacher in high school would always tell you?”

She took me off guard. “Mr. Hanson? I…” My eyes wandered over the surface of the wall in front of me, searching for the answer. That particular English teacher had made an impression on me and helped make me want to be a journalist. Suddenly, the answer arrived in my conscious mind. “He said ‘show me, don’t tell me’.”

I heard the skin slide over the plastic of the phone again. She nodded. “Exactly. I still can’t believe the voice I’m speaking to is my son. Show me. Don’t tell me.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Hearing the front door startled me. I quickly sniffed back some excess mucus and wiped the tears from my face. “I have to go, Mom. The girls are home.”

We quickly said our good-byes before I hung up the phone and desperately tried to wipe the tears from my eyes and face. The phone was set upon the night stand before I exited the bedroom and entered the hallway. At first sight of me, Hannah rolled her eyes and slipped past me without a word. A soft smile was extended to Olivia, but she gave me an odd look before entering her bedroom. Standing in the hallway, I was 0 for 2. Madison reached the top of the stairs and gave me a disapproving look.

“You kinda look like crap, Dad.” She noted.

I let out a sigh. “Yea, I know.”

With a cheeky grin, she pointed finger guns at her bedroom door. “Homework.”

I meekly nodded as she, too, disappeared behind the door. Oh for three, I guess. In a bit of a sulk, I descended the stairs, rounded the corner, and headed to the kitchen to prepare some dinner. It’s an unwritten agreement between Laura and I that the first person home after work cooks dinner. Tonight, I was emotionally drained and did not possess the drive to make anything elaborate. After a quick check of the cupboards and refrigerator, it was decided that tonight would be sloppy joes and macaroni and cheese with some broccoli on the side. Once the hamburger was browned, the sloppy joe mix was released from the can, the pasta shells were al dente, the cheese sauce added, and the broccoli steamed, I called everyone down for dinner while I served up plates. The entire process took about an hour.

Though the girls and I sat at the table to eat, nobody said a word. It was a lot of awkward silence and uncomfortable glances. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Laura was working late again. When the girls finished, at least they cleared their own plates before they shuffled off to their bedrooms. The dishes were swiftly rinsed and set in the dishwasher. Yet again, I felt myself just going through the motions of life.

My mood found me moving out to the back deck, leaning against the railing. We bought this house to have room for each of the kids. The spare bedroom was a bonus that was nice to find should either of our parents visit. The deck was the icing on the cake. We could watch the kids play and have some time to talk. Hannah was only ten when we moved in. Madison was seven. Olivia was barely a year old. Watching the sunset, I was keenly aware that those days were gone. I think, on some level, all parents would wish for those days to last forever.

I could hear Laura’s car pull into the driveway. She shuffled into the house through the mudroom. I might have marveled at this new ability of mine if the acquisition of such a thing hadn’t broken my life. Laura hung her keys near the garage and set her purse on a ledge I built for her. Her tired feet shuffled on the linoleum of the kitchen floor. I didn’t leave my perch on the deck. Her footfalls started moving toward the sliding door and she stepped out onto the deck.

“Hannah? What are you doing out here, sweetie?” She asked.

I hung my head and lay it against my arms on the railing. “I’m not Hannah.”

She stopped short a few feet behind me. “Oh…”

I turned to meet her eyes. “Long night again?”

“Yea… uh… Chris, I think you should sleep on the couch.” She turned and went back inside.

She was trying to hide it, but I could see the pain and confusion on her face. Maybe she accepted a bit of a longer shift at work so she could avoid coming home. I didn’t know for sure and she wouldn’t tell me. After twenty-two years of marriage, there wasn’t much that was still a mystery between us. It was starting to feel as if a rift was forming.

Turning back to watch the sunset, I couldn’t help but note the juxtaposition between the actual sunset and what felt like the sunset of my marriage. Laura and I had always acted like teenagers one minute and a well-oiled machine of teamwork the next.

I wanted to just start running somewhere. Anywhere. Problem is: where are you supposed to run to escape from yourself?

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Four

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bz2DYae3xKE ))

Awakening the next morning after spending the night on the couch, I was surprised to not wake up with back pain as I anticipated. I made quick work of folding and organizing the pillow and blanket before setting them at the far end of the couch. Thankfully, I could smell fresh coffee in the kitchen. Finding my way there, I was under the impression I would once again be the only one home. Perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to get through some housework that had been neglected the last few days.

Turning around after adding the right amount of creamer to my mug, Madison was standing at a slightly slanted angle with one arm on the back of one of the dining room chairs. I must not have been paying attention because she seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. She was at least dressed with a blue T-shirt, gray hoodie, blue jeans, and her go-to Converse sneakers. About to say something once completing my first sip of coffee, she beat me to it.

“We have a problem, Dad.” She stated.

Finishing my sip, I lowered the coffee mug. “I’d say we do. Why aren’t you in school, young lady?”

She casually shrugged. “It’s May Day. Teacher strike day. They’ve been talking about it for weeks.” She shook her head. “Not the point, Dad. How long are you going to wear the same T-shirt and sweatpants that don’t remotely fit you?”

The comment caused me to take a quick glance down at myself, then slumped. “I’d forgotten I was wearing the same thing since I changed after getting home from the hospital.”

“You’ve been forgetting a lot, Dad. Like how to shower, for one.”

I furrowed my brows at her. “Who’s the parent here?”

“Don’t deflect. After you finish your coffee, will you go upstairs and shower? I’ve got an idea.”

A quizzical eyebrow raised on my face. “Oh? Have a plan, do you?”

“Yes, I do. So, shower for me? Please?”

I rolled my eyes. “If it’ll make you happy, sweetheart.”

She smiled, nodded, then spun around to leave me with my coffee. It’s difficult to nail down the motivations of teenagers, at times. Nothing explaining her behavior would come to mind, save for the fact I really did need a shower and to put on fresh clothes. Her empathy likely picked up on my low mood the past couple of days. Laura and I had gone great lengths to foster those sorts of things in our children.

After finishing my coffee and putting the mug in the sink, I followed the request. Once in the bedroom Laura and I share, the shirt and pants came off and went directly into the hamper. There was always a fresh set of towels in the bathroom, so all I had to do was jump in and do my business. The air moving over my bare skin was one thing. Hot water cascading over it was another. Washing this foreign casing was yet a third. I’d like to think I did my best but I may not have.

After a few minutes, I emerged from the steamy bathroom having washed this alien body and my hair. Unfortunately, I had wrapped the towel around my waist as I had always done and Madison was waiting for me in the bedroom.

“Holy boobs!” She quickly turned her head. “Cover up, dude! Sheesh! Wrap the towel around your chest!”

Darting back into the bathroom, I resituated the towel with an embarrassed blush on my cheeks. “Sorry, Madison. This is new to me.”

She had already left the room. She spoke at a normal volume as if she knew I could hear her regardless. “I left some clothes on the bed. Put them on, please.”

I could, in fact, hear her perfectly. Clinging the towel to my body over my chest, I reemerged from the bathroom and cautiously scanned my surroundings. Madison had disappeared but left behind a collection of clothing sitting on the comforter on my side of the bed. I looked at the collection curiously as I toweled off. I couldn’t tell what all was there, but it sure was colorful. Atop the neatly folded pile was a pair of white tennis shoes. The rest was a blend of blue, red, and yellow. Since when did my daughter wear primary colors like this?

Lifting the shoes off the pile and setting them on the ground, I picked up the first article of clothing: panties. With a sigh and a shrug, I slipped them on. They fit fine, I assume. Next was a sports bra. What was Madison getting at? Having seen Laura put one of these on several times, I slipped it on like an incredibly tight tank top. It seemed a little tight, but otherwise fine. Next was something that somewhat looked like pants but weren’t. Laura and the girls called them ‘leggings’. Slipping them on, I was surprised to learn they fit well. Next was a yellow tank top. Finally, a blue hoodie. Unfurling it, I learned that it was the hoodie we’d gotten for Madison with the new Superman emblem specifically designed for the movie set to release over the summer on the chest. Rolling my eyes, I slipped it over my head. With the provided socks and shoes slipped on, I was dressed; albeit in my daughter’s clothes.

I exited the bedroom to the sight of my daughter smirking at me with a metal baseball bat slung over her shoulders. My surprise was written all over my face.

“Not bad, Dad. Figured you’d whine about the underwear, but you’re a trooper.” She nodded toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”

“Madison, I don’t know what you’re planning. Why am I dressed in predominantly primary colors with your new hoodie?” I wondered.

“Driving the point home, old man. You’ll see. We’re going out to Busse Woods, by the way.”

“Would you mind elaborating why you’re making all these requests?” I was fairly suspicious of her intentions. However, after having gotten the cold shoulder from the family for a full day, I was more than happy to engage with someone.

She didn’t say a word further. She led me through the house to the mudroom, tossed me my keys, opened the door, and waited by the passenger door of my car. I hadn’t touched the navy blue Toyota Camry in over a week. Fob in hand, the doors opened automatically when I put my hand on the handle. She climbed into the passenger seat as I climbed into the driver’s side.

After buckling in and reversing out of the garage, I guided the car southward in the direction of the Ned Brown Forest Preserve. A lot of people just call it “Busse Woods” because of the Busse Forest Natural Preserve. It’s one of the last remaining preserves of old growth hardwood flatwoods left in Chicagoland. It’s a pretty big draw for people in six townships seeking some good recreational areas. From her directions to head down Golf Road, I deduced that Madison wanted us to head over to the Ned Brown Model Airplane Flying Field. My mind remained suspicious yet curious about her intentions.

We arrived and settled into the parking lot about fifteen minutes after leaving. Madison unbuckled and climbed out of the car. I followed suit a moment later.

“Madison, what is this all about? Why are we here?” I finally asked her.

She scanned our surroundings. “It’s a Thursday and, like, nine a.m. Nobody’s here, yet.”

“Why does that matter?”

With one arm out, she gestured toward the front end of the Camry. “Pick up the car, Dad.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re here for an experiment. Would you please indulge me?”

I continued to look at her with a raised eyebrow and confused expression. What was she getting at? There was no way I was going to be able to lift a vehicle weighing in at nearly two tons. Sighing at her, I bent down and made sure to grasp onto the frame rather than the plastic body panels. With my legs, I pushed upward.

“See, Madison, there’s no way…” The car lifted off the ground as easily as if I were lifting one of the children’s books I’d read to the girls to get them to sleep. With wide eyes, I gently put it back on the ground and turned to Madison.

She grinned at me like an imp. “See? Super strength.”

I was still squatting by the car with a stunned expression when something hit my shoulder and Madison cried out. I spun around quickly. The bat she was carrying lay on the ground with a dent in it and she was shaking her hands.

“Admittedly, I did not think that one through.” She announced. “Ouch.”

“What did you do, Madison? Are you hurt?”

“No, Dad. I’m fine. My bat isn’t doing so well.” She chuckled. “I hit you with it.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To prove a point. See that dent? I smacked you like I was going for a home run. You’re invulnerable, so far.”

“Madison Louise! What on Earth would possess you to hit me with a baseball bat?!” I narrowed my eyes on my daughter.

“Remember when the syringes wouldn’t break your skin at the hospital?” I nodded slowly, so she continued. “It’s because they can’t. The curve of your shoulder dented my bat because I hit you with everything I had. I knew I wouldn’t hurt you, Dad. I just needed to prove it to you.”

“What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing. Something really weird has happened to you and it’s not just that you look like a sister born between me and Hannah. You shot that pillar at the hospital with just your eyes. You saw our skeletons!” She was very animated in her description. “I’ve been hearing about people with powers all over social media. Instagram is full of people showing off. You would think it was doctored until you saw it for yourself.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“I’m trying to get you to acknowledge what’s happened to you, Dad.” Tears formed in her eyes. “Nobody else will. Hannah’s in denial and all depressed. Mom’s barely speaking to anyone. Olivia doesn’t know what to make of anything anymore.”

My heart and posture sank simultaneously. I spoke quietly. “I know.”

“Okay, so maybe you don’t look like my dad anymore. The gruff, depressed, but kind old guy is gone.” She sniffled as a tear rolled down her cheek. “You’ve slogged through the mud for so long you kinda forgot who you were. It’s about time something cool happened for you.”

Without thinking, I strode over and pulled my little girl into a hug. “Oh, sweetie… I’m not gone. I’m right here.” It shocked me that my voice came out with the same tone my mother had used in our phone conversation yesterday.

To my surprise, she hugged me back. “Kinda feels like it. You don’t look like you anymore. Everybody’s all depressed like you died or something, most of all you.”

“I’m really going through it, right now, kiddo.”

“I know. Mom made you sleep on the couch. She only does that when you’ve done something stupid.” She sniffled. “I’m trying to give you something to brighten up. I’ll work on everybody else later.”

“That’s not something you need to do, honey.”

“Somebody has to. Otherwise, the family’s going to fall apart and I don’t want that.”

“I admire your conviction, Madison. You’re only fifteen, though. You’re still a kid. It’s not on you, honey.”

She pulled back out of the hug. “Then maybe you need to. Look at me and focus. Try to see my skeleton.”

“I’d really rather not.”

“DAD!” She insisted.

With a sigh, I looked at her. It took a few moments of intense focus, but the blue filter came back like a closing shutter. I could see the outline of her body, her bones, the outlines of her internal organs, and beyond. I turned and looked at the car, seeing the outline of the body with all the metal parts inside.

“Whoa…” I breathed.

“X-ray vision. I told you.” She pointed at the bat on the ground. “Shoot that with your eyes.”

I blinked quickly, dispelling the blue filter and returning the world to normal. “What?”

She didn’t answer, merely pointed at the bat. Letting out a sigh, I tried to focus again. This time, I imagined the bat glowing red with heat. As I stared at the bat, a red filter filled my eyes like a closing shutter of a camera. Once it closed, the bat actually started smoking and Madison shrieked. That brought me out of focus as I blinked a few times before looking in her direction.

“Okay, that’s definitely heat vision. The movies and TV shows are actually pretty close.” She admitted. “Now, blow on it before it starts a fire!”

I cocked my head to the side, but followed her guidance. Taking in a breath, I blew toward the bat like I was blowing out a birthday candle. I could see my breath all the way to the bat like it was an extremely cold day. The bat shattered under the effects of being super heated then super cooled.

Madison laughed again. “And that’s super breath. Dad, are you not understanding what I’m getting at, yet?”

“You’re trying to prove that I’m basically Superman.”

She nodded. “Pretty much. We already know you’ve got super hearing. So that leaves super speed and flight.” She pointed in the direction we had come, toward Golf Rd. “Why don’t you dash to the end of the parking lot?”

Moving around the car, I lined up toward the end of the parking lot. Taking in a breath, I tried to focus. Two little hops, then I was off. The world seemed to slow down the moment I started to run, almost if it were standing still. I glanced around me to see birds almost frozen in the air, squirrels mid ground hop, and the trees not even moving in the wind. At the end of the parking lot, I came to a stop and slid in the grass. The motion of the world resumed.

“That’s super speed.” I heard Madison say at conversational volume. “If you can hear me, jump toward me.”

Feeling sheer exhilaration, I bent my knees and really put in some effort. I shot into the air in a way I’ve never experienced before. The arch of my trajectory was toward my daughter but the height of the jump is the highest I have ever been above the Earth without being atop a tall building or in an airplane. Frankly, it scared me. I flailed a bit, experiencing self-preservation like any sane human. I didn’t realize I had closed my eyes until I just stopped moving. Confused, I opened my eyes again to find myself about thirty feet away from Madison but about sixty feet in the air. I was hovering. Madison’s smile has never been larger.

“My dad is freakin’ Superman!” She shrieked.

By jove, she was right. Somehow, she knew. Fascinated by my situation, I wanted to test the limits all the sudden. Taking in a breath, I was nervous. Slowly, I willed myself up a few feet. Mind-blowingly, it happened. Then, back down and I went downward. Side to side. Forward and back. All of it worked.

“Go for it, Dad.” Madison whispered.

Taking in another breath, I gave her the first smile I’d given anyone since the other night. By simple thought, my trajectory changed to straight up. I don’t know why I put my fist out in front of me like I did, but it seemed like the thing to do. The wind rushed by my face at a speed I couldn’t calculate. The hoodie and my hair responded to the forces. Shifting to a lateral trajectory, I could now see the ground. I wasn’t quite at cloud level but pretty close. Chicagoland rushed by underneath me. This must be why Peter Pan never wanted to grow up. With a giant smile on my face, I kept my body straight and put my arms out beside me like they were wings and just… flew.

Everyone has those dreams where they’re flying. They remember the exhilaration and intense hit of dopamine to their brains. I’m here to tell you that feeling doesn’t come close to the raw exultation of doing it for real. Angling my arms a bit further backward like some kind of high tech fighter jet, I willed myself to go faster… and I did. My heart skipped a beat and I flew over Michigan faster than I ever have. Banking beforehand, I turned around just before Detroit and headed back. I went even faster. Behind me was a loud ‘crack’. The wind rushed past me so fast it barely registered to me.

Within seconds, I was over Lake Michigan and once again back in Chicago. The city whizzed by underneath me so quickly I almost hit Willis Tower without intending to. Willing myself to slow down as I headed Northwest, dodged around O’Hare, and came back around toward Busse Woods to meet back up with Madison. Moving my arms forward seemed to help me visualize slowing down. Before I knew it, I was back in that classic pose with one fist forward. One problem: how was I supposed to land?

There was a thought in the back of my head about how the movies always showed someone who could fly coming in for a landing. None of them helped. I flipped my body so my feet went first and the ground grew closer. When my feet actually hit the grass, I was just traveling too fast and went tumbling end over end. My body rolled right past Madison and continued on for another ten feet before I came to a stop in the grass, laughing.

Madison ran up beaming from ear to ear. “How was it?”

“That was single handedly the most exhilarating experience of my entire life.” I managed to say after laughing at my own folly. “I’ll have to learn how to stick the landing, but Detroit looks nice this time of year.”

“You made it all the way to Detroit?”

“Almost. I turned around just before I got there.” I rolled over and stood up, brushing off the debris from my less-than-graceful landing. “You were absolutely right, kiddo. About everything.”

Madison smiled. “Glad to see you having some fun, Dad.” She paused for a moment. “You know what this means, though, right?”

“Not really following.”

“It means you could be a real life superhero. You’ve got the powers. You just need the tights.”

I held up a finger. “I think I’m gonna draw the line at tights. There is probably going to need to be a lot of practice, too. What if I hurt someone?”

“Well, I mean, superheroes kinda beat up bad guys, so… that’s probably part of the package.”

“I’ll leave fighting as a last resort. Besides, I’m terrible at it.” My eyes scanned the park, hoping we were still alone and no one saw my display. Finding none, my eyes turned back to my daughter. “What made you want to encourage me?”

“For one, all the depression stuff. For two, do you remember the first comic book you ever gave me?”

I nodded firmly. “Like it was yesterday. Kelly Sue DeConnick’s take on Captain Marvel from 2012, issue #1. You were seven and not quite sure you were ‘the right kind of girl’. I wanted you to see a diverse way to be who you are, honey.”

“Did you read it?”

“Of course I did. I gave you my copy.”

“That’s why I encouraged you, Dad.” She took a breath and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “When I saw the things you could do and what happened, I figured you’d brush it aside like some dream. You needed to know for sure it wasn’t. Maybe it’ll give you something to hold onto while all this crazy family drama plays out?”

I smiled like a proud parent. “Look at you being all noble.”

“Bah ba-da bah-bah… BUM, Bum, bum…” She shot me a cheeky grin as she sang the melody of the iconic John Williams score.

Laughing, I shook my head. “Goofball.” I shrugged. “You hungry? I feel like pizza.”

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Five

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ltoaQo2ynSo ))

"Breaking news tonight: the Superman is real and he is American. SkyCam footage from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and WGN-TV in and around downtown Chicago show what analysts have confirmed to be a human being flying under their own propulsion. The blurry images have been analyzed by several experts in the fields of photography and aeronautics since they surfaced online this morning, going viral on social media. Take a look." The broadcast cuts to a video that lasts no more than five seconds, showing a single small object traveling at immense speed over the skyline of the city. It then cuts to another video from a different angle showcasing roughly the same object. "It's gone in the blink of an eye, but we'll slow the images down as much as we can to show you what's going on." The second video seems to have a closer vantage point. Going frame-by-frame, the small object is a blur of royal blue and red encircled by a Mach effect. One image lingers on the screen. "As you can see, there is no way to truly identify what we're seeing here. What has people talking is the blue and red color of the object. Experts have confirmed that the size and mass of the object based on the profile of this white cone on the latter third, called the Mach effect, matches that of a human being. With the color scheme and speed, it has people talking. Whether or not that's good news for Warner Brothers Discovery and their movie directed by James Gunn set to release in July remains to be seen."

The news wouldn't shut up about it. Every channel. Every station. Every affiliate. All visual news journalism was showing the videos. All print media, if it even exists anymore, was showing still pictures and freeze frames. Madison showed me the explosion of content on TikTok and Instagram about the situation as well. The world was going crazy over the possibility of a powerful superhero existing among them.

Meanwhile, back at home, the weekend came and went like a winter gust through downtown. Hannah practically ignored me. Olivia seemed almost afraid of me. Laura was more ghost than person. Madison was the only one really connecting with me, even if most of our interactions were her going full fan girl. The only time I could get her off the topic of Superman was Star Wars Day when we shared our love for the space opera George Lucas created. I was feeling more and more like a stranger or novelty in my own house. It didn't help my perception of myself at all, either. It was as if the entire foundation I'd spent the past twenty-five years building was crumbling underneath me.

Utilizing the office space I'd put together during the pandemic in the basement, I resumed my dead end job. With everything going on, it completely skipped my mind. Though, one email to HR about being involved in an accident in the back of an Uber was enough of a plausible excuse for my absence. The fact I never used Uber didn't matter. I never expensed my ground travel when I went to conferences. Working from home meant I wouldn't have to explain why a seventeen year old girl was doing a forty-five year old man's job, either.

Looking at the house, one wouldn't be able to tell the family life was in turmoil. I might only have been walking around in a T-shirt and sweatpants while sleeping on the couch every night, but all the household chores were done. Unlike many men in my generation, I would never forgive myself for simply assuming Laura would do it all – going to work, raising the kids, and accomplishing all the household tasks – while all I ever did was go to work and watch sports. We were proud of our fifty-fifty distribution.

Wednesday night, I was at the sink hand-washing a couple of pans and cutting boards that don't really fit in the dishwasher. For once, my mind was blank. I knew Laura was standing in the archway to the corridor behind me and that she had been standing there for a few minutes. I kept hearing her take in breaths as if she were about to speak and then hesitate. After a few tries, I decided to speak first.

"You can't really sneak up on me, Laura." I told her while still facing the sink and scrubbing a particularly dirty pan. Cheese is very sticky. "I heard you come in the house about ten minutes ago."

She let out a sigh. "Chris, can we talk?"

"I'm listening."

"No... I mean... facing each other. Maybe at the table?"

"Okay." I set down the pan I was working on, rinsed my hands, dried them, then turned to face her.

My wife was the most beautiful human being I have ever laid eyes on. Her auburn hair was situated into a messy bun. Her demure chin quivered ever so slightly. Her button nose appeared slightly red. Her hazel eyes seemed to have shed some tears recently. Her kissable lips were shaped into a small frown. I adored her and yet my heart broke at the sight of her.

Following the request, we both moved to the table and sat opposite each other. "What's on your mind?" I asked.

She hung her head then brought it back up to meet my eyes. "I'm really sorry, Chris. I've been really absent and avoidant of you."

I nodded to her. "Seemed like you needed some time, honey."

She smiled and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Understatement, Christopher. Truth is..." She breathed deep. "...I couldn't cope. The night it happened, I was really there for my husband – for you. When I saw the radiology and spoke with the doctor, I knew there'd be very little chance I would get my Chris back. I'm sorry, but it's been affecting me to think of a girl the same age as Hannah that I don't really know sleeping on the other side of the bed where my husband used to be."

"I'm well aware, Laura."

"I'm not finished." She breathed quickly. "That's why I asked you to sleep on the couch, but you can't do that forever. You need a bed to sleep in. You can't keep wearing those T-shirts and sweatpants that look like you stole them, either. You need your own clothes. I've set aside some money for you to take care of things. I know we usually make financial decisions together, but this is new for both of us. I thought a proactive approach might be best."

"Very wise of you, Laura."

"I'll take you to do some shopping tomorrow. I took the day off. What do you think?"

I hesitated for a long moment. "You mean, like... when we take the girls back-to-school shopping sort of situation?"

"Basically, but without knowing your sizes. We'll have to work that out. Beyond that, why don't you take the spare room as your own bedroom." Her eyes teared up a little. "This entire situation is really hard on both of us. I don't really know the right way to do things, but this is the best I can do for now."

Tears started welling up in my own eyes. "I know, Laura." I tried to swallow the knot in my throat. "What does this mean for our marriage?"

"I don't know, Chris. I just don't know." She stood and walked out of the kitchen.

The house fell silent in a matter of minutes. After finishing the dishes, I investigated the spare room. It was situated on the ground floor, just past the living room. We usually only used it for guests – such as if Laura's parents or mine were in town for a visit. It was a rather sanitized and impersonal space. There was a queen sized bed, nightstands on either side of the bed, a dresser, and a walk-in closet. The bedding hadn't been changed in nearly a year, so that was the first thing to go. Fetching some fresh bedding from the linen closet of the laundry room, I set about making the bed. It wasn't the best and was all miss-matched but it was functional.

Sleep didn't come easily that night. My relationship with my wife and children was completely uprooted. Thus far, the only one that would really talk to me was Madison. There was no real way to know what Laura was planning the next day but I was comforted in the fact she was willing to spend time with me. Trying to discern what she intended for the day was enough to drive me a little crazy.

The next morning, Laura woke me up somewhat early and threw clothes at me. Not maliciously, mind you. She was being playful for the first time since everything happened. It was a simple T-shirt, pair of jeans, the white shoes Madison loaned me the other day, and feminine under garments. She told me she wasn't going to take someone that looked like a "shlubby teenager" shopping. I dressed without protest. When I encountered her in the kitchen, she already had a mug of coffee prepared for both of us before requesting we both get in the car. She even ran a brush through my hair.

Still disoriented and confused, I simply followed along. Once in the car and seatbelt buckled, I did not really anticipate a visit to Woodfield Mall, the largest shopping center in all of Chicagoland. Thankfully, we had arrived on a Thursday which was one of the less busy days. Similar to back-to-school shopping, Laura had a plan and I was basically just along for the ride. We made our way into the sparsely populated interior of Nordstrom. Inside, Laura consulted with some people who set about wrapping measuring tape around different sections of my body. They relayed some numbers that meant absolutely nothing to me. Laura nodded, thanked them, and continued guiding me along her planned out path.

Four and a half hours later, we had been to no less than eight stores and spent about the same amount of money that we might have with all three of our daughters in tow. Laura made sure to grab all the essentials and I was only there for a yes/no vote on select items. She was the one who knew what she was doing, afterall. All told, I had a small wardrobe at my own disposal that anyone in my current position might need. Underwear, socks, jeans, T-shirts, leggings, sweaters, and some sportswear that can double as pajamas were all acquired. I vetoed any idea to grab anything resembling a skirt or a dress and Laura nodded in agreement.

We both ordered some chicken teriyaki at the Suki Hana and sat down to eat it. Laura looked exhausted, but I felt like I could keep the same pace all day. Neither of us had eaten breakfast, so we both sort of shoveled the food in our mouths.

"Thanks for today, Laura." I softly spoke between bites.

She finished chewing her own bite before responding. "You're welcome, Chris. You need things that actually fit you..." She gestured to my body. "...now."

"It's incredibly weird, but appreciated. I wouldn't have known where to even start."

"Measurements. Always measurements." She wiped her mouth with a napkin. "You're a size eight, by the way. Medium tops, medium pants. Size eight shoes. You need to remember that."

"I don't really want to think about it, most of the time."

"We can't deny reality, Chris. Something profound has happened to you and it's affecting all of us – especially you and me."

"Laura, I –" I stopped the conversation short. My ears had picked up an odd sound. The sound of fire. Then a couple of screams. My head turned toward the noise.

"What?" She asked. Then, she heard screaming.

I turned to her quickly. "Stay here."

Without really thinking, I jumped up as the world around me entered slow motion. Having heard the sound behind me, I got to the balcony area and looked around. I could see panicked faces slowly moving away from the far side of the mall from me on the ground floor. Not having the time to ponder why anyone would put the food court on the third floor of a huge mall like this, I vaulted over the railing. While falling, I willed myself to fly like I had with Madison a few days ago. Amazingly, it worked and I propelled myself toward the faces. I took a left at Macy's and spotted the problem.

A person engulfed in flame stood in the middle of the corridor and a pillar of flame was growing toward the American Eagle store. People were panicked and there was a teenager on the ground with her hand up trying to protect herself from the flames. I swooped in and gently picked her up. Having taken her a good thirty feet from the flames, time around me returned to normal. She looked at me with shock in her eyes. I set her down.

"Are you okay?" I asked. She nodded. "Good. Get further away to safety."

She obliged without a word and I turned back to the problem at hand. The guy was lit up like Human Torch and shooting flames from his hands. The world slowed down again and I ran to the front of the store. Planting my feet, I stood in front of the flames with an arm forward in front of me. I could hear panicked screams inside. After a moment, the flames stopped and I lowered my arm. My clothes were a little singed, but I was unharmed. I stared down the flame guy who looked at me entirely bewildered.

"Who the fuck are you? Where'd you come from?" He asked.

"Doesn't matter. Stop what you're doing. You're putting people's lives in danger." I requested.

"Some little girl comes out of nowhere and wants me to stop trying to burn down this shithole? Are you with their corporate public relations?" He cackled.

"No. I work for a different company. Nowhere near this big."

"Oh. Another corporate stooge, huh? Do you know what this place did to me? Why are you protecting it?"

"I'm not. There are some very frightened people inside. You're scaring a lot of people. People will get hurt. They are who I'm going to protect."

He scowled. "Suit yourself."

He positioned his hands again and the wall of fire came at my face, this time. I put my arm up in a vain attempt to block. Strong, encouraging words weren't going to stop this guy. My brain started searching for solutions. Finally, it came to me. Taking in a deep breath, I began blowing it out in the guy's direction. Once again, it looked like I was blowing a fog out of my mouth. I kept blowing until not only the pillar of flame coming at me was extinguished but the flame guy was extinguished as well. Once I could confirm that, I rushed over to grab his shirt and push him against the far wall. I knocked the wind out of him.

"Knock. It. Off." I ordered him with a slight growl to my voice. "If you want to get back at someone for some perceived slight against you, this isn't the way to do it. You don't put innocent people in harm's way because a corporation wronged you. Understand?"

He coughed. "Jesus! What kind of freak are you?"

"A lot like you, I suspect. The difference is: I'm stopping you."

"There's not even a first degree burn on you and you blew out my flame with your breath!"

"I'm well aware. Are we going to stop comparing powers, now, and get to the point? Stop this, now. This isn't the way to do things."

"Who do you think you are? Superman or something?"

I chuckled. "Clearly, I'm not." He went silent. I lifted him higher. "Are we done with our tantrum, now?"

He screeched. "Yes! Jesus Christ!"

In the distance, I could hear sirens as I lowered him back down onto his feet. I didn't let him go, however. Behind me, I could hear the mall security people gathering. My head turned toward them. At least one of them had a firearm drawn.

"There's no need for lethal force." I stated to the guard who looked fairly frightened. "I have him subdued and he's agreed to play nice, now. You wouldn't happen to have some handcuffs or zip ties, would you?"

The nervous guard fired his weapon. I spun around and positioned myself between the bullet and the guy who had been on fire only moments ago. Astonishingly, it bounced off of me harmlessly. All the guards' eyes widened.

"Whoa... how did you know you were bulletproof?" Flame Guy asked me.

"I really didn't. I just knew you weren't." I stated plainly to him before looking at the guards. "Guys, c'mon. Zip ties or cuffs, please." One guard approached me with a set of zip tie cuffs in his hands. I nodded to him before turning back to Flame Guy, getting his hands behind his back, and getting the cuffs secured on him. "Don't fight it. You're already in a lot of trouble. Don't make it worse for yourself. Okay?"

He hung his head. "Yea. Okay."

Both of us turned in tandem as I handed him off to the security guards. To the one slowly holstering his firearm, I nodded. "You okay?"

"I... I just shot you..." He softly reported.

"Yes, I think you did. No harm done. Are you okay?"

"I don't know."

I shrugged. "Maybe take the day off?" Turning my attention from him to the people inside American Eagle, I moved over and gently pushed the barricade they had constructed away from the entrance. "Everybody okay?" Roughly eight people nodded, their eyes wide. "The coast is clear, everybody. It's safe now."

Turning around, a crowd had formed a short distance away. I recognized a few of the faces of frightened people that had run off before I got here. The girl I had saved from the flames started clapping, tears in her eyes. In the next second, everyone joined in. My face felt a little flush as I gave a small wave before running off.

The world around me returned to slow-mo mode as I made my way back up to my wife on the upper level. It was a little tricky to maneuver around people on the stairwell, but I managed. When I reached the food court, Laura was looking over the railing. She must have been trying to figure out what was happening.

"Honey..." I began.

She spun around and squealed with a hand on her chest. "Jesus, Christopher! What happened down there? Why are the clothes you borrowed burnt?"

"We'll talk about it in the car. Right now, can we get the shopping bags and go?"

Cocking her head to the side, she barely nodded and moved toward me in an effort to help. With all the shopping bags divided between the two of us, we made our way down the stairs toward the ground level. The endeavor was a bit complicated by the commotion earlier. Even going through Primark and trying to navigate toward the eastern exit doors was hampered by the efforts of the police to clear the mall. Eventually, we did emerge into the partly cloudy weather and walked one-third the way around the mall back to my wife's car. Laura kept trying to get me to tell her what happened along the way, but I deflected.

Eventually, we did make it back to the car. When the bags were in the back and we were settled in with the doors closed, I did finally tell her what happened. I divulged every detail and left nothing out. If she hadn't seen me move faster than the blink of an eye and vault over the railing to the ground level without dying, she may never have believed I could fly or that the fire never actually hurt me. She took a long moment to really consider what I had told her. It's not every day that one learns they're playing chauffeur to someone with super powers.

"So..." She began. "You can actually do all those things Madison was getting excited about?"

"Yes, I can." I stated plainly. "I can relate to the excitement from Madison. She's been fawning over me since we tested all of the powers over at Busse Woods last week."

"You know, I really doubted the whole idea of 'special powers' that people have been talking about until today. Once I saw you turn into a blur right in front of me, all pretence was gone."

"It's been reality for me since last week with Madison. You know she hit me with a metal baseball bat?"

"She did what?!"

"It didn't hurt. It hit me in the shoulder and just bent the bat. It's how I had an idea that I wouldn't burn with the fire. I wasn't totally sure about the literal 'bulletproof' part until today, though."

"You really should be more careful. You might be fireproof or bulletproof, but your clothes aren't. One hole in the wrong place and you are instantly 'not safe for work'. It's very different with female bits, Chris."

"I'm becoming aware of this, Laura." I sighed. "You know the best part? Remember the viral video of that blue and red object from last week?" My wife nodded. "That was me."

She shook her head. "I still can't quite believe it. I have one question, though: why did you hop up like that, today? Why put yourself in potential harm or step in front of a bullet you didn't know whether or not you'd survive?"

My gaze focused forward out the windshield. "Because it was the right thing to do."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Six

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aJUnltwsqs ))

As one might expect, the mall incident blew up. The local news was talking about it. The national news was talking about it. Social media was filled with amateur videos of it. None of the angles actually managed to capture my face, but they caught everything else. It was interesting to see my speed, flight, and frost breath from a perspective other than my own. To see this young woman no older than my own daughters accomplish these feats from an outside viewpoint was eye opening.

Madison had become something of a confidante. I wasn't happy to learn that she would sometimes climb out onto our roof, but her reasoning was intriguing. She would climb out there and lie down on the shingles, gazing skyward for solace or to think over impactful events. Before now, I hadn't known her as such an introspective person. Maybe I had been a bit too busy with work or turned off in a way. A few evenings after the mall incident, we had climbed out there together and watched the sunset.

"You're going to have to be more careful out there, Dad." She advised after a while.

Taking in a breath, I nodded. "Your mother said the same thing on the way home from the whole thing."

"It's not just the danger of a wardrobe malfunction. There's a reason superheroes wear costumes and masks, you know. It's not just because it looks cool or distinguishes them from others."

My head nodded while my eyes stayed on the horizon. "Yea, the whole 'secret identity' thing."

"Why do you think Batman wears the costume, cape, and cowl?"

I turned to look at her and shrug. "He says it in the comics: to strike fear into the hearts of the people making the people of Gotham afraid."

She rolled her eyes at me. "Dad, how do you think the press in Gotham City would react if they found out the richest man in Gotham was going around beating up street criminals in the middle of the night? What if Mark Zuckerberg took all that kickboxing training, went into San Jose, and started beating up on the gangs or some guy robbing a convenience store?"

I recoiled at the questions. "Well, as a journalist, it would probably be a top story and not a good look for Bruce Wayne or Mark Zuckerberg. The story would come out, then lawsuits and criminal prosecution would likely follow."

"Right. But Batman's a good guy, right?"

"Well... his methods leave a lot to be desired, but he gets to justice in the end. I don't appreciate all the violence as a means to an end, personally."

She leaned a little closer to me. "And what happens when the villains find out the true identities of the heroes?"

My face showed an expression that conveyed I finally understood the point. "Oh."

"It puts the loved ones of the hero in danger, doesn't it?" I nodded and she continued. "It makes it hard for the hero to hold a normal job or lead a normal life, doesn't it?"

"So, you're suggesting that I need some kind of costume and probably a mask if I'm gonna do other things like I did at the mall, aren't you?"

"The question is: how? It's not like you've got a baby blanket from the planet Krypton you were wrapped in that Grandma can sew a suit together from."

I let out a laugh. "Madison, you know your grandmother can't sew."

She joined in the laughter, playfully pushing me. "You know what I mean. It's gotta be just as tough as you are now. I have no idea how that's possible, though."

I searched my mind for possibilities, but really only came to one. "Military grade advanced materials research, probably. We're in uncharted waters with that thing that hit Earth, whatever it was. If it made me like this and that guy at the mall like he was, what else is possible?"

"I'm too tired to think too deeply on it. I'm gonna head in for bed. You gonna do your flight practice tonight?"

"Probably... after I make sure you make it into your bedroom safely."

We both began to make our way off the roof. We were only a few feet from her bedroom window. There was just a slim bit of roof in front of it. I walked alongside her and made sure she didn't slip and fall to the ground below. She made it just fine without my help, but one can never be too careful. Once she was safely inside, I leaned in to kiss her forehead as I'd done since she was a child.

"Sweet dreams, sweetie," I stated softly to her.

She smiled. "G'night, Dad. Have a good flight."

She closed the window and I was alone on the roof. I walked back to the spot we'd just been sitting and stood waiting for darkness. I had decided that practicing my abilities might actually be a good idea. There was no way to know my limits without practicing. Exercising caution was a good idea, especially after how my exploits have been blowing up on the news and social media. Flying, specifically, had been documented by public access cameras and reposted online which led to its virality. Deciding to fly at night reduced the chances of that happening drastically.

Once the sun went down and the light faded a bit, I slowly lifted off the roof and propelled myself upward. Once about cloud level, I could hide amongst the fluffy water vapor without attracting attention. The trade off was that it was really hard to see anything that might be approaching with the naked eye, so I had to resort to "super vision". I had discovered it wasn't simply limited to fluoroscopy but I could also utilize thermoscopy. This way, I could see birds and even planes around me. Strange for most people, but it seemed more natural to me the more I used it.

There was no real flight plan on these excursions. I merely picked a direction and let my whims take me. Most people might start jogging or riding a bike as a means of focusing internally and processing their stress. Before all this, I had no such outlet. Now, taking a flight was becoming the activity that was allowing me to process everything that was going on and reflect on it. Not to mention, it was the most exhilarating experience of my life. There truly was no equal.

My mind drifted to my family. Laura and I were talking more, but our relationship had most definitely changed. Neither of us had as yet determined to what extent. Hannah had still not spoken a word to me. Madison had become something of a confidante. Olivia was finally beginning to speak with me. She remained quite laconic, but I'll consider even a single word to be progress. I'm not truly sure what role I play in the family anymore. I act as if I'm still the father, but it doesn't seem like anyone else considers me to be such any longer.

Suddenly, something grabbed the front of the off-shoulder sweater I was wearing, flipped me over, and forced me downward. Falling out of the sky, the mystery was solved. I was looking up at a man that appeared to be close to hitting thirty with long ginger hair and a thick beard. His blue eyes were nearly the color of ice. Underneath his blue tunic, it seemed his muscles had muscles. Behind him, the clouds seemed to almost form a halo and really showcased the stairs beyond. In seconds, my back hit the ground but he did not release his grip. Instead, he raised his right arm. His right hand wasn't human. It seemed to be an entirely metal hand of some kind. The craftsmanship seemed archaic, but it worked.

"Hver ert þú? Hvað ert þú að gera í mínu landi?" He nearly growled.

Instinctively, my hands rushed up to cover my face. Panic filled my voice. "Whoa! I don't know what you're saying!"

He seemed to hesitate for a moment and release his grip a little. He spoke with a thick accent I couldn't decipher. "Who... are... you? Why you come here?"

The panic remained in my voice. "My name is Christopher Kent! I'm not sure where 'here' is!"

His grip was entirely released and I heard him stand. "Kristófer? What father would give his daughter that name? Do you mean to say Kristín?"

Feeling safer, I lowered my hands and looked up at him. For all the world, the man looked like someone from a Renaissance Faire that decided they were a Scandinavian from the Viking Age. "No. I mean Christopher." I stood and brushed myself off, getting a look at the crater that had been caused by the rough landing. "Where am I?"

With his human hand, he gestured to the landscape. "Ísland."

I shook my head. "You mean to tell me I was lost in my thoughts so long I ended up in Iceland?!"

"I do not know of this." He stated, his accent still very thick.

"Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

He took a moment to collect his thoughts. "I am called Týr Hymisson. I am protector of these lands."

"Tyr?" I asked then let out a laugh. "Really? They let you have that name?" I knew from a piece several years prior that Iceland actually passed a law that governed what names parents could give to their children. I sometimes thought a similar law should be implemented in the United States, but alas...

"My name precedes the law by many years." He stated plainly. His brow furrowed in what I interpreted to be thought. "You are called Kristófer. You fly. You do not get harmed when I bring you to ground. Yes?"

My own brow furrowed. "All correct. Where are you going with this?"

He started pacing and stroking his beard. "It has happened again."

"What has happened again?"

"The beacon of the stars."

"Excuse me?"

He stopped pacing and looked at me directly. "Many years ago, when the world was young, the sky blessed many. All over the world, blessed beings emerged. They became known as The Gods. We were people, like any. We were changed." He hung his head. "I was changed." He sighed. "I was called Tewiyā then: mother of seven and leader of our people. Forty winters passed before that day."

My eyes widened at his admission. "Wait, you're saying this event has happened before? Where the Earth is struck by some cosmic phenomenon and people emerged with powers?"

"As you say, it was some time ago. Five thousand winters have passed."

"FIVE... THOUSAND... YEARS?!"

"In your words, yes." He shook his head. "How many are you?"

My eyebrow raised almost instantly. "I don't understand."

"How many like you?"

"I have no idea. This only happened about a week and a half ago."

"Still new? Chaos has not come?"

"Uh... what do you mean 'chaos'?"

He growled. "It happened to us. People change. They have power. Some use for good. Others... not so good."

"I don't think anyone has sorted themselves out, yet. Though, I did stop some guy who used fire in a shopping mall a few days ago. He was going to hurt people."

He narrowed his eyes on me. "Why do that?"

I stood firm. "It was the right thing to do. People were going to get hurt."

He kept his eyes narrowed and I was left wondering what he was thinking. "What else you do? Just fly and not get hurt?"

I shrugged. "A few other things."

"What things?"

I took in a breath, not knowing why I was divulging this information to some Icelandic man I'd just met that thinks he's five thousand years old. "I... can see in the X-ray and infrared spectrum. I'm really strong. I'm really fast. I can blow really hard and make it cold. I can shoot hot energy from my eyes. I can even hear and smell really well."

He nodded. "Strong, fast, and the other things?" He took a stance and smirked. "Show me. Hit me."

I chuckled nervously. "I'd really rather not. I'm non-violent."

He hit me. With his metal hand. It actually hurt a little and I went flying backward. I hit a big rock and slumped to the ground unceremoniously. The rock cracked. Shaking my head, I came back to my senses just in time to see him coming at me in a leaping strike while screaming some kind of war cry. He intended to punch me again. The world around me went into slow motion again as I stood, dusted myself off, and stepped to the side. Time returned to normal and his hand impacted the rock instead of me. With a twisted grin, he turned to me and attacked again. It was clear he was not going to stop.

He raised his fist to attack once more. The world slowed again. I moved to dodge each of his blows. The first couple missed but a third hit me and knocked me over. When a fourth blow came at me, I put my hand up and caught it. The world returned to normal and I merely held his fist in my hand while he stared me down. It was quite the feat because his hand was absolutely huge compared to mine. It took very little effort for me to hold his hand in place.

"What are you trying to prove?" I asked him.

I could feel the effort leave his arm and he pulled his fist away. "Testing. You are fast, tough, and strong. Good. You cannot fight. Maybe I train you."

"What? Why do you think I need you to train me?"

"Many trials lie ahead. You need to be ready."

"I already told you I'm non-violent. I don't want to fight."

He took in a breath and let it out slowly. "What you do when you have no choice but fighting? Give up?"

"Well, no, but –"

"Exactly this. You learn to fight so you don't have to."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It will. Where you live?"

"Chicago... ish."

"United States? Is bad place to be... or good place."

"You are still not making sense."

"Accent is thick or your head?" He sighed, frustrated. "You train with me here. I call you and you come, yes?"

"Maybe it would be better if we set a schedule or something." I shook my head. "Why am I negotiating a schedule with a deranged Icelandic man?!"

"It maybe best if you come at night. You have day job? You keep it. You come here at night and we train. Deal?"

"I still don't know who you are, really. I know you can punch me. That's it."

"I am Týr. The people of my homeland called me the god of the skies, war, justice, and heroes. They did not know things. I accepted and did what I could." He smirked. "Because it right thing to do."

"You're telling me you are THE Týr?"

He nodded firmly. "Yes. Týr Hymisson. Where is mystery?"

I threw up my hands. "Okay, I'm going home now."

"I come with you, then. I fly too." He actually smiled.

"What? No! My wife would rightfully have my head for bringing some strange man home in the middle of the night!"

He nodded. "Forgive me. I have not known people for some time. I follow, but find other place so your wife not angry."

I let out a groan. It seemed there was no deterring this man. "I can't really stop you from following me, but don't make it weird and be discreet. People make a spectacle if you can fly without wings."

"I know. People change." He nodded.

Keeping an eye on him, I slowly rose into the air. I'd gotten rather proficient at controlling the speed of my flight since I started practicing. After a few moments, he started to follow me. Turning and heading higher into the sky, a large part of me was trying to understand why I had begun to tentatively trust this man. There is no way we'd have known one another otherwise. We had just met. And yet, there was a trust between us. Explanations escaped me.

Further, he seemed to have something of an understanding of the event that changed me. He claimed it had changed him, too. A very long time ago, a similar event had occurred and created the beings ancient people had referred to as The Gods, according to him. Anthropological history was never my strong subject, but I do remember that the gods of Sumer had first appeared in text about the time he was describing. I wouldn't bet on my accuracy of knowledge, though. It's been thirty years since I remember any talk of world history on a daily basis. It would seem that I had a mystery on my hands. I had no idea where to begin finding the answers.

Once over my home, I bid my compatriot adieu and flew down toward my house. He stayed back, thankfully. I could safely enter my house and move toward my bed in the spare room without worry. Changing out of the now dirty sweater and sweatpants, I grabbed another set of loungewear and crawled under the blankets. Something told me my world was about to get a lot bigger.

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Seven

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gnhXHvRoUd0 ))

The following day, I continued as if nothing had happened. The loungewear I'd slept in remained in place but I did at least brush my hair. Laura had gone to work after the girls left for school. In between reports and missives for work I did the house work. Once again, I was alone with my thoughts. Standing in the midst of the spotless living room, my eyes scanned the room and the adjoining ones taking in just how lonely my existence really was at this point. Where once there was family driving me forward there was nothing of substance.

The doorbell rang.

Head tilted and eyebrow raised, I moved to the front door and pulled it open. On the threshold stood a young woman, likely in her early twenties. She was quite a bit shorter than I. Her blonde hair fell to about her shoulders, not unlike the length of my own. Something in her hazel eyes seemed familiar, but I couldn't really place it. Her body was covered in a dark grey T-shirt, dark denim jeans, canvas sneakers, and a black leather jacket.

"Can I help you?" I asked her.

Her eyebrows furrowed at me. "Hannah? Aren't you still in school? Why are you home?"

I kept my head tilted and eyebrow raised. "I'm not Hannah. Once again, how can I help you?"

She shook her head. "Sorry. It's just... may I speak with Christopher Kent, please?"

"Who's asking?"

"I'd really rather speak to him, please."

Something about her demeanor signaled she may be up to something. I stepped to the side. "Please, come in." Nodding, she stepped inside and I closed the door behind her. "I'm going to give you one chance to explain how you know my daughter."

"Okay, first of all: who are you and where is Christopher Kent?"

"I am Christopher Kent. Now talk!"

She nearly jumped back. Her eyes widened with shock but instant understanding. "Chris! It's me, Larry Lang!"

Lawrence "Larry" Lang and I go way back. We met on the school newspaper team way back in Sheboygan. He went off to Notre Dame like a good Catholic boy and I had gone to Northwestern. We stayed connected as much as we could. We even moved to Chicago together to pursue our careers. I got the gig at the Chicago Tribune and he got the job at the Chicago Sun-Times. He was the best man at my wedding to Laura. He knew my kids. I was the best man at his wedding to Alana. They only had one child, Chloe. She was Madison's age. We'd fallen out of contact in the last few years as I was dying a slow death as a corporate communications specialist instead of what I really wanted to do.

"Larry? Really? How did you..." I stumbled over the words because of my confusion.

"...Know it was you without question? Easy: happened to me, too. That cosmic phenomenon that somehow gives people powers? Well mine include preventing you from lying to me and detecting your unique energy signature associated with the alterations from the pulse."

"You can sense when someone is lying or compel them to tell you the truth and detect the unique energy associated with that thing?"

"That's what I just said, Chris. Haven't flexed those journalism muscles in a while, have you, buddy?" She shook her head. "Look, that doesn't really matter so much. I'm here as a warning, Chris."

I motioned for the girl that was apparently one of my best friends to the living room to sit down. "What kind of warning?"

She plopped down onto the loveseat. "I've been working on a story since a couple of days after that pulse thing. My editor wanted me to dig deep. You know me: that's my bread and butter. I found some things, Chris. For starters, I know you went to the ER the night the pulse happened with no injuries. I couldn't access your medical records, so no worries there. HIPAA still works, for now."

I sat on the couch diagonal from her. "Well, that's comforting, at least."

"It won't be for long. It's no secret this president has been breaking a lot of rules. Things that should be confidential aren't staying that way, especially if your skin is brown and you speak Spanish." She took in a breath. "It goes deeper. Word is that they're going after people affected by the pulse, too. The guy that tried to burn down the American Eagle over at Woodfield a few days ago? Nowhere in the system. He should be on a prisoner list, but he disappeared yesterday."

"Where'd he go?"

"Not the faintest clue. One minute, he's in the Cook County Jail getting arraigned for property damage and attempted murder. The next, he never existed. Two other people on my short list for potentially having powers also disappeared. I came here hoping you hadn't disappeared, yet."

"No leads on where they might have been taken? DHS has been known for lack of paperwork filing leading to lost inmates in the past." Now I was invested.

"Worked that angle. Nothing in the Department of Homeland Security logs to suggest anything other than kidnapping immigrants, except..." She smirked. "A contract filed with the Congressional Budget Office last week from Orivox Enterprises."

I sat up straight. "The tech firm that started during the early days of cellular phones back in the '80s that somehow has a private army?"

"The very same. Old Man Lowen kicked the bucket a few months back. Lukas Lowen, the kind of man that lives in Peter Thiel's nightmares, is now head of the company and has been ramping up federal contracts. He was spared from the DOGE nonsense because he fed Elon Musk's ego. The company gobbled up a GEO Group competitor and has been expanding their operations." She let out a sigh. "I'm not gonna sugar coat this, Chris: everybody affected by this pulse thing is in danger. I've already created myself a new identity. I've got a new place. Alana and I weren't doing well after all this happened. It was best for us if I left. I keep in contact, but as discreetly as I can."

"You left Alana and Chloe? Just like that?"

"Not totally. Mostly just on paper. I had to get a new cellphone and I don't call her. I had to fake my own death and create a whole new identity. We may have to do the same thing for you. If I can find information on pulse-affected people, what makes you think Orivox can't?"

Panic started to rise in me. "Has all this put the families at risk?"

"Not yet, but the Orivox subsidiary, American Vanguard Solutions, is the company that has the contract. They're a paramilitary organization with even less oversight than ICE, if you can believe it. I haven't seen any reports of family members being harmed, yet, but it's really only a matter of time. If someone stands in the way of an apprehension, it could get ugly."

My body slumped back into the couch. "Geez, that's crazy."

"It's a crazy world, Chris. Up is down. Left is right. Cats and dogs are living together. It's mass hysteria."

"We can't just stand back and let this happen, can we?"

"What other choice do we have, Chris? This is the US government and a powerful corporation we're talking about. We're a long way from FDR and into Mustache Man from Germany territory. With facial recognition, they're gonna get us pegged from a mile away unless we scrub their records and become officially dead."

I let out a deep sigh. "Let me think for a minute."

Closing my eyes, I slowed my breathing in an effort to let my rational mind take over. There would never be a scenario where I would allow Laura or the girls to be harmed because someone was trying to get to me. The thought of leaving them to this nonsense didn't sit well, either. This ICE nonsense hadn't been sitting well with me for a long time, either. If there's a private contractor out there doing the same thing to equally as innocent people who just happened to develop powers because of the stellar pulse event, that was inherently wrong on its face. Two thoughts bubbled to the surface of my conscious mind: my talk with Madison and a quote. I leveled my eyes on my friend.

"Larry..." I began.

"It's Lauren, now. We should get used to using new names for each other."

I shook my head. "Lauren... whatever..." I let out a quick sigh. "Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing," I quoted. "John Stuart Mill." I looked right into the depths of Lauren's hazel eyes. "We can't let this continue."

She chuckled. "Oh, yea? Getting all noble, huh? How is anyone going to be able to accomplish that without being identified in our modern digital age?"

"It might sound crazy, but... there's something Madison said to me. What if we lean into the superhero thing? I mean, we've got the powers, right? Get a suit and just do it. We'd probably have to find someone that's at the forefront of advanced materials research that can be trusted, though."

"You're joking, right?"

My head firmly shook. "I am not. I'm quite serious. The world's gone crazy. Embrace the crazy."

"Chris, these people have guns. I'm not bulletproof."

I smirked at her. "I am."

Lauren's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. "The mall thing. Was that you? What kind of stuff are you working with, buddy?"

I softly nodded. "Yes. I stopped the guy at Woodfield Mall. I'm basically Superman."

She stood and started pacing. "Oh, this is big. I mean, really big."

"It's not that big, Lar – I mean, Lauren." I rolled my eyes. "It's gonna take me a minute to get the name right. Sorry."

"Okay, well, we'll have to do this methodically. First, we need to get you and your family safe. I'll work on that. Maybe you could work on finding that materials researcher in the meantime. You just have to keep your head down until I get things figured out."

I scoffed. "I barely leave the house as it is. I only go out at night and fly off somewhere."

She stopped. "How are we casually having a conversation that involves a comment about a human being flying without the use of an airplane?"

I shrugged. "It's a new world, isn't it?" In the next instant, I was reminded of something. "You said you can detect this energy – whatever it is – right?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah..."

Standing up, I moved through the house to the back porch. "This might blow your mind." Once out on the deck, I called out, "TYR!"

For a few moments, we were both quiet. There was a sound of rushing wind, then the redheaded Icelandic man was standing on the back deck with us after having dropped out of the sky. Lauren squealed.

"What need?" He asked me.

I didn't look at him. "Lauren Lang, meet Tyr Hymisson. Would you mind confirming something for me? Do your thing?"

She looked him over and the shock left her face, turning to curiosity. "Interesting... it's not like us, but similar. Older, too. Why?"

"Turns out, the Gods do exist, just not the way we thought."

After Lauren got over her astonishment, we started to relay everything to Týr. He was well aware of the immigration injustice going on in the United States. As Lauren gave him the background on the situation at hand, he grew angrier with each detail. As we evolved into the superhero idea, he was less than enthusiastic.

"These injustices cannot stand." He stated firmly. "Heroes do not hide their faces. It is cowardly."

"It's a different time from when you were relevant, big guy." Lauren informs him. "Showing your face is a bad thing. We're talking about arrests happening and potentially families being harmed by this."

I let out a quick breath. "He's got a point, though. If we cover our faces, we give off a sense of being unaccountable. Look at all that talk about ICE agents, right now."

"Okay, blue eyes." Lauren shrugged. "If you're gonna go full face on this, you do you. I'm gonna have something obscuring me from the digital eyes, okay?"

"Fine by me." I stated. "We just have to figure out something plausible for me. What kind of backstory do we tell with this new identity thing?"

"You let me worry about it, Chris. I'll work it out with you when the time comes. About what age did they say you were physically?"

I grumbled. "Seventeen."

Lauren physically recoiled. "Ouch. You may or may not want to talk to your parents. Now I gotta work on a cover for a minor."

Another sigh escaped my lips. "Right, I'll look into the scientist we need."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lauren vowed to remain in touch over the next few days. Týr may not have been very pleased with the idea of superheroes in theory. However, after an explanation to him about their origins and purpose in our modern world, he was more amiable to the idea than previously. When I told him they were similar to ancient tales of heroes and monsters, he mentioned something called 'The Sagas'. I'd never heard of such a thing; thus, I had some homework to do in an effort to understand this strange man I was becoming better acquainted with.

Once parting with him and promising that we'd do some training that evening, I went straight to a computer. It was clear in about five seconds that a Google search isn't what it used to be. It would be necessary to flex muscles that I'd not used in a few years. Investigative journalism is not for the faint of heart. It's full of twists, turns, dead ends, and more questions than you started with. Thankfully, I wasn't trying to find some link to corruption in a local political race. I was just trying to find the best-known and preferably local advanced materials researcher. To no one's surprise but my own, Chicago is something of an epicenter for this particular field of study.

After two hours of reading through research journals, I ran across a not-well-known researcher that had worked on fabric polymers for NASA's new spacesuit concepts. Interestingly enough, she did use some of the most cutting-edge synthetic polymers but was also trying to find the best natural polymer that other researchers had overlooked in their pursuit of contracts with chemical companies. At least, that's what she said in her biography on a website that made me slap my palm against my face. She worked out of my alma mater: Northwestern University. I should have known the school was at the forefront of advanced materials engineering. In my defense, I graduated about twenty years ago. Her office was listed in the Technological Institute, which I knew was just off Sheridan Rd.

Fifty-two minutes later, I made the left into the SGT Lot at the northern end of the Technological Institute building. Passing by some of the buildings along Sheridan showed me that there had been quite a few changes to the campus since I was last here. Nostalgia filled me the moment I climbed out of the car and set foot on campus grounds. Laura and I had met in the Deering Library and participated in events all over these grounds when we were in college here. Taking a somber breath, I continued toward the building and entered through the northern doors. The corridors were fairly quiet as I glanced at the directory. The office of Dr. Ingrid Voss was listed as being on the second floor somewhere in the middle of the building, based on the numbers. Navigating the corridors was a little confusing as I had never really been in this building when I went here.

Eventually, I found myself at the doors to a laboratory with "Ingrid Voss, D.Sc." written on the placard next to the door. Stepping through the wooden double doors, I seemed to enter an entirely different world. Beyond the seemingly archaic wooden doors revealed an almost gleaming white space in an ultramodern style. The room was filled with the hum of a wide array of equipment I couldn't even begin to categorize. Electron microscopes with glowing interfaces, some type of fiber spinning devices, and very high-tech tensile testers meant for measuring the strength of experimental materials. The sleek walls held what could only be meticulously organized samples of materials I couldn't begin to name paired with swatches of fabric.

At the far end of the room, I heard the squeak of an office chair. In the next moment, a woman that instantly reminded me of Jessica Chastain with her bob-style ginger locks parted on the side, bright blue eyes, and white plastic-framed glasses came from a room to the left and began walking toward me. Her outfit didn't strike me as something a scientist would typically wear. Her silk halter-style blouse, high-waisted A-line skirt, tailored suit jacket, and kitten pumps seemed out of place.

"Young lady, this office is not on the campus tour." She scolded me. "This is a limited-access space. What are you doing here?"

"I'm not on a tour." I responded, trying to be respectful. "I'm looking for Dr. Ingrid Voss."

She stopped only a couple of feet in front of me. Her shorter stature wasn't as imposing as she may have wanted it to be. "You've found her. What can I do for you?"

I suddenly lost a little nerve. "How do I put this... ?"

She folded her arms. "You can simply begin."

My eyes met her gaze once more. "Your paper, Multifunctional Hybrid Biomaterials: Integration of Bombyx mori Silk, Lab-Grown Crystalline Matrices, and Sustainably Synthesized Graphene for Next-Generation Sustainable Textiles, was really some ground-breaking work. I was genuinely impressed by a next-gen materials researcher looking for more sustainable options while trying to develop NASA's next extravehicular mobility unit."

Her expression changed from stern to stunned. "A kid your age read my work? And understood it?"

I shook my head and chuckled. "I'm older than I look."

"How much older? That is some pretty advanced biochemistry, not an article in the Babylon Bee."

"I'm one of the victims or beneficiaries of that stellar wave, pulse, whatever from a couple of weeks ago. There's a forty-five year old father of three in here." I pointed at myself.

She nodded slowly. "Say I believe you. You still haven't stated why you've come to my lab."

The nerves returned and I tried to swallow them. "Well..." I let out a sigh. "It's a little embarrassing and maybe a little stupid, but... I was hoping to talk to you about what materials might be needed for an outfit that can endure the same things I can."

She raised an eyebrow at me. "And what sort of things would that be?"

To my trained journalist eyes, she seemed skeptical. I did the only thing I could think of: lifted myself off the ground high enough to tap my head on the ceiling. Said ceiling was approximately seven and a half feet from the floor. Her eyes lit up as I started to hover.

"I trust you've read a comic book or seen a movie, Dr. Voss? Heard of Superman?"

"The most iconic hero in all of comics? Who hasn't?"

I lowered myself back down onto my feet. "I need something that would work with him. It needs to endure that kind of punishment."

"Are you... are you asking me if I can help you make a 'supersuit'?" Her smile grew.

"In the most round-about and awkward way possible? Yes, probably." My eyes closed momentarily and I let out a sigh. "A credible source is working on a piece for the Chicago Sun-Times that will reveal American Vanguard Solutions, a subsidiary of Orivox Enterprises, is starting to round up people – innocent people – that were affected by that cosmic phenomenon and putting them in holding facilities not unlike 'Alligator Alcatraz'... or worse. I can't let that happen, but I also can't put my family at risk of retaliation."

She folded her arms again and looked me up and down. "Is it purely a selfish reason or more like an altruistic endeavor?"

Looking into the eyes of judgement, I took a deep breath. "I've been numb to the world for too many years. I grew apathetic. I knew things happening in this country and the world were just not right. I've felt powerless to affect any real change. This event happened and my entire world has been flipped on its head. After some soul searching, I can't sit idly by and let things happen anymore. I have the ability to be the change I want to see in this world. At the same time, I can't put my wife and three daughters at risk of retaliation from nefarious sources. I mean to misbehave. I mean to do the right thing. My family shouldn't be a victim of people that might disagree with me."

"You want to be a hero?" She asked with an indecipherable tone.

"No. Just someone that does what's right because it's the right thing to do."

She smiled. "Let me show you something."

She spun around and headed back toward the room she'd emerged from. My feet shuffled along behind her. We rounded the corner and entered the door, my eyes beheld a brightly-lit, eastward-facing office space. The colors on the walls were much more pronounced and inviting, staunchly contrasting the sterile environment of the lab. In one corner was a desk with a computer littered with little tomato-looking pin cushions. In another corner was a drafting table where several designs were sketched and taped to the surface. Another table held a sewing machine and a few bolts of brightly-colored fabric. The walls were covered in photos of models on various runways from fashion magazines as high up as I imagine Dr. Voss could reach. The two spaces were a whiplash-inducing juxtaposition.

"I minored in fashion design," Dr. Voss admitted. "It's not much more than a hobby, now." She turned to me. "You say you can do everything Superman can do?"

I nodded. "Pretty much. Did you see the viral video from Woodfield Mall?"

"I did."

"That was me."

She gave me a long nod in recognition. "It makes sense, now." She started to tap her lip. "So, you need something that can withstand whatever atmospheric forces you encounter, Mach conditions, friction from your speed, and just as nearly invulnerable as you are?"

I nodded firmly. "That's it in a nutshell."

"Come back in a day or so. We'll get a full laser scan of your body. You'll never find a more accurate way to determine every measurement imaginable."

"So, this means... ?"

"I'm making your suit."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Eight

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GP7zpdwo3Xo ))

Once back in the car, I sat for a moment to think. A large portion of my psyche couldn't believe that Dr. Voss had agreed to the task with so little convincing. At least, from my perspective it didn't seem like much convincing. Beyond that, my world seemed to be changing in so many ways. If I had been told a month ago that in a short amount of time I would no longer be male, physically regressed back to seventeen, would discover mind-blowing abilities in myself, consort with a literal god, be on the verge of losing a job I hated anyway, and was contemplating some kind of altruistic endeavor that could put my family at risk, there would be discussions about the merits of psychotherapy. The truth is stranger than fiction.

After taking in a weighted breath, a text was submitted to the family group chat. Hannah suggested we start one when she got her first phone at fourteen. We added Madison just last year. Eventually, Olivia will be added as well but it's too soon. My text was to announce a family meeting at the dining table once I arrived at home. Setting my phone in the alcove built into the car, I started on my way home. At this hour, I was well aware it would be a long drive. The sun was setting, casting orange and yellow light across the landscape. Rush hour was still going strong.

Finally at home, I pulled into the garage. Thankfully, Laura's SUV was present. At the door to the mud room, I took in a deep breath to prepare myself for what was about to transpire. Afterward, a simple message that I had arrived was sent to the group chat. I opened the door and stepped into the house. The corridor was rather short and I emerged into the open floorplan that was our kitchen and dining room. I leaned against a chair and waited for whomever would actually arrive. Given my relationship with the family of late, I only expected Laura and Madison to show.

Over the course of the next few minutes, everyone settled themselves at the table, even Hannah and Olivia. I tried not to show my surprise. The faces of my family were rather blank and unreadable. Laura seemed tired from work. Hannah hadn't yet put down her phone. Madison just kept looking at everyone else. Olivia seemed to want to be anywhere but here. After a moment, I cleared my throat.

"Thanks, everybody." I began. "I really appreciate you all being here." I let out a sigh. "It's no mystery that things have changed in the house. Ever since this thing happened to me – to us – there has been a lot of silence. Not many of us have said much to one another. There again, things are still changing somewhat and maybe I just can't hear you speaking to one another. Let's address the elephant in the room."

I took another deep breath. "I have not been the best husband or father to any of you for a long time." All of them stopped and looked at me with widened eyes. "Since my layoff at the Chicago Tribune, I've all but disappeared. I've gone to work, come home, spoken a few words, and then gone to bed. The light has gone from my heart. My only concern has been your comfort and happiness. I've even failed at that." Tears built up in my eyes.

My eyes turned to my wife. "Laura, you've deserved better. You have deserved a partner against the world and I was wrapped up in my own. I retreated into my shell and almost forgot you existed. I thought if I just put my head down, helped around the house, and made sure the mortgage was paid it would be enough. I was wrong." My wife's eyes misted up as I spoke.

My eyes moved to my eldest. "Hannah, I couldn't find the right words to say to you for the longest time. I don't know your friends anymore. I don't know if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend or what. All I know is my little girl is about to graduate high school and move on to bigger things while I still hold onto the ten year old I built pillow forts with on the weekends." Tears were now running down my cheeks.

My eyes moved to the middle child. "Madison... I'm so glad we've been able to actually connect, recently. I'm sorry it didn't happen sooner, sweetheart."

Finally, my gaze landed on the youngest. "Olivia... baby... you have needed a father for far too long. All I did was try to placate you with stuffed dolls as the only way to let you know I was thinking about you. You have needed bedtime stories of epic proportions. You've needed more hugs and tea parties. I'm sorry I haven't been there for you, sweetheart."

My focus returned to the group as a whole. "I'm about to do something brave... or stupid... or both. Only Madison really knows what I'm capable of now and even then at a basic level. Larry Lang stopped by today."

"Larry was here?" Laura asked.

"Not as such. Her name is Lauren, now. She's like me. She told me her family basically fell apart after all this. Rather quickly, too."

Laura nodded. "Alana and I have been talking."

It was my turn to nod. "I thought you might. Honestly, I don't want that to happen to this family, but Madison is the only one that's really spoken to me in almost three weeks. Besides, it goes deeper than maybe any of you realize."

"What's deeper than your dad basically becoming your sister in minutes right before your eyes?" Hannah finally spoke. Her words had bite to them.

"You guys have been seeing what's going on with ICE recently?" Laura and the teenagers nodded. Olivia looked confused. "That's going to start happening to people like me. Larry – I mean, Lauren – has sources that show Orivox Enterprises is going to mobilize their mercenaries, American Vanguard Solutions, against people affected by the same thing that changed me. That, coupled with the fact Larry is now a 20 year old young woman named Lauren, is what destroyed his family. There's nothing saying they're going after family members, but they might in order to get to people with powers."

"What are you gonna do that's stupid, Daddy?" Olivia eventually spoke.

I took a deep breath. "I'm... gonna do a superhero... thing."

"You're right. That is stupid." Hannah quipped.

"No, it isn't! You haven't seen what Dad can do!" Madison defended me.

"I don't really care, Madison! And, if you hadn't noticed," Hannah pointed at me, "that isn't Dad! Not anymore!"

"Hannah!" Laura gasped. I merely hung my head.

"What, Mom?! Use your eyes! That's not my dad and it's definitely not your husband!"

"Young lady–" Laura started to scold her.

"She's got a point, Laura." I sighed before I looked sullenly at my eldest daughter. "Your feelings are valid, Hannah. I've been feeling rather similarly for a while now." My gaze turned to Laura. "You kicked me out of our room the night after this all happened. First, I was on the couch and then I moved into the spare room. We've barely spoken."

Laura nearly huffed. "I'm just going through things, Chris."

"As am I, Laura, but even a blind person can see that our relationship just isn't going to work, anymore. We can't lie to ourselves about that. I love you more than anything, but it would be a bad look for both of us to try to continue like nothing happened." My eyes landed on each child as I spoke. "What good will it do trying to pretend to be your father when I look about a year younger than Hannah but almost like her twin? More than a few people have mistaken me for her in the last three weeks. I battle it every day, but the mirror is winning."

Hannah slumped in her chair. "This family is fucked."

"Hannah! Language!" Laura and I chorused.

Madison, desperate to change the subject, spoke up. "So... you're gonna wear tights and a cape, huh?"

I slapped my face with my palm. "I'm gonna pass on the concept of tights. I don't know, yet, what the uniform I'm going to wear will look like. I spoke with an advanced materials researcher today. Just now. That's where I was today."

"What can you do?" Olivia jumped into the conversation.

"Basically everything Superman can do." I informed her. "Flying, all the eye things, the breath, the strength, and I'm bulletproof."

"So, that girl at the mall? That was you?" Hannah finally straightened back up.

I firmly nodded. "Yes, it was me. That's why I thought a uniform might be a good idea. Can't stop dangerous people and risk a wardrobe malfunction."

"It was kinda dumb to do that in broad daylight." Hannah chided.

"Your mother thought the same."

All the girls turned to Laura. "You knew?!"

Laura held up her hands. "Not really. I was just helping with the wardrobe in the first place."

"Don't be hard on your mother, girls. She's dealing with all this just like you all are." I tried to deescalate. "The biggest problem with the thought of doing the 'Caped Crusader' thing is that it could endanger all of you. That's the last thing I want. I don't know what I'd do if any of you were harmed because of me."

"That's why superheroes have secret identities." Madison stated plainly.

"Exactly. Mine has to be ironclad to keep all of you safe." I sighed. "It might mean I have to go the same route that Lauren did: fake her own death and/or disappearance."

"Larry's not dead, though. Not that we know. No funeral or anything." Laura questioned.

"That's what I thought, too. Larry – I mean, Lauren – has something in the works. I don't know what it is, yet. I wanted to get a sense of how all of you might feel about all of this. Sounds like the general idea is that I'm simultaneously stupid and not really a member of this family anymore." I hung my head again as the tears returned.

"Honey..." Laura began to gently protest.

"I'm not deaf, Laura. I even have super hearing, remember? I've heard everything that's been said."

Hannah groaned. "I'm not trying to be a dick, okay? I just feel like my dad's already dead. Ever since you changed, I've been hit pretty hard. I don't know what you are right now but I don't want you to not be a part of my life."

Madison nodded. "Yea, it's pretty weird calling you 'Dad' when you look like my big sister, but I wanted to keep acknowledging who you are inside. You're still the big dork that's cool to geek out with me sometimes."

"My daddy's not dead, but you don't look like him anymore. You look like a stranger I'm related to." Olivia observed.

Laura stood and approached me, putting her arms comfortingly over my shoulders. "You're not stupid, Christopher. You are a part of this family. We just don't know what part. We'll have to figure that out. It'll take time." She took a deep breath. "I personally think your idea to help others shows your heart is in the right place."

"Stupid..." Hannah began, then smirked. "...but noble. It's kinda right up your alley."

"You've always been my hero, Daddy." Olivia stated plainly.

My heart melted and the tears came easily.

"You know how I feel, Dad. I've been pretty excited about this the whole time."

I gave them a weak, teary smile. "Thanks, you guys."

My phone emitted a tone that signaled a text message and vibrated in my pocket. I fished it out, unlocked the screen, and read the message. My blood ran cold. Without a second thought, I spun out of Laura's comforting gesture and the world slowed to a crawl. I ran out the sliding door to the deck and jumped. At the apex of the leap, I willed myself into flight and to travel as fast as I possibly could. There were several sonic booms that clapped behind me. The wind whipped through my hair and clothes. It was cold enough to freeze the fresh tears on my face from moments ago.

'Christopher, your father is having a heart attack. I called 9-1-1 but I don't know if they'll be here in time. Prepare for the worst, honey.' The text from my mother had read.

Knowing that if I went east far enough to hit Lake Michigan, I could follow the coastline all the way to Sheboygan. I wouldn't have to go all the way into town, though. The family farm was on the south end of the city. There was no time to note how suburban developments had swallowed a lot of old family farms. I still have yet to figure out how to land properly because I slammed into the wheat field, rolled, and even skidded. The world remained in slow motion as I ran toward the house. It only returned to normal when my feet landed on the front porch of the house. I knew the door was unlocked, so I let myself in.

"Mom?! Dad?!" I called out, not even considering they wouldn't recognize my voice.

The house was arranged like any other mid-century ranch-style house. The family room no child was to ever enter was on the other side of a half wall to my right. Before me was the main hallway with family photos through the years. Beyond the family room on the right was the kitchen. To the left was the actual living room. My mother emerged from around the corner. The tears returned.

"Hannah?" She asked, causing more tears.

"It's Christopher, Mom. Where's dad?"

"Christopher? How did you get here? It's two hours drive from Arlington Heights and I just sent you the text."

"Doesn't matter right now, Mom! Where's dad?!"

She pointed down the other hallway. "In the bedroom. We were –"

The world slowed once more as I started running toward her, then around the corner to my parents' bedroom. My father was sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching his chest and breathing laboredly. When the world returned to normal speed, he looked up at me.

"Hannah?" He struggled to ask.

"I don't have time to explain, Dad. It's me, Christopher. Trust me on that." The world adopted the blue hue around me and I could see all of my father's insides. Unpleasant to be sure, but it had purpose. It took me a second to really decipher what I was looking at, but I found his heart. I could hear his weak pulse but I couldn't decipher what I was seeing other than the fact his pacemaker wasn't doing its job very well. Blinking quickly, I looked up at him when the world returned to normal vision. "Let me take you to the hospital."

My mother entered the room behind me. "I've already called the ambulance."

"You said you didn't think they'd be here in time!"

"I still don't, but what can we do?"

"Quite a lot, actually." I swooped in and gently took hold of my father. Once I had a hold of him, I maneuvered through the house. Once outside through the front door, I took to the air.

Holding tightly to my father, it dawned on me he was the first person to fly in my arms. The closest hospital I knew to take him to was Aurora Medical Center. It appeared as if they'd made some upgrades in the past few years, but the Emergency Department was in the same place. Carrying precious cargo, it was incredibly important to figure out how to land correctly. I did everything I could think of to slow myself down enough to gently touch down on the sidewalk near the doors. I stumbled a little, but at least nobody was hurt. Running at normal speed, I entered the doors with him and went straight for a wheelchair.

"Heart attack!" I yelled as I wheeled him into the waiting room.

"What's the patient's name?" The woman from registration asked me as the triage nurses jumped into action.

"Jonas Kent." I responded, watching helplessly.

"Birthdate?" Came the voice of the woman from registration.

"February 29, 1956." I turned my gaze toward the registration woman. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"We're going to do everything we can to help him. What's your relation, sweetie?"

"I'm his kid."

Her eyes became as big as dinner plates. "I've heard of having kids late, but your case takes the cake, honey. He was, what, in his forties when you were born?"

Not wishing to answer that particular question, I turned around and made my way out the door. Once clear of prying eyes, I took to the skies again and headed back to the farmstead. Once again, I landed less than gracefully. Dusting myself off, I found my mom standing on the porch with worry written on her face. As I strode up, her hand shot to her mouth.

"Where's my husband?" She exclaimed.

"I got him to the hospital. The triage nurses are handling it." I informed her as the first wail of the ambulance sirens could be heard.

She looked me up and down. "You moved like the wind. You got here in two minutes from Illinois. What is going on?"

I motioned to my body with my hands. "May I present the aforementioned brat casing, Mom. All quarter-Jewish of it. Remember the 'nonsense' about people with powers?" She nodded. "It's not nonsense, Mom. I can do a lot of things. I panicked when I read your text. Emotion pushed me to limits I'd never even tested before. I flew here as fast as I could."

"You can fly?"

"Yes, Mom, I can fly. Landing is the hard part, but I got Dad to the emergency room without hurting him."

She took a few tentative steps toward me, giving me a look I couldn't decipher. She reached out and cupped my face in her hands. After a moment, she smiled broadly. "There's my Christopher. It's right there in your eyes." She pulled me toward her and embraced me against her chest. "Thank you for coming to help your father, honey."

"Of course, Mom." For the first time in years, I wrapped my arms around and embraced my mother. Full of emotions, the waterworks were fully operational.

"We're going to have to make up a story for you. It's gotten big, but Sheboygan is still a small town. You probably went to school with the EMTs about to come here. Maybe even their parents."

I spoke through sobs. "I don't care, Mom. I'm just glad I could be here for Dad. I did tell the lady at registration that I was his kid, though."

She tapped my back to reassure me. "You let me take care of it, then."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Nine

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aJxrX42WcjQ ))

As my father laid in a hospital bed hooked up to all the machines, my mother dutifully tended to him as much as she could. After telling my mother I had my phone on me, I began to aimlessly walk the block – which consisted of County Road TT, South Taylor Drive, and the combination loop of University/Campus Drive. The scenery was the hospital, the Performing Arts Center for Lutheran High School, and the University of Wisconsin - Green Bay Extension, as well as the woods separating all of them in tandem with Bookworm Gardens. It was a long walk. Perfect for someone that needed to process something big.

In one night, my entire family dynamic was changing. Looking at my diminutive left hand, I glanced at the comparatively gigantic wedding band I stubbornly still wore; albeit on my thumb because it wouldn't fit any other finger. I was going to lose my wife. Inside, I was still the man two years older than 'that Danvers girl' I'd fallen for in college. The man that stood with sweating palms in an uncomfortable tuxedo waiting to see her in her white gown. The man that was so proud to meet his first child, as well as every child after, and simultaneously believed that was the moment my wife was the most beautiful. The man that was so proud to buy a first house with her. The man that felt like an utter failure when the Tribune laid him off. The man who loved his children with every piece of his soul.

The man that may be about to lose his father. My parents had always been a solid bedrock in my life. I was their miracle child. The only one to be born. Mom and Dad had difficulty conceiving children and Mom had a lot of miscarriages. I'm the one that made it. Ironically, I was also Mom's first pregnancy. My parents had raised me with all the love in the world. Dad taught me how to be a man and provide for the family. He taught me to farm, but I always wanted to be a writer. Mom taught me how to be caring and nurturing. Both would always say that the best man was a well-rounded one. They did their best to mold me into that ideal. I'd like to think it worked.

My parents were the first ones I called when I met Laura Danvers, my future wife. They were the ones I confided in as to whether and when I should propose. They were the first to know about the birth of each of our children. Dad was the one that told me being a father would have many triumphs and failures, but was ultimately the greatest experience of his life. Mom was the one that told me my wife would generally figure out most things, but would need support through it all. They were the first to know about every failure, too. They consoled me when I lost my job at the Tribune and gave me the strength to keep going in spite of it. They urged me to keep going, for my sake as well as my family's. In the last few years, I retreated from them as much as I had Laura and the girls.

As I walked, tears ran down my cheeks. I'd never shed so many tears in a single night. What else can one do when their whole world falls apart?

As I approached Bookworm Gardens, Týr landed gently beside me. He said nothing for a few minutes. As I sniffled from the crying, he gently tapped my shoulder. I don't truly know why someone that was still quite a stranger to me was so comforting in that moment. For a few minutes, we walked in silence while the crickets sang their chorus in the distant foliage. My footfalls were quiet while his were lumbering. We must have been quite the sight: a 5'10" crying teenage girl with a hulking 6'7" giant of a ginger man.

"Your family coming." He informed me softly. "They are worried... for you and father."

"Thanks, Tyr." I struggled to say.

"I tell you many times, name is said like 'toor', not 'tier'."

"Force of habit, I guess. Sorry."

"Much like you cling to Kristófer though you are not." He took a breath to let his words sink in. "When the cosmos blessed me, I was not ready to release my name. I was mother. I was leader. My children and the people thought other things. They give me new name. In time, I forget what is to be mother, but never what is leader. New people gave me new name. I keep Týr. Maybe the people give you new name in time. Things change."

"I still can't see you as a woman. You've said it, but I can't picture it."

"Is many winters ago. Is lost to the memory of people. Is not lost to me. Like you, things change fast and kvennváðir, as you say 'dress', no longer fit. I had to become new thing. It take time for thinking to change, but must be done." He sighed. "I, too, lose father young. I lose him when still in swaddling clothes, not yet bleeding. He was good man, but young man. I lose husband with baby still on breast during war."

"Death is part of life," He continued. "Is like wheel. Snows leave, plants grow, harvest come, plants die, snow returns. Is cycle. People who name me 'Týr' believe in life after this. They say there place called 'Fólkvangr'. It is place of sheep people, weavers, tailors, farmers, and other things. It not place of glory and feasting, not Valhöll. It place of Freyja. Maybe, if death happen, your father go there?"

Tears kept streaming down my cheeks. "Is it a pretty place? A happy place?"

He shrugged. "At times. Is most beautiful of places to people who live in place of mountains, snow, and cold."

"Good point."

"What I say is: you're man here like I am woman here," He gestured to the center of his chest. "But you not man to people. I am not woman to people. Not for many winters. You woman to people." He scoffed. "More like girl, but point same." He shook his head. "You need to find heart of girl and accept like I find heart of man and accept. I must afklæða, remove, my kvennváðir, clothing of woman. You must klæða, put on, kvennváðir. Understand?"

"I have no idea what language you're speaking, but you're at least kind of making sense."

"Your people call it 'Old Norse'. I call it tongue of my mother."

"I thought you sounded vaguely Scandinavian, but I wasn't completely sure."

"It is tongue that birth other tongues." He shook his head. "We are not holding oar."

"If that means the conversation has drifted off course, then you may be right." I sniffled, then inhaled deeply. "I'm losing everything I hold dear: my marriage, my daughters, maybe even my father. I stopped being a journalist years ago. All of this is destroying my sense of self. I don't know who I am anymore."

He nodded. "I know this. When I changed, world became lonely place. No children. No people. I must wear the cloth of man. I must live life of man. I not know how to do this. No teacher. My boat had no oars. Many winters have passed but I remember." He turned to looking at me with a look of warmth. "I will be your oar. Your teacher."

"It's been five thousand years since you were female. How would you even know?"

"Winters pass, but does the seed not linger?"

"That makes far more sense than I anticipated. Times change, but the essentials remain?" He nodded to me. "I guess I can understand that."

"Now is not time for these things. We must return to your father. You must be with him if light fades. Is the way of things."

The walk back to the hospital wasn't very long. Our conversation had nearly lasted the full distance around the block. Back in the waiting room, I found my mother sitting alone with the worry of many on her face. I sat next to her and took her hand. She was only in the waiting room because they had taken my father to surgery. It would be hours before we heard anything. Cardiovascular surgery is a complicated process. Týr stayed at a distance, but close enough to be a reminder of his presence. It was obvious that it had been many years since he had been comfortable around many people.

After a while, Laura and the girls appeared in the doorway before joining my mother and I in the waiting room seats. Everyone exchanged pleasantries and condolences. There was a lot of awkward silence among us until the surgeon called my mother to speak with her. The tension was thick while they had their conversation. My mother returned with new tears in her eyes.

"What did the doctor say, Marian?" Laura asked, breaking the silence.

My mother struggled to speak. "That he... he made it through the surgery, but... there was a lot of damage. He... he might only have a day or two." She sobbed. "He's... sleeping now."

For all of us that understood, tears began flowing. Olivia hadn't been fully briefed on what was happening.

"What's the matter?" She asked.

Temporarily releasing my mother's hand while Laura took the other one, I knelt down to our daughter and struggled to speak the words I needed to. "Sweetheart, Grandpa... is very sick. That's why I left the house so quickly. His... his heart is not doing well." As my words sank in, she started crying. "We... we're gonna lose Grandpa, honey." My tears came heavier. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

To my surprise, she reached out and pulled me into a hug before crying on my shoulder. "I don't want Grampa to go to heaven."

"Neither do I, baby." I squeaked out and cried harder along with her. "Neither do I."

It was a bittersweet moment. My youngest was actually coming to me for comfort and I was going to lose my father. In the next second, Hannah and Madison joined our embrace with sobs of their own. I did my best to embrace all my girls and try to offer comfort, but we were all hurting just as much. After a few moments, Laura and my mother joined our embrace and cried as well. For a while, we were a ball of hugs and sobs. None of us were coming out of this unscathed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hours later, Laura had taken the girls to the Super 8 just north off Taylor Drive. She knew if anything happened, nobody could get there quicker than I. She and the girls were exhausted, physically from the drive and emotionally from the news. My mother had since drifted off in the hospital recliner holding my father's hand. Týr remained vigilant on the periphery but tried to not get in anyone's way. Meanwhile, I remained at my father's side opposite my mother. To my surprise, I wasn't the least bit tired. I was perfectly content to watch over my dad through the night.

Memories flowed through my mind, one after another. The time he came into the house covered in grease from working on the tractor and scooped me up while I was watching Sesame Street. He held me over his head like I was flying. The smile on his face when interacting with his young son was palpable. The time he actually wore a suit as we attended his mother's funeral. It's the first time I saw him actually cry. The time I had peeked through the crack in the door and saw him comfort Mom after her final miscarriage. He held her head against his chest and let her cry as long as she needed to. They never tried for children again. The time he was in the stands when I landed my first successful hit in baseball. He had a team cap on and spilled the popcorn by cheering exuberantly. The time he gave me "the talk" right before my first date which consisted of simply telling me to be respectful and not doing anything stupid. The time I turned back to him after getting my high school diploma to see the proud smile on his face. The time he helped me move into the dorms at Northwestern. The time he first met Laura. The time we first brought each of the girls to see their grandparents after only being born days before.

There were so many more, both good and bad. He always told me the bad days just allowed the good ones to feel that much better. At the time he said those words, I couldn't fathom what he meant. I was beginning to understand. My tears had been flowing freely all night.

"Ope. Look who it is... not-Hannah," A weak voice broke the silence. "Word is that you saved me."

I straightened up and gave a meek smile. "Hey, Pop. How you feeling?"

"I'm feelin' kinda crummy. Why are you callin' me 'Pop'? I'm not sure who you are." My father's eyebrows furrowed at me.

Feeling like crying again, I reached out and wrapped a hand around his arm. "I'm your son. I'm Christopher."

He actually chuckled. "Sure thing, bud."

"Remember that thing that happened about three weeks ago? The one that tripped your pacemaker?"

"No, yeah. That was no picnic. Scared my wife somethin' fierce. How'd you know about that?"

"And you remember hearing that it changed some people? Gave them powers?"

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Where you tryin' to go with this?"

"Do you remember how you got here to the hospital?"

He almost answered, but stopped himself. After a moment, he sighed into his words. "Well, I'll be... You flew me here. You're really fast."

"I can do other things, but they weren't needed. I just wanted to help."

He looked up at the ceiling. "It was like an angel."

"Not quite like that, Pop." I shook my head. "Remember when I was a kid and you'd hold me up so I could feel like I was flying?" The tears and sniffles came back. "I can do it for real, now."

His eyes returned to mine. "What's my middle name?"

The question caught me off-guard, but I shrugged at him. "Clark. Why?"

"How old am I?" He kept his focused stare.

"You're sixty-nine."

"Yeah, no. How old am I?"

My mind searched for his meaning. He meant something other than his chronological age. He'd joke about it sometimes. Still crying, I actually laughed. "You're seventeen, Pop." Having been born on Leap Day, there had been seventeen since the year he was born. It was one of his favorite jokes.

He smiled at me. "Yeah, you're my kid. How old are you, now?" My guess is that my answers to his questions convinced him of my identity.

"I'm forty-five, Pop." He glared at me again. I rolled my eyes. "Fine. The doctors say I'm seventeen, too."

"Seventeen, huh? Ain't that somethin'? Me and my kid the same age?" He chuckled. After a moment, he motioned toward my body. "So, this all happen with that... thing?"

I nodded. "Yea."

"So, what all can you do?"

"Basically everything Superman can."

"And you're a Kent. A real one. How 'bout that?" He looked up at the ceiling again. "I wanted to name you 'Clark' but your mom thought I was bein' stupid." We shared a chuckle before he continued. "Y'know, Chris, I never told your mom this: I always wondered what kinda dad I'd be to a daughter. I always wanted one. Broke your mom's and my heart when we couldn't have any more babies." He returned his gaze to me. "Don't get me wrong, son: raisin' you was the best job I ever had. You're special to your mom and me." He let out a whimsical sigh. "I guess the stars was playin' darts, again. Hit a bullseye right on you."

Sniffling and tears flowing, I chuckled. "Yea, they did."

His voice turned somber. "What's the prognosis?"

More tears flowed. "It's not good, Pop. You're dying."

"Been dyin' since the day I was born, kid." He shook his head. "It's my heart, ain't it?" Tearfully, I nodded in response. "Your gran-dad always said my heart was too big for this world. I'd like to think he kinda had a point. I've always tried to live up to that, y'know. This world's too mean to not be. I've tried to teach you to be that way." He took as deep a breath as he could. "You're a good man, Chris. You took care of your mom and me. You took care of your wife and kids. You took a hit on the chin and kept going. I did the best I could think of for you and you turned out better than I ever dreamed. You've got words, kid. Always have. It's your actions, though, that show people who you are. That sayin', I'm proud I got to be your dad."

More tears than I've ever shed poured out of my eyes as I got up and hugged him.

He bent at the elbow and meekly tapped my shoulder while turning his head so our foreheads touched. "Whatever you're gonna be goin' forward – man, woman, boy, girl – you just show people the kind of person you are. Use what you've been given to leave this world better than you found it, like I tried to do every day."

Through sobs, talking was hard. "I'll make you proud, Pop."

"You already have, kid."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Ten

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lIqBXPtolcw ))

Five days later, we buried my father. I wore a suit. With my car back in Illinois, Laura and the girls came with me to buy the suit. Hannah tried to convince me to wear a customary black dress with sensible flats and Madison somewhat encouraged this, but I repelled the efforts. I compromised with a sensible pantsuit from the women's section, but insisted on a tie. Laura was more accommodating than the girls and even found a suitable pair of loafers for me. We even managed to find Týr something to wear so he didn't look like we dragged him to a funeral from a Renaissance Faire.

My father had seemed to make an impact on the small village surrounding the Kent Farm south of Sheboygan, WI. Nearly two thousand people came to show their respects. I only recognized about a third of the faces. We held the ceremony at the Immaculate Conception Catholic Church because my parents both loved the interior. My family had been Catholic for as long as I could remember, but it never caught on with me. The priest had some lovely things to say during the mass and the choir sang some lovely songs. It was the dedications that really caught much of the audience. First, the priest said a few words about my father. Then, a couple of his friends. I had the responsibility of the official eulogy.

It hurt that I couldn't write it completely genuinely. Nobody was going to believe this seventeen year old girl in a pantsuit was actually the child of Jonas and Marian Kent. Thus, I wrote it like one of my articles and read it in a third-person voice. It started with an apology for the absence of their son, Christopher Joseph Kent. From there, it was a collection of all the things I could remember about my father, good and bad, with a few jokes thrown in – inside jokes, including the one he always told about his birthday. It told of his willingness to help others at the drop of a hat. It told of a man torn over the fact he and his wife couldn't have more children than one; that he took most of the blame for. It told of a warm hug awaiting anyone that needed one. It told of a man dedicated to his family and friends. It ended with my favorite quote of my father's.

"...and remember to always leave the world better than you found it." I concluded with a giant knot in my throat and tears streaming down my face. "Good bye, Jonas Kent."

I stepped away from the pulpit that we used for the podium and returned to my seat in the pew between my mother and my family. To my surprise, my mother still wanted me to be one of the pallbearers. Thus, at the conclusion of the ceremony, I helped carry my father to his final resting place. It was difficult to compensate for the other five people as I could carry the whole load as if it were a feather. We dedicated his grave at the cemetery and the priest gave his blessing. One toss of dirt later, everyone began to disperse. I stood and stared at the casket as the cemetery staff lowered him into the pit. Týr, again, stood in the periphery as did Laura and the girls. The only one that approached was my mother. She extended one arm over both my shoulders, holding my deltoid, with one arm and gently placed her other hand on my deltoid nearest her. Even in her own pain, she was trying to comfort me.

We stood there for an indeterminate amount of time in silence. I could hear Laura and the girls walking back toward the car. Once we knew we were truly alone, my mother spoke.

"He's already through the pearly gates, honey. They had a pass saved for him." She tried reassuring me.

"I can do all these things, but I couldn't save him." I sniffled. "I couldn't even give his eulogy as his son, Mom."

"Hush, now, child." My mother turned me toward her, keeping her hands on my shoulders. "You came the minute that text reached your phone. I can scarcely believe how fast you arrived or that you flew. Your only concern was your father's health. You did everything you could do. The almighty has plans for all of us, Christopher. If this be his will, then so be it. Funerals and eulogies are for the living. Your father is fully aware of how much you love him and what he meant to you."

I absently wiped a new tear from my cheek. "Thanks, Mom."

"Now, I have something to show you."

Arm over my shoulder, she led me a few plots down to a couple of older headstones. The first bore the names of James Harold Weber and a name I'd not seen before: Miriam Krista Weber (née Katzenberg). The second bore the names of Ernest Jonathon Kent and Astrid Karin Kent (née Johannson). The second was fairly aged, but the first seemed newer.

"These are your grandparents. You were really young when they passed away." She pointed at the second headstone. "Those are your father's parents. Your middle name starting with a 'J' came from them. They were all about boy's names with a 'J' somewhere in the name." She pointed to the first. "These are my parents. I updated the headstone after my mother passed. Daddy died first in a tractor accident. Nobody would plant in that field for a few years because of that. I had already found my mother's original birth certificate in her hope chest and discovered her true name while I was pregnant with you. I updated the headstone when she died of cancer."

She took a deep breath. "I never told your father, but I secretly hoped for a daughter. You almost had a little sister, but then the miscarriage. It broke a part of me, Christopher. It really did."

"Dad told me that he did, too, but never told you." My eyes looked down at hers. She was the same height as Hannah. "He told me that first night. Everybody else was asleep."

A single tear rolled down her cheek. "Thank you for telling me, honey." Her eyes returned to the headstones. "Your situation is very confusing. I don't understand it, but I want to help the best I can. I already told anyone that asked at the funeral that you are a foster child. Jonas and I took you in when your parents died in an accident about a year ago." She sniffled. "You need a name. I want to name you for my mother, if you'll let me. She went through so much in the war. She had to learn a new way of being, like you do now."

"Really, Mom?"

She nodded firmly. "Naturally, it won't be exactly the same. Your name 'Christopher' already came from her name. I've been doing a lot of thinking. 'Krista' might be a bit dated for someone your age now, but 'Kristen' seems fine. 'Miriam' is a fine middle name. So, what do you say? 'Kristen Miriam Kent'?"

"Did you talk with Dad about this before he... ?"

"I did. He agreed it was the most pragmatic. I don't know if you noticed, but he was only calling you 'Chris' before the end because both names have the same nickname. The new one would just be a 'K' instead of 'Ch'."

"Sounds fine, Mom." I took in a long breath. "I was actually going to talk to you about something like this. A friend of mine uncovered something sinister."

"That Larry Lang boy you've been friends with since high school?"

I nodded. "Her name is Lauren, now."

"Oh... so it changed him/her, too?"

"It did. Lauren found out that the government is going to start rounding up people like us through a federal contractor." I turned to look her in the eyes. "I can't let that happen, Mom. I can't let the things that have been happening continue. I intend to do just what Dad told me to do: leave this world better than I found it."

"What are you going to do, honey?"

"I'm going to get some kind of uniform and help people. At the same time, I can't put Laura and the girls at risk. If these federally sanctioned stormtroopers come for me and can't get me, I'm afraid they might do something to hurt my family. We're going to need to have another funeral. This time, it would be for Christopher Kent."

My mother considered my words for a moment before nodding. "What do you need from me, sweetheart?"

I smiled. "You just gave it to me. That... and we might have to redo my bedroom."

She nodded again. "It was getting dusty, anyway."

"Thanks, Mom. I'll call Lauren and have her get to work on all the logistics."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The days seemed to melt together after that. I called Lauren later that afternoon and filled her in on the situation. She offered some very sincere and very deep condolences. She promised to begin crafting some plausible reason why 'Lauren Lang' and 'Kristen Kent' existed while 'Lawrence Lang' and 'Christopher Kent' did not. My next communication was with Dr. Voss, informing her of the reason I'd not contacted her in six days. She, too, offered condolences. I made a promise to stop by the lab when I was back in Chicagoland.

Two days after the funeral, I rode with Laura and my daughters back to Arlington Heights. Discussing my new name and the situation going forward was not an easy conversation. Laura first objected because she didn't want to see me go and thought she might be pushing me away while she dealt with her own issues about me. Hannah shed a few tears for reasons she kept to herself. Madison was bummed that our growing closeness would stop. Olivia really didn't like the idea of my leaving. I reassured all of them that the idea to leave had not been taken lightly, that my love for them was not any less, and that I could just zip over from Wisconsin at a moment's notice. Their acceptance of the situation at hand did grow as we talked. It's a two-hour drive, after all. In all fairness, I really didn't want to leave them. I was doing the hard thing in an effort to keep them safe.

Back in Chicagoland, I drove to Northwestern that very day. It was still early afternoon and I confirmed with Dr. Voss that she was ready for me. Half an hour later, I was in her lab/office. She showed me several sketches, first. She'd drawn up some concepts of what the suit might look like at completion. They were mostly more modern adaptations of Supergirl costumes I'd seen in several comics, skirt and all. I stressed two things: the need to avoid copyright infringement and that I did not want a skirt. She rubbed her temples in frustration.

"Here's the thing: we'll start with the basics," She began. "The colors. They're the thing that's going to make you stand out. For the blue, I went with a staple: middle saturated azure. I borrowed from Christopher Reeve's costume and whatever I could grab from the trailers featuring David Corenswet's costume. It's bright and cheerful, which works for color theory. The red doesn't have a name. I went a little darker and a bit more bold. It compliments the middle saturated azure wonderfully. For the yellow, I put down the banana and went with a bright yellow gold to tie everything together and make it a good, modern look. Back in the day, all they had was primary colors, so that's why we have the pallet we do."

"Won't a suit made with those colors be claimed as copyright?" I wondered.

She shook her head. "All you have to do is change about twenty-five percent and you get plausible deniability. It's the 21st Century, honey. A lot of ideas are copies of what came before." She rolled her eyes. "Since you hate all my skirt ideas, I've got..." She had to dig deep in her pile of mock-ups to find the one she was looking for. When she showed it to me, it looked like a Superman costume with boobs. "That's the best non-skirt one I came up with."

I smacked my forehead. "Oh, Warner Brothers Discovery is going to come for my head if American Vanguard Solutions doesn't beat them to it!"

She narrowed her eyes on me. "You're looking to be a super hero in this world, honey. You've got all the powers, so why not lean into it? People are going to instantly recognize this uniform. The guy is, after all, the most well known super hero. Even people who have never read a comic book or watched one of the movies know who Superman is. They're gonna know you're there to help just by looking at you. That's the goal, right?"

I stared at the sheet of paper. "Yea, that's the goal. Did we have to do the trunks, though?"

Again, she rolled her eyes. "I'm not budging on those. For one, you're female so they're basically like hotpants. They're not a fashion faux pas. For two, I watched an interview with the new actor and I liked his take on the classic trunks. He thought they were intentionally silly. It was to make the guy approachable and show he doesn't take himself too seriously. On you, they'll look fine and serve to contrast and break up the suit a little. I also hired a graphic designer friend to envision an 'S' symbol for the chest. You're welcome."

"I don't even have a name and you're putting an 'S' symbol on my chest?"

She grumbled. "The total package is a statement! The blue suit, the red trunks, the yellow belt, the red boots that I will add a yellow band to the top of, and the pièce de résistance... the ankle-length billowing red cape with the yellow shield on the back! It's a look that will say 'I am powerful, noble, and approachable'!" She sighed like I offended her. "Suit first. You can figure out a name later."

I sighed in relinquishment. "Fine. What do you need from me?"

"I'll take you to the imaging suite where we will get a full 3D model of you. Then, you get naked," She shrugged.

"Cheese and crackers, I haven't been naked in front of anyone but my wife for twenty-three years!"

"It's the most precise way to take measurements. I'll show you where to stand when we get there. After that, you'll be alone. Yes, the 3D scan will come up on my screen but it never shows the really intimate stuff. You're perfectly safe, okay?"

My body squirmed. "I don't know about this..."

A small digital 'ding' sound emanated from the tablet on her desk. She spun around, strode over, picked it up, and glanced at the screen for a moment. "Oh, lovely. Your symbol is ready." She flipped over the tablet to show me. The design was similar, yet different in subtle ways. There was still the classic diamond-shaped shield design with three layers: yellow, then red, then yellow again for the background. The "S" itself was a more angular and somewhat digital design, a far cry from the looping and curvy nature of the English letter itself. "Thoughts?"

My eyebrows raised in appreciation. "Okay, that looks pretty cool. I did not know I could appreciate an angular 'S' shape and I lived through the '90s."

Her facial expression melted into a blank, unapproving glare. "You may want to tone down talk of 'the late 1900s' as the kids call it. If you're going to develop a secret identity, I suggest getting on TikTok and studying as much of the lingo as you can before they ban it for real." She started walking toward the door to the corridor beyond.

I shrugged. "I could just talk to my daughters. I've got two teenagers."

Stopping short at the door, she turned to me. "No, you don't. You're seventeen, remember?" She motioned for me to follow her with her head. "Let's get this over with."

Sighing, I started to follow. "Oh. Right. I keep forgetting."

She led me out of her lab and down the corridor with the click-clack of her heels echoing endlessly. The architecture of the Technological Institute at Northwestern was nothing short of a modern marvel. The floors were clean and coated with linoleum. The walls to the labs and offices were framed with wooden accents. The upper levels were mostly glass. Steel beam rafters framed the entire structure in a blend of industrial design and modern science. It was a wonder I never came into this building when I studied here.

Dr. Voss rounded a corner and ushered me into what looked to be a newer lab. It had fewer windows than many of the others. The byline on the door read: Digital Simulation Research for the Purposes of Digital Art and Interactive Media. Once inside, there was a corridor that branched in two directions. I was directed to the left while Dr. Voss moved to the right. The right seemed to be a control room of sorts. The left as a room with a giant white ring with all kinds of cords and hoses attached to it. It looked like it had been ripped right out of an episode of Westworld or, perhaps, inspired the design.

"I'll start up the imaging suite while you close the door and disrobe." She announced over a PA system somewhere in the room.

Turning around, I made sure to lock the door. Afterward, my eyes scanned the room. There were no windows, mirrors, or one-way glass sections. It was me and the Westworld scanning device. That's it. Taking a deep breath, I felt comfortable enough to disrobe. Folding my clothes and stacking them in a corner, I stepped into the marked area in the middle of the machine.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

"Let's get this over with." I answered.

She had me stand in several poses whilst the machine whizzed around me. From T-pose, to t-arms and spread legs, then A-pose, then A-arms and legs spread. She asked me to strike a pose like a superhero with my fists on my hips and legs shoulder-width apart. She even asked me to pose like I was flying so I hovered a little and obliged. After that, she asked me to do a "superhero landing" and I had no idea what she was talking about. She told me to think about Natasha Romanov from the Marvel films. I obliged but I felt really silly. There's no way to know if it was pertinent to anticipating the stretch the fabric would need to accommodate or if she was being facetious. When she cleared me, I hurried putting my clothes back on, unlocked the door, and stepped into the corridor.

After a moment, she joined me with her tablet in hand once more. She held it up for me to see. "These are the results," She stated plainly. With her finger, she panned through a 3D model of each pose I had assumed. The 3D models looked like a faceless, gray Barbie doll. "See? I got all your musculature and nothing I didn't need."

My eyebrows raised in astonishment. "Wow. I look like an athlete. Like... a girl that plays softball or volleyball in school or something."

Dr. Voss exited the imaging suite and started down the corridor toward her lab with me not far behind. She tapped on her tablet as we walked. Before long, we were back through the doors into her lab and heading toward her office. She kept her focus on the tablet for a few more moments, completely ignoring me. I simply leaned on the door frame with my arms folded and somewhat mindlessly glanced around the office and lab. Occasionally, she'd curse to herself in a volume she may have thought I might not be able to hear, but I heard it all. About the time I moved to pull my phone out of my pocket to play a game or something, she happily shrieked.

"Got it!" She exclaimed. She held the tablet to her chest for a moment. "Now, remember: this is really just a rough mockup. I'll clean it up and get to work on the production model. It's better than the concept drawing." She then turned the tablet to show me her work.

Grasping the sides gingerly, I pulled it closer in an effort to really examine what I was looking at. She'd used the hands-on-hips pose and put the suit with the trunks on my body. Admittedly, it looked pretty amazing. She pointed at different parts of the rendering as she spoke.

"The end product will have a hexagonal texture to the main blue of the suit. That happens with the materials and tech I'm looking forward to using. The emblem on your chest will be raised and embellished nicely. I'm going to work on adding some utility to the belt. Right now, it's only decorative. You can see the yellow-gold band at the top of the boots. The cape will flow nicely, I think. The emblem on the back won't be raised. What do you think?"

Offering a warm smile. "I think you're incredibly talented at what you do, Dr. Voss. It looks very nice. I'm excited to see what the final product will look like."

"It's going to be cutting edge, I assure you. I have a couple of my Bombyx mori that I think were impacted by the stellar inversion pulse as you were. Their silk is coming out stronger than any natural fiber I've ever seen. With a little contingency reinforcement and a little tech, it'll be a perfect suit for someone like you."

"I really appreciate everything you're doing for me."

She shrugged. "It's nothing, really. I finally get to indulge in my dream of fashion design and you get to be a guinea pig for some new materials. It's a win-win."

"How long until the suit will be ready?"

"Maybe two weeks? Give or take? Natural, sustainable fibers take a little longer to cultivate than the synthetics someone else might try to peddle you."

"Worth that wait. Thank you, Doctor." I extended a hand for a handshake.

She happily takes my hand and shakes it. "The pleasure is all mine. Now, get out of here. I've got work to do."

I gave her a cordial nod before turning to leave. Something inside was telling me the next two weeks were going to crawl by with how much I was going to anticipate the suit.

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Eleven

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZjhkSjb41VQ ))

The next couple of weeks were torture for a multitude of reasons. Luggage needed to be purchased to move my effects from the house in Arlington Heights to my mom's in Sheboygan. A small voice inside was saying that moving back into my childhood home was some kind of failure. In that process, Lauren had stopped by when I was in Wisconsin. She left a message that the girls had found and gave to me about meeting in the future. She wouldn't call for various reasons. Týr volunteered to move onto the farm and help out. He set up his own small encampment out near the barn so as not to impose on my mother. In the midst of moving, I got a visit from someone I was not in the least bit expecting.

In the twilight of the evening after the sun had set, I was transporting luggage to my mother's. When I arrived, she was tidying up my childhood bedroom. It was a small space only about two-thirds the size of any of my daughters' bedrooms, but it had always been cozy and intimate to me. The walls were still covered in the same 1970s wallpaper my parents never replaced when Dad inherited the farm. My own personal touches were a few posters featuring Nirvana, Rage Against The Machine, Star Trek: Generations, The Matrix, and a signed Babylon 5 poster. My old bookshelf held the boxes most of my comic collection was stored in and several figurines from Star Wars, Star Trek, the X-men animated series of the time, and a Pokémon or two. The desk looked as if I'd left for college yesterday with several notebooks scattered over the surface and the oldest computer I'd seen in years. My phone had easily ten times the computing power of that dinosaur from the advent of the Digital Age. Over the old twin bed was my corkboard with several photos from those bygone days featuring my friends and I. A lot of them featured Larry, my best friend for years. One from graduation featured us with our arms over each other's shoulders and cheering at the camera. It brought a tear to my eye.

When I bent over to shuffle some things into place, my mother had mentioned the arrival of Aunt Flo. At first, I didn't know what she meant but she mentioned the red stain and it finally clicked. She helped me get cleaned up and showed me how to use some things I'm going to need from now on. I shook my head and wanted to move on from this. I was beginning to understand why Hannah and Madison had unceremoniously told me to leave them alone when this happened to them. I wanted to help, but I had no clue I was just making the experience unpleasant. Leaving the managing of the situation to Laura was probably the smartest thing I could do. My mother handled things graciously and with kindness, even if the idea of this event assaulted both our cognitive dissonance.

After a few days, my mother began to truly appreciate Týr's presence on the farm. My parents had scaled back their operation since I left the farmstead and their ages caught up with them. While working on putting together a wooden fence for the subsistence area of the farm, he regaled my mother with tales of "the people" and how they were accomplished farmers – even in the worst of conditions. He showed us some techniques to increase the yield that modern farmers like us had never seen before. That's because his methods were practically ancient. "The people" he spoke of were the Norse of Scandinavia and the methods were about a thousand years old. Time will tell as to their efficacy, but the fact he suggested we raise a few sheep and get a dog got my mother's attention.

Once I was moved in, the farm was tended to, and the household chores were done, Týr began his training regimen. Being outside the city limits and not having another neighbor for about half a mile, both he and I could really let loose with our powers and not attract much attention. At first, I expected some kind of gladiatorial pugilism. Instead, he had me sit in the upper level of the barn, close my eyes, and open my ears.

"There was one among us who had sight – Heimdallr. He was called 'haym-dahl-r', not 'high-m-doll'. He among us was only one that see what he see. He see all corners of world. You have same, but with ears," He said to me. "You must learn listening."

Thus, there I sat for hours on end. At first, it was incredibly uncomfortable because my insides were churning in on themselves thanks to Aunt Flo. As the days progressed, it became much easier to concentrate and I began to learn the true scope of this "super hearing" thing. In the beginning, there was a lot of noise: car engines, tractors, people speaking, children playing, dogs barking, bugs beating their wings, birds chirping, and so on. It was all a garbled mess and a little painful. Hours became days and days became a week. I was starting to hear more while I was doing the laundry or sweeping the kitchen floor. Slowly, I was beginning to realize that this is going to be something I was really going to need to control. I even started to smell more things. I do not recommend this. Take my word for it: a menstrual teenager mixed with animal dung and ripening crops is incredibly unpleasant.

When night fell, I would take to the skies. It was really becoming my equivalent of jogging. I'd visit the house back in Illinois, but the only one awaiting me was Madison. She would sit on the roof and make her flashlight strobe to guide me in. She laughed about me getting my first period. Beyond that, it was friendly chatter about how school was going and how the family was doing. At some point, I would love to have this kind of chat with all my girls. After about half an hour on school nights or an hour on the weekend, I would wish Madison a good night before flying off again.

One night, Týr encouraged me to discover just how high up I could fly. Accepting his challenge, I took off from the farm and traveled straight upward. Hearing them coming in advance, I was able to dodge any air traffic that might be in the area, civilian or commercial. Kicking my ascent into high gear, I watched the cloud layer sink below me ever faster. Further and further I climbed. A small part of me wondered if this feeling would be similar to someone in a spacecraft. After a while, I lost track of how far I'd gone. Somehow, I knew I could keep going. When I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin, I turned and looked at where I was. I could see the curvature of my home planet all around me. I could see the expanse of stars all around me, unfiltered. Below me was a dark mass illuminated by millions of lights that marked out population centers. The sun was barely peeking from the other side of the planet.

I was in space. I don't know if it was "outer space" or not. I'm not an astrophysicist. How am I surviving without a space suit? Am I even breathing?, my brain searched for answers while my eyes took in all the spectacle. I looked at my hands, but no ice crystals had formed. My clothes stayed mostly in place. My hair seemed to be floating like the astronauts' aboard the International Space Station. I wasn't actually breathing but something told me I didn't need to. The exhilaration of discovering you can fly is one thing. Finding out you can fly in space is another. After a few moments, I elected to go back down again. I learned quickly why everything has to reenter the atmosphere at an angle after being batted away by the ionosphere. Trying again, I'd been flung somewhere over the Atlantic and came back at an angle. Reentry is a whole ballgame I was not prepared for. The plasma effects were simultaneously dazzling and frightening. I don't doubt my invulnerability anymore.

My voice basically reached the level of sonar as I excitedly recalled my experience with Týr once I found the farm and landed. Yet again, the landing was less than graceful but I didn't break anything. It woke my mother, which I immediately apologized for. I'm still not accustomed to the capabilities of this new voice, either. I don't think I've reached pitches that high since I was nine.

That was all in the first week. The second week was a little more boring. There was still training to be done, more farm tasks to complete, and more chores to be done in the house. It was mostly the same. The only difference is that because I was predominantly back in Wisconsin, Lauren left a message to arrange for us to meet. The slip of paper included her address and a date, Wednesday. Madison passed it along to me Monday night. It was a little tough to get through the couple of days until the appointed meeting. Týr took some time to teach me how to land. It took a bit of doing, but the number of less-than-graceful landings where I hit the ground and went rolling for several meters was diminished. I was starting to look like I knew what I was doing.

On the appointed evening, I took off from the farm and flew at what I might call a leisurely pace so that it took me about a half hour to reach Lauren's apartment in Auburn Gresham. Staying above the cloud layer, I was able to avoid most of the cameras used to monitor weather and traffic conditions, learning my lesson from a previous excursion. The lower building heights of the South Side made it a little easier to avoid such things. Her building was an old brick building probably built in the 1920s with eight units inside — recently renovated but still with the old boiler-driven radiant heating. Once I'd made sure I wouldn't be seen, I lowered myself back down to terra firma in front of the building, then tapped the buzzer attached to her apartment number. She came down the stairwell to meet me in sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and her hair up in a ponytail.

She grabbed me by the hand and practically dragged me up the stairs to her apartment. Once inside, a multitude of questions came at me in rapid succession: How did I get here? Did anyone see me? What took so long? It was enough to make my head spin. Finally, once she secured the locks on her door, she turned to me and took a breath.

"Pardon the mess. I haven't really learned how to survive without my wife, yet. Back to the bachelor days, I guess." She apologized.

"Yeah, no, I'm not even sure I'd be surviving without being at my mom's, right now." Was my reply.

Her entire demeanor sank with her posture. "How is your mom doing? I'm really sorry I wasn't at your dad's funeral. It's this whole 'cutting ties' thing. I'm a little paranoid from all the things I've uncovered." She sighed. "Sorry I wasn't there for you, buddy."

Feeling the weight of the apology, I tapped her shoulder. "I know. I saw a picture of us from high school on my wall and I got pretty choked up. Mom's doing as well as can be expected, I guess. Týr has moved onto the farm and is helping us out." I let out a sigh as I plopped onto the couch. "I'm... I'm here."

She nodded. "I get it." She moved to a desk with what looked like a state-of-the-art computer atop it with things I couldn't really make out on the screen. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for a minute. I guess that talk with your folks went well. You can hide out there and keep Laura and the kids safe, at least."

Tears started forming in my eyes. "Yea... talked to my dad on his death bed, no less. Made something of a promise to him, ya know?"

"I can't even begin to imagine how hard that was for you."

"Better than expected, but I lost my dad, so it still sucks." One difficult, vibrating inhale later, I managed to speak again. "Funny thing: Mom gave me a name. After the funeral."

"And you agreed?"

"You know I did."

"Well, what was decided? I can plug it into my little program and we can get your paperwork sorted right now."

I spoke the name with a little pride, but still a heavy dose of dysphoria. "Kristen Miriam Kent. Mom suggested I be an adopted foster child after my folks died a year ago. It's the tale she's been weaving around town."

Lauren spun her chair to the computer and started typing away. "Pretty good name for a kid born in 2008. Your mom's got taste. Always has."

I smiled in reminiscence. "No, yeah. You remember her fish frys, right? Best in the community, for sure." I paused for another inhale. "She named me after my grandmother. The one that escaped the Nazis only to land in Sheboygan."

When she finished her work, Lauren spun to me with a chuckle. "How have you managed to go from FIB to Sconnie in a week? You're talking almost exactly like we did back in high school."

I smirked. "Careful or my 'dontcha know' will haunt your nightmares in a couple-two-three weeks more. Maybe even less."

She laughed. "Geez, you're making me want some brats and Spotted Cow."

"So, what did you just get done doing?"

Lauren turned to glance at the computer and then back at me. "Basically creating a paper trail for you. I've worked up an algorithm that copies your name to all the files I need. While it was running, I did what I could to create the backstory your mom's been telling everybody. It's not exactly easy fabricating a birth certificate and adoption papers. That'll probably take me a couple of days."

"You're more tech savvy than I ever gave you credit for."

She smirked like she was keeping a secret. "Little do you know..." She shoved off away from the desk and over to a bookcase. She picked up something small and obscured it from me for a moment. "You used to wear glasses, yeah?"

An eyebrow raised in her direction. "Yes... I was also a forty-five year old man, too. I don't need glasses anymore and I'm not all the rest."

"Well, I had a thought. Ya know how they're always trying to defend why Clark Kent wears his glasses in the comics?" She finally opened her hands to reveal a set of wire-framed spectacles with round lenses. "I fashioned these babies." She pointed at little metal pieces at the edge of the rim where the hinges meet the temple pieces usually reserved for rivets or embellishments. "These little things produce a digital signal that obscures your face from any A.I. facial recognition software. It's kind of like a wi-fi virus that disallows your identity from being shared by data brokers." She handed me the frame.

Gingerly accepting, I examined the frames and voiced my observations. "These things look like they're Harry Potter's glasses but twice the circumference. The wire frame is nice, I guess. I've always been partial to the plastic, though."

"Well, these are more in style with our new age demographic. I'd like to go back to my square lenses on an executive-looking frame but it'll just make me look like an old man. We're not going for that, remember? Try them on."

Opening the sides that go over my temples, I slipped them onto my head and rested them on my nose. They were comfortable, at least. "No prescription for the lenses, so they're just for show."

Lauren held up an old iPhone and showed me something on a monitor beside her. "Observe: the signal is actually scrambling your face in real time. To us, it's not so noticeable, but to A.I. you're a Picasso. They're not hypno-glasses like in the comics. Couldn't get that to work at all."

As I watched the screen, Lauren flipped a switch that apparently switched on and off some facial recognition software. Under normal camera conditions, I looked like the girl I've been seeing in the mirror for nearly a month now. With the software enabled, the results were absolutely frightening. I actually lurched backward a bit. "That's like a horror movie!"

Lauren laughed. "That's kind of the point. It'll limit the abilities of bad actors to try tracking us down. I've been tracking their actions lately. American Vanguard Solutions is working as a contractor with the Department of Homeland Security, officially. Things are about to kick off, I think. Don't post any superhero stuff on TikTok. I think they're using that predominantly. We all know Twitter is already down to cooperate with them. Instagram probably isn't far behind, since it's part of Meta."

"So, no social media. I already don't go on there, so that's not a problem."

"Social media isn't the only problem. Even still, if you start doing what I think you're gonna do, then you're definitely gonna end up in videos. They're probably gonna go viral. Be prepared for that."

"Somebody's gotta do it, Lauren. Why not me?"

"Chris – sorry, Kristen – I'm not trying to discourage you. Exactly the opposite. I think you can really make a difference. I'm only telling you to be prepared for almost instant internet fame." She pointed to a blue square of fabric on her wall. "Stand over there for me with your glasses on?"

Not sure what she was getting at, I reluctantly obliged. "What's this for?"

Once I was in place, she held up a digital camera and quickly snapped a picture. "Your ID." She turned to her computer once again, tapping in some information. "What was your height and weight, now?"

"Last I was checked, five foot ten and one hundred fifty-three pounds?"

She tapped several keys on her keyboard. "We'll put it at one-fifty-five because nobody's all that precise on their licenses." Once she was done, a machine near me came to life and printed a small plastic card.

It was immediately apparent that the card was oriented in a portrait style. This had been the standard for underage identification in this new millennium. At a quick glance, there was a big, red letter and numbers "U21" at the top, the name of the state of Wisconsin, a tiny little picture with "USA" above the state name, a black circle with a transparent star pattern, the words "Driver License - Regular", then a red line, a large black-and-white picture of me Lauren had just taken, all my vital information including a 4-18-2008 birthdate, and indicators of when I'd be "of age" for certain privileges – "Under 18 until 4-18-2026" and "Under 21 until 4-18-2029". All that information was superimposed over a watermark of the capital in Madison and a state flag waving behind it.

"It's really trippy to look at this for several reasons," I told Lauren without removing my examining glance from the card. "One, I haven't held a Wisconsin identification card in about twenty years. They've really changed. Two, I don't even recognize my own picture."

Lauren nodded solemnly. "Yea, well, you haven't tried to go in for a drink at the bar and been thrown out then harassed by construction workers halfway down the block, yet." She sighed. "Your life in suburbia or on your parents' farm is pretty insulating, right now. Enjoy it while you can, buddy."

A wild thought crossed my mind. "Odd question: have you gotten your period yet?"

Her cheeks flushed red. "I don't wanna talk about that, okay? Suffice to say that there's a lot that's changed about us other than being faster than a speeding bullet or able to leap tall buildings in a single bound."

I smirked and rolled my eyes. "So, that's a 'yes'. Could have said that without the outdated reference."

"Our brains still hold all the knowledge and experience of men in their forties, bud."

"Maybe but that reference is older than our parents. It's so old, it's new to Captain America."

"You need to catch up on some MCU movies and stuff. He's black, now."

Slipping the ID into my back pocket, I cocked my head to the side. "He's black, now? Since when?"

"Didn't you catch Infinity War and Endgame?"

"No, Lauren. I'm a forty-five year old man with a wife, three kids, and a job that's leeched my soul from my body for ten years. I've been beyond caring about much other than those three things."

"Does your mom have Disney Plus? You could probably catch the movies in your free time. You really should, too. They're really good. I'd avoid most of the shows unless you wanna put an imprint into the couch by sitting there for, like, three months."

"It's a farm, Lauren. There's other things to do. Also, I'll probably be doing my thing in a couple days. The suit's nearly ready. I'm just waiting on a phone call."

"You found someone to make a suit? Who?"

"Dr. Ingrid Voss. She's a researcher down at Northwestern. She's supposta-gonna be calling me in the next couple-two-three days to have me come in and try it on."

"You okay if I come with?"

I shrugged. "I guess. I'll probably grab my car from Arlington Heights and drive in. I can pick you up on the way in."

"Okay, we have a plan."

Two days later, that call came. Týr and I were cleaning up the barn. It seemed this particular part of the farm had been neglected for years. There was dust and old hay just about everywhere. My phone had been in the back pocket of my jeans. I answered and informed Dr. Voss that I would be in as soon as I could. With confirmation from Týr that he would finish the chore, I bolted into my room to grab a hoodie before heading off to the house in Arlington Heights. During the day, it was better for me to use my speed rather than flying because there was a far smaller chance of being seen. I may be able to fly as fast as I can run, but I didn't want even a single, blurry frame of video to be evidence of my existence without the uniform. People don't watch street cameras as much as they do SkyCams.

Back at the house I had bought with my wife and helped raise our children in, I used the key to let myself in. It being Friday, no one would be home. I locked the front door once again and headed to the garage to grab my car. Once I was on my way, I hit the button so the garage door closed behind me. I sat at the stop sign down the street from my house to send a text to Lauren, letting her know I was on my way. Much to my chagrin, it would take an hour to get to her apartment and then another hour back up to Northwestern. Knowing that I could travel so much faster outside of the vehicle felt like torture as I navigated the streets and highways of Chicagoland.

Soon enough, I was outside Lauren's apartment building. She commended me for remembering to wear my glasses and wrinkled her nose commenting that I smelt like an old barn. Rolling my eyes, I drove the car along the path of the second leg of the journey. Lauren saw fit to start messing with my satellite radio, finding a good station to really jam to. The one she found had a mix of music from the '90s, giving us both a feeling of nostalgia.

It was about lunch time when I parked the car in the lot across the street from the Technological Institute at Northwestern University. All the way to Dr. Voss' office, Lauren marveled at the building. I had done the same thing when we visited his alma mater for a football game a few years back. Both campuses were quite beautiful in their own right. Through the doors into Dr. Voss' lab, Lauren again gasped at the surroundings. All the equipment was certainly intriguing to her technologically-inclined mind. With a smile on her face, Dr. Ingrid Voss awaited us in a white silk blouse and fashionable A-line skirt with kitten heels.

She could scarcely contain her excitement as she wheeled out an apparatus similar to the ones they hang IVs off of. What was actually hanging on it was one of the most magical sights I've ever laid eyes on: my new suit. The blue popped and complimented the blue of my own eyes. The red was deep and purposeful. The yellow accents were wonderful. It was almost surreal. Lauren wasn't quite as speechless as I, but I almost wish she were.

"Holy shit," She breathed. "That is fucking spectacular!"

Dr. Voss performed a curtsy. "There's about a decade worth of material science in this baby, so I appreciate the enthusiasm." Her eyes landed on me. "I'd love to hear what the beneficiary of this marvel thinks, though."

I couldn't take my eyes off the suit. "If you don't count my wife in her wedding dress, the look of her after giving birth to our babies, or those babies themselves, this is the most beautiful thing I think I've ever seen."

Dr. Voss switched into technical mode. "Okay, let me explain this thing." She started pointing to each piece as she spoke. "The suit itself is fashioned like a gymnast or dancer unitard. If you look closely, you'll see a small hexagonal design. This has many functions. Not only does it serve as a tertiary measure against wear and tear, but it allows the suit to expand and contract as needed. You're seeing it now in its expanded shape. Pull up the zipper and..." She pulled up the zipper in the back. We all watched as the suit contracted and seemed to become the exact shape of the 3D models Dr. Voss and I had created two weeks ago. "...it forms to the intended user."

"I fashioned the whole thing from a couple generations of Bombyx mori that seemed to inherit alterations from the same pulse that affected you, Mr. Kent, and–" She continued.

"Uh... you're gonna wanna go with 'Miss Kent' from this point forward. Also, discretion is of utmost importance," Lauren interjected.

Dr. Voss looked offended. "And who are you?"

"Lauren Lang. I'm a friend. Also a victim of this... pulse thing." Lauren looked rather sheepish. "I'll shut up. Sorry."

"As I was saying..." Dr. Voss began again. "...the base is the Bombyx mori silk – the generations affected by the pulse, at least. Add a bit of graphene with a dash of nanotech and it will bring you this. All pieces are the same materials. The main body of the suit, the yellow-gold belt, the red trunks that are more like hotpants if you think for half a second, and the cape are all one piece." She ran her hand along the "S" symbol on the chest. "The emblem is part of the design; this will expand and contract with the rest of the suit." She pointed at the bottom of the apparatus. "The boots are a separate piece. The all-in-one design was for the ease of quick application and removal. Pull the zipper loose..." She again pulled the zipper in the back and the suit returned to its expanded shape. "...and the suit can be removed quickly and easily. The only inconvenience is the cape, which does not have the expand and contract functionality. You'll have to flip it back and forth." She smiled once more. "All-in-all, you have a suit able to withstand anything you can while remaining breathable and wicking moisture away from sensitive areas."

I stepped a little closer and ran my fingers along the soft, textured surface. The outside felt wonderful. In its contracted shape, I had seen that the cape reached about the middle of my calves. It felt like the right length. My eyes wandered over the blue of the main body, then over the red of the trunks, and finally marveled over the yellow-gold of the belt. My fingers ran across the raised shield on the chest and a sense of pride began to swell within me. Dr. Voss' smile grew wider, if that were even possible.

"Methinks we have a winner." She stated. Then she held up the cape a little. "Naturally, the all-yellow shield on the back of the cape has the same properties of the cape itself." Tapping my shoulder to gain my attention, she mentioned one more thing. "If you'll notice, there is a pouch in the cape. You can store whatever you wish, but I'd hazard a guess it'll simply hold your clothes as it does for the man in the comics." She shrugged. "Or you can do like Spider-Man and carry your clothes in a backpack you might lose somewhere in the city every time you go out. It's up to you."

My eyes blinked several times in rapid succession. "It's a good thing you thought of that because I may not have."

Dr. Voss' smile turned to a smirk as she pulled the suit off the hanging apparatus. "Why don't you try it on?" She flipped the cape forward. "Get down to your underwear and climb in. You'll find the process nearly like second nature."

Nervously, I obliged the request. I'd worn a gray sports bra and plain gray panties. The underwear was a far cry from the bold, colorful suit. Dr. Voss instructed me to step into the suit from the back. Once my legs were secure, I put my arms in the designated holes and flipped the cape over my head. The process wasn't the least bit difficult. When everything else was in place, I flipped my hair clear of the garment and Dr. Voss showed me where to start pulling the zipper. There was an extension string to ensure that I could execute the whole process by myself. With the zipper all the way up the back, the suit began to contract as if I were Marty McFly and the suit was his jacket. It shrank over my shape and conformed to every contour. In a couple of seconds, the process was complete and the suit was on. I expected it to be a little heavy feeling but it was like the best shirt I'd ever put on. It was like a second skin that moved with me. Without any trouble, I bent over and put the boots on.

The ensemble was in place and I stood at the eastern end of the lab. With the windows oriented in that direction, the high-noon sun bouncing off the nearby buildings backlit me as if I were on a stage. With the look complete, I put my hands on my hips and nervously looked towards Dr. Voss and Lauren.

"How do I look?"

"Like a comic book, the 1978 movie, and all the trailers for the new movie came to life." Lauren stated with eyes incredibly wide.

Dr. Voss rolled her eyes. "For clarification: you're not Superman. You're not Supergirl. Yes, the suit is an homage to those characters for the sake of visibility, but you're your own person. You're going to have to earn the recognition all on your own." She smiled again. "But you look amazing, honey. Why not take it for a test?"

I actually nibbled my lower lip as my smile grew. The world around me slowed to a crawl as I moved out of Dr. Voss' lab, ran down the hallway, jumped down the stairs, exited the front doors, and leapt into the air.

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Twelve

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ysSxxIqKNN0 ))

Even a couple of days after a full month since everything happened, the feeling of actually being able to fly cannot be understated. Now having the suit, the freedom to do so was a growing sense in my heart. The suit was performing admirably. It fit me like a glove, moved with me, and the streamlined profile really added some maneuverability. The only thing flapping was the cape but it brought a sense of pride in me to feel it as it reacted to the air around me. The nobility inherent in such an adornment was felt in my soul. I felt like I not only had power but also purpose. I could now do what I had set out to do a short time ago. Like any uniform, this suit would distinguish me from anyone else and command recognition. I wasn't looking for fame or fortune. I just wanted to help and the suit would soon be that bridge between me and the people of Chicago.

Closing my eyes, I spread my arms as if I were imitating an airplane. I flew through the air at a leisurely pace. The wind tickled my skin, whipped my hair around, and fluttered the cape as I moved along. My heart fluttered and a smile formed on my face. I felt as happy and fulfilled in that moment that perhaps Robin Williams imagined what truly flying might have felt like in that scene from Hook where he takes flight for the first time. There have been many actors that have tried to capture this feeling over the years, but I think Mr. Williams got the closest to really capturing it.

A sharp shriek interrupted my reverie. I recognized that tone almost instantly: a mother's almost helpless, worried scream. Coming to a stop and hovering midair, I followed Týr's advice and closed my eyes. The shriek came again and, once I had discerned its point of origin, I tried to determine what was happening. As if I had a powerful pair of binoculars, my gaze landed on a child that was likely about three years old wandering into the street chasing after a rainbow-colored ball. The young woman I could only assume was her mother had a frantic expression on her face and was running toward her child. There was an old pickup truck approaching the location of the child and traveling at far too high a speed for such a residential area.

There was no hesitation in me. I immediately accelerated toward the child, hearing a sonic boom behind me. The world slowed down as I rushed toward the scene. In mere moments, I arrived, scooped up the child, and forgot how to land correctly. I held the little girl close to my chest and wrapped my cape around her while I rolled a few times. As I came to a stop, I could feel the truck hit me from behind and the front end buckled on impact. I had already cradled the little girl in my arms and protected her with everything I had. Upon a survey of the scene seconds later, I knew the danger was over.

The girl's mother ran toward me with tears rolling down her cheeks and her mascara completely destroyed. I gently pulled my cape away and the girl turned her head toward her mother's frantic screams. Giving the child a quick glance, there wasn't so much as a bruise or abrasion on her. I stood and delivered the girl to her mother's exasperated arms. She held her baby to her chest and mouthed the words "thank you" before collapsing to her knees. A crowd was gathering as I turned and narrowed my eyes at the driver of the truck. He looked a bit dazed and had a nasty bruise on his forehead from hitting the steering wheel.

"What were you thinking?" I asked him.

He turned and looked at me, seemingly confused. I could smell alcohol on his breath. "Didn't I just hit you? How are you standing here?"

"Doesn't matter. You need to get to the hospital and make sure you don't have a concussion. You should be ashamed of yourself for driving while intoxicated. You nearly killed a child. If I hadn't been here, you would have. Think that over, friend."

Angered, I ignored anything further that man had to say. The mother had taken her child out of the street. I spotted the ball and jogged over to pick it up. When I brought it to the little girl, she seemed very pleased.

"There you go, little one." I almost cooed at her. "Do me a favor, though? Get an adult next time the ball goes into the road, okay? Safety first."

"Okay, Super Lady," The little girl smiled.

Her mother, still distraught, spoke in shrill waves. "Thank you, so much. You have no idea what she means to me."

I smiled at her. "I kinda do. Glad you're both safe."

"What's your name?" The mother asked me.

I shrugged. "Don't have one. It's my first day."

Without another word, I took to the skies again. A hole in my heart was filled in that moment. My years-long search for purpose had come to an end. Not since helping my parents with volunteer work or working for a newspaper had I felt the genuine joy of being able to materially help people. This more active role was starting to feel like a well-fitting glove.

Moments later, my eyes fell on an older man in an electric wheelchair. The infrastructure in this part of town didn't seem to have been maintained well at all. The corner curb cut had long since crumbled. The sidewalks themselves had been darkened by years of neglect and the sections were uneven. He was just a guy trying to cross the street and was stopped with a stuck wheel. Being a little more conscientious of my landing, I gently set down nearby and calmly strode over to him. His hairline had long since receded and his waistline had expanded. He was struggling and getting more frustrated by the second.

"Need a hand?" I asked while calmly approaching.

He appeared startled and took one look at me, trying to ascertain my intentions. Or so I thought. "There a comic book convention in town I didn't know about?"

I chuckled. "No. It's my new uniform. Like it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why does it look like a Superman costume?"

I shrugged. "That was more of an inspiration." I pointed to his chair. "Looks like you're a little stuck."

He groaned. "Damn city hasn't fixed the sidewalks in years. They'd rather pay for patchwork fixes to the major roads and forget they've got a legal mandate to maintain the ADA-compliant stuff."

"Yea, they're not the best at that." I agreed. "Trying to cross the street?"

"Yep. Trying to get to the corner shop for a pack of cigarettes."

"Well, you really shouldn't smoke, but I'm not your mother." I moved behind him.

He laughed. "How's a little girl like you gonna help my fat ass get loose?"

Without much effort, I held the sides and lifted the entire chair then began walking him across the street. "You really shouldn't talk about yourself like that. There are so many reasons people gain weight. It's not an indictment against your character."

He locked up and stiffened himself in the chair. "Holy shit! How are you doing this?!"

"Doing what? Lifting you? Easy, I just did it." Neither of us said much until I set him back down on the opposing sidewalk. "There ya go. Should be easier getting to the store, now."

His eyes looked at me and his face carried an air of incredulity. "With that much strength in such a small package, why help me?"

I offered a smile. "Because it's the right thing to do, friend. Are you going to be okay getting home?"

He slowly nodded at me. "I should be fine, if I avoid this street. Sidewalks are crap, too."

I nodded. "Yea, I noticed that. You be careful, okay?"

"Sure thing."

I leapt into the air right there with him still wearing an expression of incredulity. The poor guy was flabbergasted. It was his questioning of his own worth that made my heart sink a little bit. So many people like him feel so unworthy of positive attention. Hopefully, I can help change that perception in some small way.

Sure, I'd done some good, but I was also supposed to be testing the suit. After a thought hit me quickly, I began to climb upward. Once free of the airspace generally occupied by local aircraft, I kicked it into high gear. A couple sonic booms sounded behind me, but it didn't seem like anything was negatively affecting the suit. Even the cape that flapped constantly in the wind showed no sign of deterioration at all. Not a thread seemed to be loose. Once at a sufficient height, I turned and decided to see just how fast I could get going while encircling the city. I'm not completely sure how fast I was going but I know it made me dizzy watching the greater Chicago area spin that fast.

As I hovered in an effort to cure my dizziness, the high-pitched wail of an emergency vehicle reached my ears. The sound had a long rise and fall in pitch, denoting an ambulance or fire truck. My eyes searched for the source of the siren. I couldn't immediately see it, so I had to follow the sound a bit to figure out its point of origin. Flying quite a bit lower, I spotted a five-car pileup on I-90. As if the midday lunch rush weren't enough, it had apparently slowed all traffic in the area and the ambulance was behind all the rest of it. With the cars looking like mangled hunks of metal, time would be of the essence. That ambulance had to get through. I zipped over as quickly as I could.

For the moment, I bypassed the scene of the collision. I kept low and just over the traffic. When my path came close to the ambulance, I slowed to a stop and slowly hovered toward the driver side window. Initial instinct told me to tap on the glass, but the driver noticed me immediately given that I'd just flown in.

"Is everybody buckled in securely?" I asked the driver.

"Yea, we're good and safe. Really wish these drivers would move so we could get through." He answered.

"Are you heading to the collision?"

"Yes, we are. Who are you?"

I chuckled. "Don't have a name, yet. Hold onto something. I'll get you in there."

My eyes darted around me looking for a solution. I could just shove cars out of the way, but that would cause even more damage than had already occurred today. Glancing back at the ambulance, something obvious stood out to me: the ground clearance. Hoping with all my heart that my hare-brained idea worked, I floated to just behind the ambulance. After setting down on the street, I got my hands under the bumper and started lifting. It didn't take very much at all. As I lifted, I walked my hands down the frame until I could get enough leverage to fully lift the entire ambulance off the street. Gently, I lifted the thing over my head before taking flight once more. I floated just over the cars and carried the ambulance toward the site of the collision.

Once I found a clear spot to set down the ambulance, I worked in reverse to set it back down again. I could hear the EMTs inside leap into action. They started grabbing kits. I walked up to the driver's window once again.

"What should I look for?" I asked the driver.

"The worst cases." He answered.

"How would I know who's the worst off?"

"Look for neck, spine, or rib injuries. You've got the flight and strength like Superman. You got the X-ray vision thing, too?"

"Yes, but I'm not a radiologist. I'm not sure what I'm looking at."

"Look for broken bones in the neck, back, or ribs. We'll triage from there."

"You guys have backup enroute?"

He nodded. "Yea, but who knows if they'll make it through the traffic!"

"I'll do what I can." I nodded firmly at him.

The first thing I did was zip over to the vehicles a few feet away. I tried each door. If I couldn't open the door, I ripped it off. Next, I did what I could to concentrate. No part of me was looking forward to seeing another human's skeleton and innards, but it had to be done. The first vehicle at the back of the pileup was a black SUV with a family inside: dad, mom, and two kids. The doors opened fine and–after a once over with that blue filter in my eyes–they all seemed okay. I asked them politely to go to the EMTs. The next vehicle was a gray Tesla. The guy inside was generally okay, but there was a small fracture in his forehead, so I alerted the EMTs.

The next three were hard. The chassis were mangled messes. No way to open the doors, so I ripped them off. The first car was an older sedan with an elderly couple inside. After scanning the man and the woman, I determined there weren't any skeletal injuries but that didn't mean much. I'm going to have to learn to decipher what I'm seeing with these eyes. The next vehicle was an absolutely giant black SUV. There were six occupants inside, all teenagers. There were two broken legs, a broken clavicle, and one fractured rib. Their injuries looked a bit worse but were mostly bruises.

The first vehicle in the line was the worst. I couldn't tell what it was originally. I actually had to tear open the roof to get to the people inside. There was a toddler in the back seat, kept safe by the car seat. No significant injuries. The front seat was a different story. They were a young couple. A pregnant woman had been driving. Her neck, back, and ribs all checked out. Her left arm was broken, as well as a few of her toes. The young man was in the worst shape. He was unconscious, there was a crack in one of his neck vertebrae, and two in his spine. Both legs were broken. His heartbeat sounded faint.

I zipped over to the EMTs and alerted them to the situation in the first vehicle. As I ran over with them, I explained what I had seen of the injuries. They worked quickly and jumped on the radio to request a helicopter. I asked where the backup was and they stated I may have to help a couple more ambulances get through to the scene. I wasted no time in doing just that. The EMTs addressed the situation with the young couple and I brought in two more ambulances that had gotten stuck in the snarled traffic. After quickly dispensing with the pleasantries and informing them of the situation at hand, they got to work.

Part of me felt a little useless to help beyond what I'd already done. I'm not the one with any medical training, that was my wife. Thus, I stood back and let the real heroes do their work. There was a moment where I had to pull the mangled mess of the car away from the husband in the passenger seat, which I executed proudly. In the midst of all of it, the wife regained consciousness and began screaming. The EMTs assisting her did their best to calm her down, but something was definitely wrong. One of them approached me.

"Look... uh... whatever your name is," She began. "We've got to get this woman to a hospital quickly. She's been in labor this whole time and we can't get her there quickly enough."

My posture straightened. "Say no more. Where's the closest maternity ward?"

"Ascension Resurrection over off of West Talcott."

I nodded. "Get her ready for transport and radio ahead for me."

Working together, we wasted no time in preparing the woman for transport. She wailed in pain emanating from different sources. Once she was ready, I took her gingerly in my arms and held her securely. I took to the air and headed west by northwest. Naturally, the mother wanted to know the state of her toddler. I reassured her that the little one was safe and that I would bring the child to the hospital for her. Upon arrival, there was actually a team on the way out the door to greet us. They took the woman and I informed one of the nurses that I would be bringing her toddler to her. They informed me they would get the woman's full name and see about calling her family as quickly as they could. Thanking them, I was in the air once more and headed back to the scene.

It was really nothing at all to remove the toddler from the back seat. The hard part was finding the stuffed bunny that seemed to have gotten lost in the wreckage. I had to wait until the young father was finally removed from the car before I could search in earnest. My heart sank a bit as I glimpsed at his limp, unconscious form. Thankfully, his heart was still beating and he was breathing, albeit very weakly. When he was free of the vehicle and on a stretcher, I searched for the stuffed bunny and the toddler's diaper bag. The bunny had gotten wedged under the driver's seat–where I also found a phone–and I had to tear the part of the car that used to be the trunk in order to get to the diaper bag. They were going to life flight the father to Advocate Lutheran, which I would relay to the nurses at Ascension Resurrection for the mother's knowledge.

There wasn't much more I could do to help. The professionals were hard at work. I was thanked for the assistance before I took to the skies again with the toddler belted into the carseat in my arms and diaper bag strapped across my body. The nurses took the child and diaper bag from me and assured me immediate family would be notified. I had to specify that I had just brought the mother in whilst she was in labor so they knew whose child I had just brought. I then relayed the information of where they'd taken the father. I also turned over the phone. Leaving the hospital without any knowledge of the fate of that family was more difficult than I ever anticipated. I'd have to see it on the news like everyone else.

The passage of time had really escaped me in all the chaos of the moment. I made my way back to Northwestern. Landing somewhere inconspicuously, I used my speed to get back to Dr. Voss' lab. When I arrived, I couldn't immediately see either her or Lauren. A couple of giggles came from the back office, though. Walking at a usual human pace, I approached the office door to see Lauren and Dr. Voss with a couple glasses of wine and apparently building some camaraderie.

Dr. Voss checked her watch. "Took you long enough! Where have you been? I thought you'd just circle the city a few times and come back."

With a smile, I shrugged. "Well, I helped fix a couple of problems."

"Translation: you did superhero things to test the limits of the suit further than simply going for a flight?" Dr. Voss wondered.

"Saved a kid from getting hit by a car, helped a guy in a wheelchair get across the street, and assisted some EMTs at the site of a pretty bad accident." I recalled.

"How bad was the accident? Everybody okay?" Lauren wondered.

My body slumped. "Don't know for sure. Mostly some broken bones and maybe some bruises. One family was hit pretty hard. The toddler in the back seat was okay, but Mom and Dad weren't so hot. Mom was pregnant and she's in labor now. Dad had some very precarious fractures and his heart was sounding pretty weak. I hope they make it."

The whole mood soured. Lauren nodded. "Yeah, me too. Sounds like today was not their day."

"They were lucky I was there. Three ambulances were trapped in the snarled traffic. I had to carry them in."

"And the suit fared well through it all?" Dr. Voss inquired.

I nodded firmly. "Yes. I got going at an amazing speed around the city. It even made me dizzy." I made some seemingly erratic movements with my arms and legs. "This suit is amazingly comfortable and really holds up to the way my body moves."

"The flexibility was the hard part." Dr. Voss admitted. "In case you hadn't noticed, silk isn't exactly known for elasticity when woven into fabric for clothing. I had to weave it a certain way with other natural fibers to get the kind of flex of spandex without the synthetic fossil fuel materials. It's actually natural rubber spun into a fiber about as thick as the silk. The graphene is just carbon. The nanotech that allows for the inflation and deflation as the zipper is up or down was constructed with titanium and carbon fiber. It'll also repair the suit if it ever gets damaged, which I highly doubt it will. It's amazing it only took two weeks to put together."

"I am thoroughly pleased with and impressed by the suit, Dr. Voss. Thank you." I smiled in her direction.

She took a final sip of her wine from the glass. "You're welcome." Her glance turned to the window as the light of the day faded. "When you answered my question the day you first came in here, I didn't know what to make of it. I suspected–and your friend here has confirmed–that you're a terrible liar. So, when you told me you didn't want to be a hero but rather just wanted to do the right thing, I knew you were the right person for my first suit."

"Your first suit?" I wondered.

"Oh, yes. Your friend and I have been workshopping." Dr. Voss' eyes landed hard on me. "You've got quite the legacy to live up to. People are going to mistake you for the big blue boy scout..." She looked me up and down. "...well, his cousin, anyway. Either way, with what you've been given in the form of powers, they're going to expect certain things. Remember: you're not him and you're not her. You're your own kind of person, but—"

I deeply sighed. "With great power comes great responsibility."

Lauren finally chimed in after nearly choking on her wine and laughing. "Dude, that's Spider-Man's thing!"

Dr. Voss rolled her eyes. "I was basically making that point, myself. Really, what I'm saying through the haze of wine is this: I think you've got the chops, kid. You've got the right mindset and I can't wait to see what you do." She poured herself at least a splash more of wine and held up her glass. "Here's to the future of the Angel of Chicago."

Lauren clinked her glass against Dr. Voss'. "Here, here!"

My cheeks felt warm as I blushed. "Guys, it's not like that..." A sound reached my ears. The rise and fall of a fire engine's wailing siren. "Something's happening, guys. I... I think I gotta go?"

"The super hearing thing? What are you hearing?" Lauren asked.

"Fire engine sirens. Four of them." I answered. My eyes darted between the two of them. "Stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can."

As the world slowed to a crawl, I ran out of the office and then out of the building. Taking to the air, I searched frantically for the source of the sirens. They seemed to be originating from a few miles into the city. I could see smoke rising into the twilight sky and rushed toward it. Once again as if my eyes were binoculars, they zeroed in on an apartment building about ten stories tall. It seemed to be something that may have been built near the start of the twentieth century. Worse, it was engulfed in flames and smoke billowed out of open windows. The fourth and final fire engine was just arriving and the crew was beginning their hookup procedure.

I swooped in and did everything I could to land gently near the gathered fire engines. Several firefighters stopped for a moment and gawked once I did so. I looked around at all their faces.

"Who's in charge, here?" I questioned the gawkers.

For a moment, none answered. They simply looked around and looked at me with disbelief. When someone finally did speak, it was through their breathing apparatus. "Captain's in the lead engine."

I nodded cordially. "Thank you." Turning toward the lead engine, I walked up to the one guy yelling into a hand mic without a breather mask. "Are you the lead on this?"

He glanced at me, then looked me up and down. "Little girl, I don't have time for your cosplay convention shenanigans."

Frowning at him, I turned to the building and went toward the front door with him calling after me about how dangerous it is for a civilian to go into a burning building. Naturally, his pleas were ignored. At the entrance, I took a deep breath and exhaled at the flames in the foyer. My breath was like a fog and I watched as the flames died out fairly quickly, replaced by snow-like sediment. I turned back to the Captain and put a hand on my hip.

"Let me help, Captain. This is no cosplay. I'm the real deal."

He nearly dropped his mic and stood aghast for a moment. "Jesus Christ, it's a genuine article." He shook his head, trying to clear his amazement. "Look, this thing's out of our control and we've got to get to the upper floors. There are people up there that couldn't evacuate. Think you can handle it?"

I nodded firmly. "I'll clear a path."

Turning back into the building, I did just that. There was a stairwell at both ends of the building situated in the middle of the structure. They seemed load-bearing and should have served as escape routes under other circumstances. Sadly, both were engulfed in flames. There were a couple of hose teams trying to extinguish the fires close by so they could access the floors above. Meter by meter, I used my frost breath to clear a path. Once a central corridor was established, the hose teams moved in to extinguish the flames on the periphery. I set about clearing the stairs.

As Dr. Voss had said, I'm a terrible liar; so I won't even try denying fact: I was pretty scared. I'd never been in a raging inferno before. However, the cries for help above me kept me moving. Part of me knew it was hotter than most temperatures I've ever experienced in the building. A few embers had landed on the suit, but it seemed to shrug them off as if they were just lightning bugs. Neither me nor the suit endured any damage in the endeavor. Frightened as I was, the people trapped by these flames were probably twice as scared as I. They didn't have the invulnerability that I did. Scared as I was, I pressed on for them.

As I moved methodically through the building, I tried different options to locate anyone that might be trapped inside. Strangely, I learned that I did actually have a "thermal vision" mode to my eyes, but that was useless in this situation. X-ray vision came in very handy. Thankfully, everyone on the fifth floor down had been able to escape. The humans, at least. There were a couple of birds, some hamsters, and a turtle that hadn't been able to escape with their humans. I had located them with my vision, then used my breath to clear a path before evacuating them in quick succession. Each time, I was back in the building and making my way to the next one. Flames in slow motion are more terrifying than they are at regular speed. I was doing my best for every creature affected by this fire to reach safety. There was a little pushback from the firefighters for rescuing the animals before the humans, but every victim of this fire was equally important to me. My retort was simply to tell them to call an emergency veterinarian as well as EMTs for the humans.

Once I reached the sixth floor, there were humans as well as animals to get to safety. An elderly couple, a young couple with their first child, a lesbian couple, their cat, three dogs, and a family of five were all brought out of the building in a methodical manner. The firefighters not on hose teams helped usher the people toward the EMTs and they had thankfully called in a veterinarian for the animals. Continuing onward, I went floor by floor evacuating any victim I found. There were even a few I had to fly out the window and down to waiting EMTs. After finally rescuing victims from the tenth floor, I really thought I was finished and everyone was safe. I took a breath, relieved that people were safe.

That's when the cries of a child and the small howl of a dog reached my ears. My eyes darted upward. I knew that I'd checked every floor. The blue filter closed in over my eyes and I scanned the entire structure. That's when I saw a small human and a dog on the roof. In haste, the world slowed as I jumped into the air and landed on top of the building. I found the child, about ten years old, and a dog huddled in a corner. There were two small paper bowls nearby. One appeared to have a small amount of water while the other had the remnants of table scraps stuck to the side. The dog started to bark even before I slowed to normal speed. When the world returned to normal, the dog jumped toward me in a protective posture in front of the boy and unleashed the warning barks.

I've grown up around dogs. I knew what that meant. In response, I slowly turned to the side and shrunk down before trying to move closer. It would be a bad idea to make eye contact. When I got within non-threatening nose distance, I stopped and watched the dog in my peripheral vision. After a moment, the dog got silent and cautiously approached. Not a single one of my muscles moved as the dog's nose did the work. After a moment, the dog seemed to accept my request to approach and returned to the boy's side. The boy appeared confused.

"I've never seen him act like that," The child noted.

I shrugged and smiled. "I pretty much told him that I'm a friend in his language and he gets it. I've been around a lot of dogs in my life."

"Seems like it."

"Are you two okay? Where are your folks?"

The boy shrugged. "I think they got out before I got trapped here by the fire. I couldn't leave Buddy. He doesn't have anybody but me."

"Buddy, huh? Is that the dog's name?"

"I dunno. It's what I call him. He got left here when his family moved out. I've been taking care of him."

"That's very kind of you. Why haven't you moved him in with your family?"

The boy frowned. "My parents don't want a dog. They say they shouldn't be in apartments."

"Well, I've rescued a few dogs today. I can tell you they do okay. Maybe we can talk to your parents about it?"

The boy shook his head. "They know about the other dogs. They don't care. But Buddy doesn't have anybody else. I can't just leave him." He leaned his head against the dog that merely sat by and panted.

I smiled warmly at the boy. "I've no intention of leaving him. We'll get you both down on solid ground and work from there, okay?"

"Did you bring a ladder?"

I shook my head and chuckled. "No. I'm going to carry you and Buddy while I fly you down to the ground."

"You fly? Is that why you kinda look like Superman?"

"He was an inspiration for my uniform. You like it? I just got it today."

"It's kinda cool. But you're a girl. Why Superman? Why not Supergirl?"

I motioned to the suit with my pointer fingers on both hands. "This is more my style. What do you say we talk more on the ground, huh? It's safer down there... for both of you."

The boy shrugged. "So long as Buddy comes, I guess."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

Gently, I picked up the boy in one arm and the dog in the other. Once they were both secure, I slowly rose off the roof, floated over the edge, and slowly descended to street level. The dog was not pleased about the heights and fought to get free of my grasp, but I held him fairly well. The boy's head was pressed against my shoulder. I think he liked the height less than the dog. When my feet touched the blacktop of the street, EMTs approached to attend to the boy. I cradled the dog and stayed near the boy, stroking the animal in an effort to reassure him things were okay. A veterinarian approached and almost tried to take the dog out of my arms. I shook my head.

"The dog needs to stay near the boy. Can you examine him in my arms?" I asked.

The vet nodded. "Not like I haven't done it a million times before." She thoroughly examined the dog physically. She checked the teeth, the body, the paws, and the ears. She shook her head. "This dog is still a puppy. About ten or eleven months old, I'd say. He's malnourished, too. Is he the boy's dog?"

I shook my head. "Not really, no. The boy told me that a family moved out and abandoned the dog. He's been taking care of it the best he can. His folks won't let him keep it, though."

"Well, we can take the dog to the shelter, but they don't usually get adopted at this age. He's past the cute, adorable puppy-breath stage."

My heart sank. It would seem that many people's adoption habits carry from adopting humans to adopting pets: most want babies. I shouted more towards the boy. "Hey, kid. What's your name?"

"Dontae," he shouted back, taking off the oxygen mask for a moment.

"What do you think about me taking Buddy with me, Dontae? I know a really nice lady that lives on a farm that can take care of him. She'll feed him and give him all the love he can stomach."

Tears started to form in the boy's eyes. "You're gonna take him away?"

I shrugged, feeling a knot form in my throat. The vet had finished her examination, so I moved closer to the boy. "Well, kinda. The doctor says he's not doing well, Dontae. He needs good food. I know you're doing your best, but he needs a little more. Maybe even a family of his own, y'know?"

Tears rolled down Dontae's cheeks. "I'll never see him again?"

"I'll make you a promise, Dontae: all you have to do is call out to me. I can hear a lot from really far away. I'll hear you. Call out to me when you want to see Buddy and, as long as it's okay with your folks, I'll bring you to see him. Any time you need to. How's that sound?"

"I don't even know your name."

I chuckled. "Well, I don't have a superhero kind of name, yet. What do you think I should be called?"

Dontae sniffled as he thought for a moment. "I dunno. All I can think of is 'Blue Angel'."

I chuckled. "That works for me, then. You can call me when you want to see Buddy." I moved the dog closer so he could lick Dontae's tears away. There was a lot of love between the two of them and I would never want to sever that connection, but the vet was right: the dog needed someone that could feed him adequately.

After a few minutes, tears still streamed down his face, but Dontae looked up at me. "Okay. Buddy needs somebody. He needs good food and to sleep with someone at night, not alone up here on the roof. It's not fair to him. If you promise to take good care of him and let me see him, I'll let you take him to a good home."

I smiled at the very gracious kid. "You're a strong, brave little boy, Dontae. It's not easy saying good-bye to friends when you don't know if you'll ever meet again. Thank you for trusting me. I'll see that he has a good family that will love him. I promise you that and I promise you'll get to see him whenever you want and your parents say it's okay."

"Okay." Dontae stroked Buddy's head and choked up as he spoke. "See you later, Buddy."

The EMTs lifted the gurney up into the ambulance and closed the doors. I helped Buddy wave his paw at his friend Dontae.

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Thirteen

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I6cdPeYJh0s ))

"Buddy" was definitely with me when I returned to fetch my clothes and Lauren from Dr. Voss' office. He was getting used to the idea of flying, but still wasn't happy about it. He was sweet with both of them while I got dressed in "civilian" clothes once more. Both of them wondered what happened even though they could smell the smoke on me and the dog. I debriefed them on the building fire and all the relevant information. We didn't talk about it very long, thankfully. I couldn't get Dontae's sorrow out of my head. Poor kid. I slipped the suit into the backpack I had brought with me and Dr. Voss informed me that it was machine washable so I could get the smell of smoke out of it.

Driving back to Lauren's apartment, she told me I should probably get some basic supplies for "Buddy" before I went home. I couldn't disagree. He would need a collar and a leash at the very least. A couple of bowls for food and water as well as the food itself wouldn't hurt, either. He paced in the back seat as I drove and we chatted. She promised to get me a burner phone so we could actually call one another at times. It was a pretty solid idea, given the state of the world. After dropping her off, I made my way toward Arlington Heights.

I got a good look at "Buddy" as I drove. He seemed to be a decent medium-sized dog that should probably weigh somewhere around forty or forty-five pounds. His breed appeared to be all over the place: shepherd, collie, Labrador retriever, some kind of terrier, and heaven only knows what else. His coat, though patchy at the current moment, was almost completely white with "doggy freckles" closer to his paws. His eyes were a lovely brown-ish gold kind of color. He seemed fairly energetic, though that could have been anxiety over the new experience of car travel. All-in-all, he seemed like a rather cute little guy.

After making the stop to get everything the dog might initially need, I returned to the car to find he had curled up and fallen asleep. Stashing all the stuff in the trunk, I couldn't bring myself to rationalize stopping at the house in Arlington Heights. With a resolved sigh, I began the two-and-a-half hour journey to Sheboygan. Amazingly, the dog slept the whole way back. Flying back probably would have stressed him out more than he already had been that evening. I had plenty of time to figure out what I would be telling my mother about this situation and reflecting on the irony of being afraid of my mother's wrath. That was a feeling I'd not felt in more than twenty-five years.

Mom wasn't at all happy about being surprised with a dog. There may have been more than a passing thought that care for the canine might be delegated to her responsibility despite my assurances to the contrary. The negotiations were rather intense. I think what won her over were my impassioned pleas to consider that a young boy had gone out of his way to help the dog after the family had seemingly abandoned him. "Buddy" needed to be looked over by a veterinarian, a good home, and just to feel loved. I also brought up the fact she liked Týr's idea of raising sheep and having a dog around to help shepherd them. All of that was practically for not because she melted the moment she saw his face and his tail wag. My mother has always been a huge softie for animals.

The next handful of days were filled with training sessions for both myself and "Buddy". It was touch and go for the most part. "Buddy" was still used to softer food, so he didn't know what to do with kibble. I had to grab some fresh dog food from the store so he'd eat, then slowly introduce the kibble. He was fine having a collar wrapped around his neck. He was terrible on a leash, though. Leash training and potty training became top priorities. Meanwhile, Týr and I focused on my landings. The goal was less bull in a china shop and more gymnast finisher. That toddler I saved could have gotten badly hurt because I landed like a sack of meat tossed out of an airplane. Slowly but surely, the concepts were sticking and I was having more landings and fewer disastrous crashes.

One day arrived that was incredibly important to more people than just me: the day of my eldest daughter's graduation. I had no idea what to wear. What I settled on was a loose white T-shirt, high-waisted jeans, tennis shoes, and a vest. With my mother's help, my hair was situated up in a half ponytail. With my glasses in place on my face, the only thing that really stopped the look from being a 1990s throwback was a pair of Doc Martens. I made a mental note to pick up a pair when I could afford it. Glancing at myself in a mirror, I couldn't help but see some of the girls I went to high school with. The concept of "that's you, moron" hadn't sunk in, yet.

Mom insisted on driving. I tasked Týr with looking after "Buddy" while we were gone, which he accepted gladly. He seemed to have an affinity for canines. The ride into Illinois was interesting, to say the least. My taste in music was a little harder than my mother's. A raging guitar riff and some heavy percussion got me energized while allowing me to process thoughts. Eighties rock to grunge to early '00s alternative usually did the trick. Mom preferred the lighter stuff like Billy Joel, Chicago, Journey, and her personal favorite, George Michael. I didn't have the heart to tell her he's gay. Neither of us were well versed in the technology of the day, so a Spotify playlist was out of the question. We simply battled over the radio dial every half hour or so.

Two hours later, Mom drove to the school, John Hersey High School, rather than stop at the house first. My mind was still not registering it as Laura's house, now. In a sea of relatives awaiting the students clad in chocolate brown and the same burnt orange of the Chicago Bears, we managed to locate Laura and the girls. Mom and Laura sat together while Madison and Olivia served as bookends to me. Laura debriefed my mom concerning Hannah's achievements through last year of high school. My daughter made Valedictorian and would be making a speech. Madison gushed about seeing me in my new costume all over the internet in hushed tones so eavesdroppers wouldn't hear a thing but I could hear her clear as day. To my surprise, Olivia actually leaned on me and whined that she was already bored. Long ceremonies like this are definitely not designed for younger kids. I simply slipped an arm around her in an effort to comfort her like I usually do. She seemed amiable to the gesture.

Olivia wasn't far off the mark. The high point of the ceremony was watching the graduating class walk in and take their seats–the boys in brown and the girls in the burnt orange that made my Wisconsin-native blood boil. First at the podium was the Salutatorian for a generic welcome speech. That was followed by no less than six speeches by faculty about what a great achievement the students had made and how they were going to change the world. Anyone that has been out of high school for at least a decade knows all that is nothing more than hogwash. There were a couple of musical numbers from graduating seniors that were part of the band and choir. The worst part was waiting for more than five hundred names to be announced as each student received their diploma. The whole family cheered when the principal called out "Hannah Jonelle Kent", my daughter's full name.

Finally, the ceremony was coming to a close when the principal introduced my daughter as the Valedictorian, using her full name once again. I watched my little girl stride up to the podium with all the poise and confidence Laura and I had always hoped we'd encourage our daughters to have. Her burnt orange cap and gown glistened in the sunlight. Her sleek, straight, dark brown hair was meticulously groomed. Given my ability to "zoom in" with my vision as it was now, I could see the fiery passion in her piercing blue eyes. Her makeup was simple and accentuated all the best parts of her face. She had to adjust the microphone a little higher because she stood at a statuesque five-foot-nine. She cleared her throat before she spoke.

"Friends, family, faculty, and graduates," she began. "We've come to a crossroad in our lives. Today, we say goodbye to the trappings of adolescence. We'll never set foot in the halls, classrooms, music halls, theaters, sports fields, or the principal's office ever again." A few in the crowd laughed. "We'll never again hear that bell that signals the end of one block of instruction nor the one that tells us we're late for the next one. We'll never again hear the roar of conversation, laughter, or taunting in the halls. We'll probably never see each other's faces again after today."

She choked up a little as she took a pause and looked out at her fellow graduates. "That hurts more than I ever thought it would. We grew up together. We remember the same schools, the same teachers, the same food fights, and the same active shooter drills. We've felt the same fear, pain, melancholy, and even the same joy. We've watched each other grow into the young men and young women we are today." She seemed to attempt to swallow a knot in her throat. "I thought I was ready to say good-bye. Some of you already know, but I lost my grandpa a couple weeks ago. I took my Pop-pop for granted, thinking he'd always be there. I wasn't ready to say 'good-bye', but I had to. After his funeral, I started thinking about all of you. Some of you I don't know. Many I do. I'm going to miss all of you. I'm not really ready to say good-bye, but I know I have to."

She took a breath and cleared her throat again. "We enter the wider world starting today. My dad always taught me to seek the truth in everything, no matter how it might make you feel. In his example, I'm going to lay down some hard facts. We enter a world where, if we go to college after this, we will probably be plagued with crushing student loan debt for the rest of our lives. We enter a world where climate change will shape every part of our lives and make everything worse. We enter a world with armed conflicts everywhere we look. We enter a world where some of our compatriots won't be able to have a commencement like this because their school has been bombed out of existence or some whack job walked into their school with an AR-15 and unalived them. We enter a world where masked men in vests they bought off Amazon kidnap anybody with a brown complexion that speaks Spanish and puts them in concentration camps before sending them to lands unknown. We enter a world where a fat old man with the worst spray tan ever has delusions of grandeur and wants to rule with the iron fist of authoritarianism." She took a good pause before she said the final line. "We enter a world where a foreign government can take our tax money, fund a propaganda apparatus, bribe politicians, and then turn around to commit the most watched genocide in the history of the world."

Folding up her paper, she glared at her fellow graduates. "I ask only this: what are you going to do about it?"

Nobody said a word as she spun on her heel, strode over to her seat, and sat with force. The silence was deafening. In that moment, I don't think I've ever been more proud of her. After a few moments, the principal approached the podium one last time to officially announce the Class of 2025. More than five hundred caps flew into the air. My hope was that each graduate take up Hannah's call to arms and be the change they want to see in the world. Deep down, I committed myself to righting all of the wrongs I had the power to.

The next couple of hours were something of a whirlwind. The crowd began to disperse a little. We made our way toward Hannah who hovered near the stage taking selfies with her friends. We stood back and allowed her to have her social moment before the family descended upon her. She hugged her grandmother and mother with gusto. She addressed Madison and Olivia lovingly. When her eyes landed on me, there was a quiet moment before she pulled me into a hug. I teared up and sobbed telling her how utterly proud I was of her. She had grown into quite the fierce, driven young woman.

"Thanks, Dad." She whispered very lowly into my ear. "That speech was for you as much as my classmates."

"I'll do my best to live up to it, sweetheart. I suggest you do the same." I whispered.

"Count on it, Dad."

"That's my girl."

Our embrace tightened for a moment. It was equivalent to a firm handshake between us, coming to an accord with each other. After a few moments, we released that embrace. For a fleeting amount of time, the family chatted about seemingly random things. Toward the end, Hannah let us know about a party that was occurring and the whole graduating class was invited. Both Laura and I voiced our concern, but trusted her to make good decisions and get home safely. After Hannah bounded off after her friends, the family exchanged hugs and good-byes.

The trip back to Sheboygan began in earnest. Once again, Mom and I battled over the radio but allowed one another to enjoy our individual tastes. We actually sang along to a few of the songs, albeit poorly. Mom didn't know the lyrics to most of my songs and I didn't know the lyrics to most of hers, but there were occasional overlaps that we both enjoyed. It was an unintentional bonding exercise that I don't remember us ever doing before. However, about twenty minutes from the farm, Mom turned the volume down low and glanced at me with something indecipherable behind her eyes.

"Kristen," she began with a quick breath, "I'm going to give you that letter I found in your grandmother's hope chest." She shrugged and chuckled somewhat nervously. "Heck, you can take all the documents if you want. She never taught us–your aunts, uncles, and I–to speak or read whatever that language in the letter is, German, or Dutch. Maybe you can find someone that can tell us what it means?"

I turned toward my mother whose eyes remained on the road ahead like a dutiful driver. "O... kay. That was random. What brought you to that idea?"

She shrugged. "I've always been curious about them. Mom never told me what they were or what they meant. I figured one was her birth certificate because of the name, date, and where she was born. It's a little confusing with the date numbers flipped around, but I've seen enough birth certificates to figure it out. The two passports are easy to decipher if you've seen any passport at all." She took in a quick deep breath. "They're family history we know next to nothing about. With everything happening, right now, I want to know. Don't you?"

I shrugged. "There's always been a passing, vague curiosity about all of that. We know what the language in the letter is, Mom. Remember that Jewish family from back when I was in high school? They told us the letter had been written in Yiddish, but they couldn't read it."

"What is Yiddish, again?"

"The language of the Ashkenazi people, Mom. It's a merging of German from the Middle Ages, Hebrew, and I think a bit of Aramaic and Slavic, if my memory is serving me correctly. There used to be a lot of speakers before..." I let out a sigh. "...before the Holocaust."

"I still don't like that you showed the letter to that girl."

My eyes rolled almost automatically. "I saw the dreidel she was playing with that had symbols like the letter. That's when I learned about Hanukkah and the Hebrew language, remember?"

"I do, but I was telling you that your grandmother was very protective of those things and rather paranoid about them."

"They call that Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, now, Mom. Even after the war, Nana never felt like she could turn off the paranoia."

"Now we have people openly doing the salute and flying all the flags. The Nazis never went anywhere, Kristen. They just stayed hidden. That's what your grandmother always feared and why she kept her secret."

"Maybe now is the best time to discover the truth. Is that why you're wanting me to see if I can get the letter deciphered?"

My mother let out a long breath. "Sweetie, I promised your grandmother that I'd keep the secret while she was alive. We kept it in the family, as I promised. She's been gone for a while now. Yes, maybe now is the time for the truth to be revealed."

"I never told anyone where the letter came from. I'll look into finding out what it says, Mom."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It took very little time to research how one might go about translating handwritten text written in Yiddish: navigate to Google and type in "translating Yiddish near me". There were several resources for Jewish people in the area of Sheboygan. There was even an exhibit in the Mead Library about holocaust survivors from the area that started in 2001, a couple of years after I left for college. There was a Jewish Museum in Milwaukee, too. After some phone calls, nobody at the library knew how to translate Yiddish and the museum didn't offer that as a service. However, the Illinois Holocaust Museum & Education Center was excited about the prospect of looking over my grandmother's documents and translating for me. They had a few people on staff that could do it for me on the spot, if I asked. Thus, back down to Chicago for me. Well, technically Skokie, but who's counting?

Instead of using up all the fuel, I opted to fly down. I wore the suit Mom had graciously washed for me with "civilian clothes" in a backpack, making sure I didn't forget the glasses Lauren had made for me. Once I found a safe spot to change, I could just walk over to the museum. Harms Flatwoods was the perfect spot. A slight super speed run from the woods toward the entrance got me in fairly quickly. Once inside, all I had to do was talk to someone at the information desk and wait for one of their curators to come out and speak to me.

A woman about the age I am... was... came out to greet me with a smile. Her brown hair was showing signs of graying, her face had a few wrinkles, and her clothing was roughly the same style Laura might wear. Atop her head, though, at the crown was a blue and white disc-shaped object held in place by bobby pins. She offered her hand for a shake.

"Hello, there," She greeted me with that gentle smile. "I'm Rabbi Dr. Naomi Weiss. What might your name be?"

I accepted the offered hand. "I'm Kris Kent."

"Is that short for something or am I reading too much into it?"

My mind screamed a little rebellion just before I spoke. "Kristen."

"Are you the same young woman that called us yesterday hoping to translate something written in Yiddish?"

"Yes, I am. You wouldn't happen to speak German and Dutch as well, would you?"

She turned and motioned for me to follow. "I think I know what you're getting at." Answering her request, she ushered me into a room off to the side away from other guests and museum exhibits. It very much appeared to be the office of a curator. "Why don't you show me what you have and we'll go from there?"

Taking my backpack off my back, I made sure to open the pocket that did not contain my suit. The bag had two main pockets and the documents were in the second, carefully set in a binder to keep them safe. I displayed all I had on the surface of the lighted table we were standing on opposite sides of. The letter, the German passport, the Dutch passport, and the birth certificate were carefully laid out on the table. Dr. Weiss glanced at them carefully and her eyes widened when the puzzle pieces fell into place. She put protective gloves on her hands and handled each document with the practiced precision of someone whom had examined thousands of similar documents in the past.

"These are the documents of a survivor," She noted. "Everything to identify this person is here." She glanced at the first piece of paper. "This is a birth certificate." She pointed to each piece of information as she informed me of what it said. "It says here that a girl, Miriam Krista, was born at 7:18 am in Cologne on October 16, 1934. It also says her parents were Hermann and Rebekah Katzenberg, a cobbler and a washer woman, lived at 16 Lochnerstrasse, and that they were Jewish. There's just official stamps and other things besides that."

The next thing she picked up was the German passport. The eagle, wreath, and swastika were prominently featured on the haunting brown cover. Opening it, the large "J" in stamped red ink was hard to ignore. Her heart seemed to sink. "These never get easier to look at." She pointed to the name on the first page. "See here where it says 'Katzenberg, Miriam Sara'? Jews in Germany were forced to alter their names to make them stand out as Jewish to authorities. Boys or men had to add 'Israel' and girls or women had to add 'Sara'. It was one more way to 'other' the Jewish population and identify them quickly." On the next page, she found vital information and a picture of my grandmother when she was very young. Probably about five years old, I think. "Is she still alive?"

I wasn't thinking when I shook my head before speaking. "She passed when I was in middle school at her home in Wisconsin."

Rabbi Dr. Weiss raised her eyebrow. "Recent development, then? She lived a good, long life. That's wonderful to hear."

I decided to keep the knowledge that she died in her late sixties about twenty or so years ago to myself. I'd already let enough slip. Secrets are hard to keep. "No, yeah..."

She then picked up the Dutch passport with its distinctive black cover. "Ah, the 'zwarte vod', otherwise known as the 'black rag'. These were first issued in 1950, after all the government details were ironed out from the war. All this on the cover means 'The Kingdom of the Netherlands'." She opened the cover and scanned over the details. Upon coming to the picture, she compared the photograph with the German passport. "Oh, my..."

"What? Something wrong?"

She shook her head. "Not particularly. I conjecture that your grandmother was one of the Hidden Children. In 1942, an underground network of people began hiding children to keep them safe from the Nazis. They forged all kinds of documents that gave the children an entirely different past, fabricating family records as well as names. It was pretty extensive. In this German passport, we have Miriam Katzenberg. In this Dutch one, we have Mieke Keller from... oh, my, she's from a hero village: Nieuwlande. She was probably moved all over the countryside for years and was finally settled with a family from that village."

I nodded along as she explained. "Yeah, no, we knew a lot of that, but Nana wouldn't really talk about much. All we know is she met my grandpa after the war. He was in the Army."

She set down the passports. "She probably went southward to try reuniting with her family after the liberation. Some troops remained in the South Limburg region for a while. With her birthplace being Cologne and the likelihood of her only speaking Dutch to protect herself, she probably stayed on the Dutch side of the border. She may have tried getting in contact with the resistance people that may have known the fate of her family." She let out a heavy sigh. "Seeing that she remained in the Netherlands before marrying your grandfather bodes ill for her family. I can look into what might have happened to them, if you wish."

I nodded slowly. "It might be nice to know."

She nodded quickly. "Now, let's see this letter." She picked up the sheets of paper written in Yiddish. There were two pages, yellowed with the passage of time. "It's dated April 19th of 1940. That's a month before Germany invaded the Netherlands and two years before there was an organization capable of facilitating the Hidden Children. Interesting." She kept reading, whispering the words aloud as she did so. It was the first time I'd ever heard them vocalized before. She took in a strained breath. "This is from her mother." She quickly turned to me. "Would you permit me to record this? We have so few of these sorts of letters. They have incredible significance."

I nodded quickly. "Absolutely."

She spun to her computer and quickly loaded up a program. Within moments it was loaded and she returned to the table armed with a small microphone with some extra buttons. My initial thought was that it was some sort of dictation she was about to do. Picking up the letter once again, she began reading.

First, she spoke in Yiddish, then translated into English. "To my beloved Miriam," she began. Again, she spoke Yiddish then occasionally glanced at me for the English translation. "I am writing with trembling hands, not knowing if my words will ever find you again. I am Rebekah, your mother, and your father is Hermann, a shoemaker of little means. We live as we can with bread and work and with laughter among your brothers and sisters when the day's toil is done. There are eight of you: my children, my heart. We are not a rich family, only a washerwoman and a cobbler's house; but love has never been in short supply here."

She paused only briefly to gauge my reaction, but my eyes were fixed on the letter. She continued, reciting the Yiddish before translating into English. "The world grows darker each day, now. You are too young to understand the hatred that spreads like a sickness, but your father and I see it. We know what is coming. And so, with tears, we send you away to safety like the mother of Moishe who placed her child in the reeds of the river Nile, praying someone kind would draw him out. I do not know if I will see you again, my child; but I must believe that by letting you go you may live."

She stopped for a moment to let things hang in the air a moment. That air was heavy with tension, but one question crossed my mind. "Who or what is Moishe?"

"It's the Yiddish form of Moses. Your great-grandmother framing the story in this manner carries a lot of weight in Jewish tradition. She was engaging in an act of faith that God would watch over her child as he did Moses when she, the child's mother, could not. It also carries some local geographical significance as the Rhine River bisects Cologne, flows northward, then cuts westerly through the Netherlands. She was sending her child down the river to lands unknown, having faith that she would be protected. It's a powerful passage." Rabbi Dr. Weiss explained.

Clearing her throat, she returned to the letter. Again, first in Yiddish then in English. "I cannot give you riches or titles. I can only give you words. You must carry the light of our family with you. Be strong where I cannot be. Be brave when the world tells you to bow your head. You are my little seraph–my burning one–who must guard the flame even when the night is long. Shine, my child. Shine even when we cannot."

My ears perked up. "Seraph, like Seraphim? The angels?"

She lowered the letter and looked at me like a teacher would a student that just got the wrong answer. "By technicality, yes. What religion have you been raised under?"

"My family is Catholic."

She nodded. "Yes, well... these are not the angels you might have seen in iconography that originated from the Renaissance. The seraphim are not blonde white men dressed in armor with wings and swords. Correspondingly, the cherubim are not simply 'baby angels'. Jews know them to be terrifying creatures you don't simply invoke out of nowhere. Cherubim are creatures with the face of a human, body of a lion, wings of an eagle, as well as the strength and tail of an ox or those winged wheels-within-wheels things with thousands of eyes. Effigies of them sit atop the Ark of the Covenant. Seraphim, on the other hand, are six-winged creatures of fire that encircle the throne of God. They protect it and sing His praises." She took a quick breath. "What your great-grandmother was invoking is a blessing: that her daughter be the light of righteousness in the darkness of evil and strife. It's also a prayer that her daughter be the light for others. Had Judaism allowed female rabbis at the time, your great-grandmother would have made a phenomenal one."

I blinked rapidly. "Wow."

"Indeed." She carried on reading, though her voice caught midway through reading the Yiddish. She struggled through the passage, tears forming in her eyes. Then, she repeated in English. "Know this above all: you are loved. From the first cry of your birth until my last breath, you are loved. If God grants you children, tell them their grandmother's heart was full even in sorrow. Live, Miriam. Live for all of us. Your mother, Rebekah Goldstein Katzenberg."

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. Tears reflecting the powerful message finally revealed through time affected us both. Words have failed me only a select few times in my life. This was one of those times. Rabbi Dr. Weiss collected herself much faster than I.

"Would you like us to keep these for you? They will be preserved and added to the museum. Stories like these are so vital." She softly requested.

Somewhat numb, I shrugged. "I don't know. She lived her life in Sheboygan. She lived a good life there with my grandfather, my mother, my aunts, and uncles. There's an exhibit in the Mead Library there."

She nodded. "Of course, local representation is a good thing. I'm merely suggesting we store the originals here and preserve them. We can send replicas to the Mead Library, at your request." She paused a moment, glancing at the letter one last time. "Was she as her mother hoped she'd be: a light in the darkness?"

I nodded, memories of my grandmother's smile playing in my mind's eye. The memory caused me to tear up again. "Yes. Nana was one of the most loving people I've ever known. She cared deeply for her family and her community. She raised my mother to be an incredibly loving woman who then raised me."

Rabbi Dr. Weiss smiled. "Jewish heritage is matrilineal. It flows from mother to daughter. It's gone from your great-grandmother, to your grandmother, to your mother, and now to you. Did you know?"

"Vaguely."

"Maybe find some wisdom from your great-grandmother's prayer." She let out a sigh. "I can send you copies of the documents, if you'd like?" I simply nodded. "And Kristen?" My eyes met hers. "Thank you for bringing this to us. Every story deserves to be told."

My head slowly nodded as I slung the backpack over my shoulders and walked out the door. My mind was still racing with all the facts I'd just learned. The world beyond seemed to almost not exist. I soon found myself outside and walking back to Harms Flatwoods. A single word escaped my lips carried by a whisper.

"Seraphim."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Fourteen

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_gmkLJCbr58 ))

Waking up to the sensation of a cold, somewhat damp dog's nose against random spots on my face may be something I don't ever get used to. Mom had acquiesced to the idea of "Buddy" sleeping in the house, so long as he was in my room. I groaned, not wanting to get out of bed just yet. When the dog started whining, I knew I'd better get my butt out of bed or there would be a mess to clean up. At least he was starting to actually ask to be let out.

When I threw the covers off and began to clammer out of the safety of my cocoon, he yipped and danced around. I was barely conscious. Slowly, I trudged out of my room and "Buddy" zipped right past me toward the back door. One of my powers might be incredible speed, but not this early in the morning. A few moments after "Buddy", I reached the back sliding door and opened it. He yipped a 'thank you' and bolted into the grass. His head was down and he started sniffing for a good spot he hadn't covered as of yet.

The smell of brewing coffee brought me closer to consciousness. Turning around, my mother smirked from the kitchen at me. She'd always been an early riser. It comes with the territory when your primary profession is farming. I, however, hadn't been on the farmer routine since I went off to college.

"Coffee's brewed and hot. Ya want some, er no?" Mom asked.

"No, yeah, please." I answered before turning from the sliding door that was still open a crack for the dog to come back in.

"You're lookin' like one of Medusa's daughters and that dog's takin' to farm life quicker than you." She commented as she prepared me a mug.

"It's been more than twenty years, Mom. Some slack, maybe?"

She rolled her eyes at me, handing me a mug. We both walked out the back door to watch over the dog, gingerly carrying our mugs. "Buddy" was still sniffing at the ground with his tail wagging enthusiastically. Týr strode over from the area of the barn, nodding at the both of us. For a moment, we all watched the dog find a favored spot to poop.

"That dog needs a name, lest you wanna be callin' him 'Buddy' for the rest of your days," Mom broke the silence. "Don't know why you're keepin' him, anyway. He's all scrawny and don't know much, ya know. Farm dog outta know manners. Otherwise, they're scaring your chickens and peeing on the living room carpet."

"He needs time to train up, Mom. He's doing pretty good, so far." I defended the dog.

"They not know unless we teach." Týr added. "He survive. That alone speaks."

Mom rolled her eyes. "Thanks to that boy and my kid, yeah. I don't wanna be the one lookin' after him, is all I'm sayin'."

"Between me and Týr, you've got nothing to worry about, Mom." I kept my eyes on the dog until he scrunched up his body to relieve himself. At that point, I turned to look at my mom to give him some semblance of privacy. "You're right, though. He does need a name. 'Buddy' has only been temporary."

The ginger bearded man nodded firmly. "Names carry weight. They shape thing and things around. Give name, give orðstírr."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "There's one of those words no one but you knows, Týr. Would you mind sharing?"

"What word? 'Orðstírr'? It mean 'word glory'. The people and guðir, Gods, give many things name. Mjolnir, Gungnir, Gleipnir, Lævateinn... all named things in Sagas. Give name, bring glory–good or bad not matter."

Both my mother and I nodded, having grown accustomed to Týr's unique manner of speech. I spoke first. "That makes sense. What sort of name would you suggest?"

He thought for a moment before listing a few. "Álvi, Aska, Logi, Fannar, Brynjar, Bjorn, Hrafn... all good names. They mean: elf, ash, fire, drift of snow, warrior in armor, bear, and raven."

I took a long sip of my coffee, not entirely sure I could accurately pronounce any of the names. "Not bad. Mom?"

"Should be somethin' simple you can yell, like: Skip, Scout, Spot, Rusty, Shep, Patch, Lucky. Makes it easier, donchaknow." She shrugged. "If ya wanna get fancy, you can do Chance, Sparky, or Koda."

Týr's ears seemingly perked up. "Kota? You mean say this?"

My eyes darted between them. "Okay, there has to be some meaning behind this name if the five-thousand year old guy with the metal hand knows the word."

"I always heard it as an Indian name. Means 'friend' to the Sioux."

"The people say it like 'seeking hole'. Some say dog fill hole in life. Maybe dog seeking hole with you, Kristín?"

My mother thoughtfully considered the situation before speaking. "Put 'em together and ya gots 'friend seeking a hole'."

My eyes widened quickly. "Ufda, that does not sound nearly as wholesome as you two thought it might." I took a long sip of coffee. "Ignoring that part, I like the name at least." I looked in the dog's direction and decided to test it out. "Hey, Koda, come 'ere once!"

To my surprise, "Buddy" actually responded and started bounding toward me with his mouth open as if he were smiling. Reaching me, he turned to the side and leaned hard against me as I gave him some scritches.

"You see," Týr began. "He has name. Has purpose. Has goal. He is full. This is need for dog."

"Dogs are tools," My mother claimed as she sipped the last of her coffee.

"Not truth." Týr shook his head. "Dogs are companion. Dogs are friend. Dogs are partner."

"Raised a lot of dogs, have you?" My mother clapped back.

Týr nodded and looked a little solemn. "The people and us had many dogs. Dogs part of life." He cast his eyes out toward the horizon. "I raise wolf once. Good friend." He glanced down at his metal hand and flexed it a couple of times. "I betray friend. Never again."

This was not the first time I'd heard Týr say something that related to the stories that had become mythology scribed by Snorri Sturluson and later adapted into popular culture. He always hinted that there were discrepancies in the tales. However, it never really seemed like the right time to address some of the stories. One day, I may hear the truth from the source. That day was not at hand.

"Speakin' on names," My mother turned to look at me. "You thought of one for you when you're in your cape?"

Letting out a sigh, part of me wanted to avoid this particular topic right now. "Not really. I've got one strong one staring me in the face, but I'm not sure, yet."

"Might wanna figure it out soon, kid. The news people are fightin' over what to call you when they're talkin' about all the things you're doin'."

"Name have weight. Name give purpose." Týr nodded in agreement with my mother.

"I know, I know... all the good ones are taken. I have to find the right one." I turned back toward the house for two reasons: I needed more coffee and I was not wanting to continue this conversation.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the background of everything else going on, I had been introduced to the phenomenon of social media through the tutelage of Hannah and Madison. I can remember when MySpace was the go-to and also when it was overshadowed then eliminated by Facebook. Twitter used to be a part of my daily life at the Chicago Tribune. MySpace is gone. Facebook has turned into a dumpster fire. The site isn't even called "Twitter" anymore. The new has replaced the old. Instagram, TikTok, and BlueSky are the sites to be on, apparently. Thankfully, my daughters are good teachers. I have accounts, but I never post anything. Lauren had heavily cautioned against such things, stating that if you don't add fuel to the fire it doesn't burn. What I generally used it for is keeping up to date on current affairs.

Times were bleak. There's no sugar coating the truth. People try, but ultimately the foul stench they're trying to cover with potpourri rears its ugly head. There's almost nowhere on Earth that wasn't involved in a war. I didn't count the Israel-Palestine conflict as a war and never have. The times of COVID might have been over in most countries, but old enemies like Malaria and Tuberculosis raged in parts of the world that capitalism deemed unworthy of saving because profits were more important than people. Online, discourse was nothing more than shouting matches with the "caps lock" button constantly pressed. In the United States, this had made the populace more divided than at any time since the Civil War in the 19th Century. People were confused, broke, hungry, and scared of any shadow their chosen propaganda mill told them to be afraid of.

Last year, that resulted in the election of a legally-defined rapist and 34-time felon to the office of President of the United States for the second time. His time as the forty-fifth President was bad enough. I believed my piece for the Tribune that rightfully declared him a charlatan and aspiring dictator led to my release from the paper. My editor didn't like the fact I wanted to publish something he considered more an Op-Ed than biting journalism. We exchanged words I don't remember and HR told me I'd been let go later that day. The four years after he was elected were chaotic enough, then January 6th happened and I knew my assessment of the man had been vindicated. Part of me couldn't believe that Americans would put a man like that back in the Oval Office, but they did. I don't know what to think about it anymore. The one thing I do know is that he needs to be stopped.

Through social media, I learned of this group called "Indivisible" that grew organically online and decided to bring a little civil disobedience to the picture. They're all about the numbers game. The aim is peaceful protest in numbers that cannot be ignored. The man with the bad spray tan had decided to have a military parade disguised as the 250th anniversary of the US Army celebration on his own birthday. Thus, everywhere other than Washington D.C. was going to have a march where the people proclaimed in one voice that the United States will not tolerate an aspiring monarch or autocrat. "No Kings Day" they called it. Not very inventive, but a simple message.

Hannah, Madison, and I banded together and vowed to attend. With the organizers' plan to hold a rally in Daley Plaza before a march, we decided it best to try to arrive early. The plan was to march through The Loop and I imagined traffic would be terrible. Thus, my daughters and I learned public transit and how to get into the heart of Chicago. The first leg was commuter rail, so we had to leave relatively early in the morning. It meant I could fly in from Sheboygan and we could all walk together from there. Forty-five minutes of navigating suburban sprawl later, we made it to the train station and rode the UP-NW into downtown. A couple of buses and a much shorter walk later, we arrived in Daley Plaza around 10:30 am. We had to entertain ourselves for about two hours while the plaza filled up with people before the speeches began on the small stage the organizers had placed.

It felt as if a part of my heart swelled when Hannah was finally speaking with me again. She told me that her grandfather's death affected her far more than her father's metaphorical one. I was still here, she said, but in a different capacity than before. I wasn't six-foot-four, didn't have wrinkles on my face, didn't have short hair with hints of gray that reminded her of Doctor Strange from the movies, didn't have the hairy arms that used to hold her close when she cried, didn't have the stubble that tickled her cheeks when she hugged me, and I didn't wear that classic Old Spice aftershave anymore. What I did have, she said, was the kindness, compassion, understanding, and gentle encouragement behind my eyes whenever I looked at her and the comforting tone in my voice whenever I spoke. I still had that same look of pride that wished her well as she left the house with her date for Prom. She had realized the essence of her father was in me, even if the box art had changed. That was reason enough for me.

There were a few speeches to get through once the event truly kicked off. Most consisted of messages of unity in the face of tyranny. There were a couple of milk toast speeches from national politicians, which was nothing new. Those, understandably, got no reaction while the calls for solidarity received spirited responses. Once they were finished, the enormous, standing-room-only crowd began to make its way out of the plaza to begin the march. From Dearborn, we followed the iconic "L", the elevated "subway" tracks that circle downtown and give "The Loop" its name. The crowd made a point to make a detour and walk by Trump Tower before heading back into The Loop. There were so many angry voices that just wanted to do something and "stick it to the man". Most people came with their own hand-crafted, thought-out protest signs. I had to give the guy in his fifties a high-five because his sign just said "No, We Were Not Paid".

Towards the end of the march that lasted no less than three hours, something felt out of place. There had been some unease all day, but this felt different. Hannah, Madison, and I were somewhere in the middle of the gigantic column of human bodies that formed the protest march. We took a seat and grabbed some water when we finished marching. I could hear some police sirens, but that didn't seem to be out of the ordinary. The march unironically ended at LaSalle Street right near the ICE building. The thing looked occupied. There were trucks that looked like black armored personnel carriers from the military. There were police all around urging people to disperse once they were done marching.

"Something feel off to you?" I asked the girls.

"A little." Hannah nodded. "I kind of expected the cops, but who do the military trucks belong to?"

Glancing at the trucks in question, my eyes landed on the inverted triangle, hidden "V" wings, and colored purple and green logo. It was so distinctive that it could only belong to one organization. "That's American Vanguard Solutions. Lauren warned about these guys."

Madison pointed down the street to the east. "Looks like they've got some kind of impromptu roadblock set up down there like it's a checkpoint or something. What are they looking for?"

I frowned. "People like me that don't have friends who can forge them some identification. Lauren told me her sources said they were going to start rounding up people with powers soon. They've got a contract with the Department of Homeland Security. I guess they figured a march against tyranny with thousands of people in attendance was the perfect opportunity."

"They can't do that to citizens without due process, though, right?" Hannah wondered.

"Have you seen this administration giving any deference to precedent or the Constitution lately?" My eyes started scanning the surroundings.

"What are you doing?" Hannah asked.

I narrowed my eyes with purpose when they landed on the sheltered stairs that served as the entrance to the subway station. "I'm gonna slip into something a little more comfortable." Turning back to Hannah and Madison for only a moment, I whispered. "Get somewhere safe."

They both nodded as I turned to run at regular human speed toward the subway station. Once inside and navigating the stairs, I learned a hard fact: there are no restrooms in this station. On the other hand, I was practically the only person down here. Taking in a breath when the coast was clear, I moved very carefully and quickly to get the clothes and glasses I was wearing off while also getting the suit on. In my mind, I knew I was using my super speed, but there wasn't anything in the world to compare it to. As designed, the suit was a little loose until I pulled up the zipper in the back, then it conformed to my body shape. I flipped the cape over to my back and stuffed the civilian attire into the backpack before carefully closing it.

Finally ready, I ran up the stairs and out into the wider world. The slow motion perspective proved that I was indeed moving at super speed. I lay the backpack in the path of Hannah and Madison as they moved a safe distance away, hoping they'd see it. Afterward, I continued running away from the scene and darted down a few random streets. At a safe distance away, I leapt into the air and flew at super speed. A sonic boom clapped behind me as I doubled back and flew toward the scene of the incident scene at W Ida B. Wells Drive and S Dearborn Street. In mid-air, I came to a sudden stop and hovered about ten meters above the street. My glare narrowed down on the AVS agents while my cape flapped in the wind and the colors of the suit glistened in the sunlight. My daughters might have called this "aura farming" but I wouldn't understand that meaning for a while, yet.

This was my most public appearance since I obtained the suit and began my "career". Hearing the sonic boom, thousands of faces turned to face me–including the police and AVS agents. Most people stared in awe. Chicago PD seemed confused. The purple- and green-clad agents, however, reacted immediately. There were about fifteen of them and they all leveled some form of weapon at me. Like ICE, their faces were covered. One, whom I assume was the commanding officer of the operation, had the wherewithal to pick up a microphone and speak into a PA system.

"Metahuman! Surrender yourself and you will not be harmed!" The commander shouted.

I actually laughed. "As if you could." I shook my head. "You don't need the loudspeaker. I can hear you just fine."

"Metahuman, you have to the count of five to surrender yourself and submit to the authority of the Department of Homeland Security or we will be forced to use whatever force necessary to take you into custody!"

Turning, I zipped over to where he was standing and stopped just before him, still hovering. "I told you that you did not need to utilize such a device. I can hear you perfectly fine." Interestingly enough, he appeared to be afraid. It was readily apparent they hadn't come up against anyone like me before. "You are violating the Fourth Amendment. I suggest you get back into your vehicles and leave this city. You will not be terrorizing its citizens any longer."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

"I like to think of myself as a friend... but not to organizations like yours. I will not tolerate fascism in this city or anywhere else."

Someone's finger got itchy and slipped. I felt two tiny impacts against me and the sound of electricity came to my ears. Glancing at the offending object, my eyes landed on two small metal barbs linked with a thin wire to a taser ejection system that had no doubt struck me and fallen impotently to the ground at my feet. Holding that yellow less-than-lethal device was another AVS agent nearby.

Flashing that man a look of condescension, I scoffed. "Really, my guy? You can't hurt me. Even bullets bounce off." I turned back to the commander. "I suggest you gather your subordinates, get into your vehicles, and leave the city. You'll be violating no one's rights today." I hovered backward a couple of meters to give them a little space. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to ask you to reconsider your actions and place of employment."

I heard one of them mumble 'fuck this bitch' under his breath and move to pull out something. Turning toward the sound, I came face-to-face with some kind of net flying at me. The buzz of electrical diodes reached my ears. The net impacted then wrapped itself around me. It wasn't remotely painful nor did it affect my hovering at all. It was annoying, if anything. I tore through it as if it were single-ply toilet paper. They were really trying to escalate the situation?

I had to think quickly. If this continued, they were going to put a lot of people at risk. If they went to lethal force and used firearms, the bullets won't affect me at all but the ricochets could hit someone innocent. That is something I couldn't allow to happen. My next action had to be in a language they would understand. It was impulsive, but hopefully fruitful.

Still hovering, I zipped over to the APC near the four or five agents they had for the checkpoint. Halfway there, I started yelling my frustration and preparing my arm. Right next to the vehicle, I stopped and brought my arm down like it was the hammer for that one carnival game where you hit as hard as you can to ring the bell. My arm impacted the hood and kept going through the engine block and everything as if it were wet cardboard. It was still running but that stopped rather quickly. I had cut the front end of the vehicle in half. The red filter started to close over my eyes, but it stopped before fully engaging. I let my eyes glow the red-orange color of my heat vision beam.

I will not elaborate, but I was rather certain I had just scared the crap out of the AVS agents in the immediate vicinity. None of them had seen anything like what I'd just done and I would hope they were reconsidering their employment status.

"GET! OUT! OF! THIS! CITY!" I practically screamed at them, my eyes glowing red to drive the point home.

For a moment, no one said anything or even moved. They all just looked at each other for the signal from the one with some kind of supervisory authority. Then, they all just ran as a group. They ran toward the APCs parked around the area, piled in, started the diesel engines, and made haste to leave the area. As the last one filed into the convoy and left the area, I softly landed on the ground and my eyes stopped glowing. The crowd that had formed erupted into applause and cheers. It might have been a moment to nod and wave, but I heard flames erupt in the APC's front end and thumping against metal coming from the back end.

Spinning around, I saw the flames in what used to be the engine compartment. It was not the brightest idea I've ever had to do that much damage to an engine that was still running. Taking a breath, I blew onto the engine where the flames were originating. The fog of cold air coming from me was enough to put out the fire and coat the obliterated engine in frost. When confident the fire was extinguished, I rushed around the back to the specially-designed compartment. I tried the handle, but it was locked. So, I just gripped the door itself and tore it off. A young European-looking man and a young Hispanic woman turned to look at me with terrified eyes.

"Are you guys okay?" I asked them.

"You're not with them, are you?" The young man asked.

The young woman rolled her eyes at him. "Does she look like she's with them?" She turned to me. "What happened up front? We got knocked around for a second."

I felt a bit sheepish. "Sorry about that. Had to make a point, so I put my arm through the front end. The AVS goons took off after that."

The young woman started climbing out first. "You punched it?"

I shrugged. "Not exactly."

The young man followed. "They took our IDs and wouldn't give them back."

"If I can help it, that won't happen again. There's some Chicago police officers nearby. Maybe they can help you sort things out?"

The crowd of thousands started cheering once they saw the two captives were freed.

The young woman had moved up to the front of the vehicle. "¡Ay, dios mio!" She exclaimed, pointing at the front end of the APC. "You did this? You got some serious powers, chica."

I shrugged. "I keep hearing that."

At that moment, six men approached us. They were clad in camouflaged tactical gear and really did look like soldiers. They were also pointing guns at us, so that helped drive that point home. They started barking orders at us too quickly to really understand what was being said. I threw my hands outward and stepped in front of the two people I'd just rescued from the back of the AVS vehicle. From the direction of the ICE building, a black man clad in similar clothing ran up and started yelling.

"The hell are you doing?! Lower your weapons! Stand down!" He barked as he approached. Noticing a rank insignia, he addressed one of them. "Who's your supervisor, Corporal?!"

"Sergeant Turner," the man answered but didn't lower his weapon.

The first man grabbed the back of the tactical vest and pulled the Corporal back, forcing him to make eye contact. "Well, I'm a lieutenant. Lt. Henderson, SWAT. What unit are you with?"

The corporal stammered for a moment. "First District, Lieutenant. We were called in to respond to a dangerous vigilante in a cape."

Lt. Henderson pointed at me. "You were called in to respond to her? I'm responding to accusations of kidnapping and she freed the detained. As far as I'm concerned, she's with us. Put your goddamn weapons down!"

Their eyes all moved from the Lieutenant, to me, back to the Lt., back to me, and finally to the ground as they lowered their weapons. Exercising caution, I kept my hands out in a protective stance in regards to the two people behind me. My eyes watched the men in front of us but the lieutenant wasn't being ignored.

"Now, you're dismissed!" Lt. Henderson ordered. To my relief, the group moved away from us, albeit reluctantly. "Sorry about that." He finally said to me. "I heard dispatch call in that unit and I had to intervene. They're not even supposed to be deployed at a peaceful protest, but ICE is on our ass ever since all the nonsense started in L.A."

"The fault of that lies solely with Immigration and Customs Enforcement." I remarked. "If they weren't callously kidnapping good people off the streets and in their places of work, we wouldn't have this problem." Turning my head slightly, I motioned to the people behind me. "Are these people free to go, officer?"

"You're not wrong about ICE, young lady." Lt. Henderson nodded. He took one glance at the two behind me. "You two are free to go. No one's going to bother you any more today."

Turning to the young man and woman, I nodded. I was choosing to trust the word of the officer. They both said their "thank you" and moved on to places unknown to me. My posture relaxed and I looked around. The officer extended his hand to me.

"I'm Lt. Elias Henderson, by the way. I'm with SWAT, but it's an all-hands-on-deck kind of day, I guess." He stated cordially.

I accepted the handshake. "Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant."

"You got a name or do I just call you 'Wrecking Ball'? You came in here like friggin' Miley Cyrus, kid."

I chuckled at the reference. "Please don't call me that." I let out a sigh. "I don't have a 'codename', yet. Still working that out. I am not giving you a government name, either. Sorry. Too much at stake."

He nodded slowly. "I can respect that." He let out a sigh. "Look, kid, I've seen the news. You're doing some good work out there. You look like you raided a Spirit Halloween, but you do some good." He reached into one of the many pockets in his uniform and pulled out a small three-by-five card. "Call me... if you could use a hand or you figure out your codename and wanna let me know."

Gingerly, I accepted the business card and nodded to him. "I'll do that, Lieutenant. We'll be in touch."

I jumped upward and willed myself into flying once I was a few meters above the ground. When I was reasonably certain the sonic boom wouldn't damage any eardrums, I blasted into high gear. Lt. Henderson appeared to be someone trustworthy, so I was willing to entertain contact with him going forward.

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Fifteen

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YV4oYkIeGJc ))

Exposure has consequences. Always. Mine was no different. There were cellphone videos, amateur photos, news reports, and online threads that went on for miles. I think I broke the internet. Every single news outlet was covering what happened. It was unfortunately overshadowing the single largest coordinated protest in the history of the United States. It did not sit well with me that people were debating whether or not Warner Brothers Discovery should sue me because of my suit rather than discuss the impact of "No Kings Day". Legacy media had failed once again to cover the real story. Instead, they defaulted to the old habits of getting as many clicks to their websites and YouTube videos over doing any actual journalism.

In new media, however, it was a different story. The podcast bros were talking about how hot I looked in the suit and wanted to guess how old I was. Gross. The Twitch commentators were asking why I confronted AVS and seemed to bow before Chicago PD. YouTube gamer-chair pundits wanted to know why I thought I had the authority to act in the way that I did. The more serious commentators across all platforms simply wanted to know why I was doing what I was doing. They wanted to get to the heart of my motivations. They were the ones doing the real journalism. An incredibly small channel that did YouTube and TikTok content with about twenty thousand subscribers called "The Planet Daily" expressed interest in an interview. I may take the girl who is the face of the channel up on her invitation someday.

The nicknames wouldn't stop, either. TMZ was calling me "Cape Girl". BuzzFeed was calling me "Blue-Eyed Savior" for some reason. That felt creepy. US Today was referring to me as "The Flying Wonder". The New York Times got real creative with "The Girl in the Cape". My old employer, the Chicago Tribune, was calling me "Windy City Wonder"–for which I appreciated their poetic alliteration. The Washington Post asked the question "America's First Superwoman?", which was no doubt going to have some lawyers calling them soon. CNN wanted to call me "The Sky Angel" for whatever reason. The BBC echoed them but mixed it up with "The Chicago Angel". The "big three"–ABC, NBC, and CBS–were calling me "The Miracle in Chicago" while recalling all I'd done so far. Fox News, Newsmax, and OAN–on the other hand–were calling me "Super Girl" with all the dripping disdain and malice they could muster. I don't think they cared about getting sued over that one.

The hashtags were much more humorous: #SuperShero, #SkyGirl, #SuperNotMan, #PunchLikeAGirl (with a GIF of my arm going through the APC), #CapeGoals, #FasterThanCoffee, #FasterThanYourEx, #CapeNotOptional, #CapeChick, and #HeatVisionAndChill. They made me giggle, at least. Madison sent me a link to a post on Reddit which had the subject line of "Chicago Just Got Its Own Superhero IRL?!" Many of the comments were positive and congratulatory. Others were mean-spirited. Still, others were creepy and not safe for work. That's the internet for you: it will never surprise you with its vile or downright hilarious denizens.

After sifting through social media for about half an hour in the evening, I curled up on the couch and turned on the news like I would when I was a teenager–the first time. Koda curled up next to me and laid his head in my lap. My mother had made some lemonade and it sat in a tall glass beside me with an ice cube inside. Flipping through the channels, it was obvious that the news cycle hadn't given up on my appearance at the "No Kings" march, even after three days. It would be nice if they dropped that and moved onto some real news.

A phone ring came to my ear. It wasn't the phone laying on the table right next to me. That was the phone I'd had all along. No, this one was the burner phone Lauren had given me. With a groan, I gently got up off the couch, much to Koda's dismay, and moved toward my bedroom. I still hadn't cleaned it up much but at least I had cleared out all the musty old clothes from the 1990s and replaced them with my current wardrobe. The phone in question sat on the bedside table, charging. Unplugging the cord from the base of the phone, I tapped the green button and put the phone to my ear.

"Hey, Lauren, howsbyyou?" I answered the phone.

First, I heard a groan. Then her voice. "Lord, it's been too long since I've been home." She chuckled. "Not why I'm calling, though. I've got some information you might want."

"Oh, yea? What's that?"

"I've been doing some digging. It's pretty hard to find these things, but I'm tracking a plane connected to ICE's deportations."

My heart nearly stopped. "You're not gonna get in trouble for this, right?"

"Please. I cover my tracks better than the CIA."

"Where's the plane goin'?"

"Seattle. Boeing Field. Officially, it's 'King County International Airport' but nobody's ever called it that."

"How do I find it? I've never been to Washington State."

"Well, you'll see Seattle pretty well from the air. Puget Sound is pretty big and there's no big cities further west of there. You know what the Space Needle looks like, right?"

"I might have seen it on a postcard about twenty years ago."

Lauren sighed. "Google it. It's iconic. You can't miss the thing. Once you see it, look to the south. The big airport, SeaTac, is oriented due north and south. Boeing Field, however, is oriented at an angle–140 degrees when you approach from the north and 320 from the south. It's right alongside a railroad and I-5. You'll see it."

"When's this plane supposed to be there?"

"Expected landing at about 7pm local time."

I pulled the phone away from my ear and checked the time: 8:32pm Sheboygan time. "That gives me twenty minutes."

"And you can fly faster than an SR-71. Your point?" She scoffed. "There's people counting on you."

I groaned. "You're right." I sighed, then tapped the red button on the phone.

As suggested, I pulled up a photo of the Space Needle and committed the structure to memory as I got dressed. Koda looked on from the door to my bedroom tilting his head from side to side, trying to assess exactly what I was up to. When my suit was on, I turned around to see Koda looking somber and whimpering. Pets really have a way with pulling on your heartstrings. I gave him a good rub and promised to be back as soon as I could. Before leaving, I asked Týr to check in on Koda and he agreed. Problem solved, I took to the air.

At this point, I was rather amateurish with my flight patterns. Pilots worth their salt will account for the curvature of the planet as they plan their routes. I'm the moron that started heading due west. It was fine for a while. I watched plains and mountains move underneath me at break-neck speed. There were a multitude of cities and towns beneath me, but nothing approaching "major city" scale. When I got closer to the Pacific Coast and saw the ocean beyond a valley with a winding ribbon of water, I started to think I was going the wrong way. Looking northward, the river got wider as it traveled through urban areas. Slowing down, I turned north and willed myself faster once again. I passed over a big city that lay near two big rivers. That had to be Portland. Further north, I began to see the bottom edge of what I would recognize as Puget Sound. Now, I knew roughly where I was going. If I followed the ribbon of asphalt known as Interstate 5, I would eventually arrive in Seattle. That got harder to do once I came upon the seemingly unified city sprawl between Olympia and Seattle.

Flying lower, I was able to follow the interstate more easily. In no time at all, I passed two airports and began to see the skyline of the Emerald City. To my left, I saw the Space Needle in person for the first time in my life. Lovely building, but it meant I'd gone too far north. I spun around and headed southward once more. Further south, I could see the due north and south strips of asphalt that Lauren had called "SeaTac" and the slightly slanted double strips of a smaller airport–Boeing Field. I decided to stop and hover in an effort to get a lay of the land. It must have been quite a sight for drivers on the interstate to see me hanging there in the air with the golden hour sun shining on me.

Looking over the buildings, there were quite a few of them. At least I could tell you which one was the control tower. The others, I was not as sure about. One thing that stuck out to me, however, was a figure clad in denim and black on the roof of one of the buildings. On the tarmac below, a plain white aircraft with no decal markings at all sat with idling engines surrounded by six white vans and two SUVs. Quickly, I zipped over and landed behind the figure, which appeared to be female with brown hair, and crouched down.

"Hey, there!" I shout-whispered.

She spun around and looked at me. She was wearing what appeared to be a black, one-piece swimsuit with fishnet stockings under a denim bordello jacket and shorts. Her hands were clad in black, fingerless gloves and her feet in black Doc Marten boots. The third of her face surrounding her hazel eyes was covered in a black domino mask. From the moment she looked at me, she appeared angry.

"Who the fuck are you?!" She shout-whispered the question to me.

I crawled closer. "I would hope I'm a friend. What's going on?"

Then, it dawned on her. "You're that chick from Chicago, aren't you?!"

"It's my usual haunt, yes. Can we focus? What's going on?"

She turned over and resumed watching the scene from her belly. "Welcome to the reality of our country, right now. This is what an ICE deportation flight looks like. See the people down below going up the stairs with their hands and legs linked together by chains? Those are probably innocent people." She pointed at one person in particular. "That's a twelve year old girl. They've got her chained up like she's some kind of Hannibal Lecter or something. This is disgusting."

My eyes narrowed in anger. "We have to do something."

"Easier said than done, big girl. We can't all smash our fists through engine blocks or tank electro-nets like they're nothing, y'know."

"Well, I'm here to help. You have a plan?"

She smirked. "Well, now that I have Superman with tits to hang with, I might have a chance of freeing these people."

"Please don't call me that."

"What else am I supposed to call you? Windy City Wonder? Sky Girl? Super Teen? Are you going to let the media name you or are you going to grab a name and take it?"

I shook my head. "Just call me 'friend' for now. I haven't come up with anything, yet, okay?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. You ready to be an accessory to a federal crime?"

"I'm here to do what's right."

She chuckled. "Girl Scouts' honor?" Again, she rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll take out the out-of-shape guards. You disable the plane then free the people. I saw a bus further down the tarmac. Maybe we can use that to get the people out of here. How's your Spanish?"

"Non-existent."

"Fine, I'll do the linguistic heavy lifting while you do all the other heavy lifting. Deal?"

With a curt nod, we executed the plan. Only one sure way to disable the plane came to my mind. As if on cue, one unexpected variable entered the area: black SUVs marked with the unmistakable symbol for American Vanguard Solutions. While the girl that seemed to be my compatriot scurried down from the roof, I watched them. Six armed guards and three people in chains exited the vehicles. The intentions of AVS were becoming more clear. Like ICE, they were kidnapping people but these people were under suspicion for having powers.

With a single leap, I was in the air a good few meters. My eyes narrowed in on my target and I bolted forward with a sonic boom cracking behind me. Orienting myself at this speed wasn't as difficult as one might think. I lined myself up with the engine on the port side of the aircraft and, with my fist forward, flew right through it. The thing threw sparks and smoke as I smashed it out the back end of its housing. Executing a lateral loop-de-loop, I did the same thing to the starboard side engine. With both engines completely disabled, the plane wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

That's when the screeches started. They hurt. A lot. Apparently, my new friend's power was that she screamed at such a pitch with enough force that it created a powerful soundwave. It was an overpowered sonic weapon that I'm sure the US military might love to get their hands on. For me and my super hearing, it disoriented me a bit and actually hurt my ears a little. For the masked federal agents on the ground, it knocked them on their butts and broke the windows in their vehicles. ICE agents and AVS operatives both pulled weapons and started screaming at her to surrender.

Coming to a running landing on the ground, the world around me slowed to a crawl. I ran to each person with a firearm and relieved them of said weapon. I carried those weapons some distance away and unceremoniously dropped them in a dumpster. Returning to the scene, the world caught back up with me and resumed normal speed. The agents and operatives looked around confused that they'd been relieved of their weapons. My new friend didn't waste any time considering situational awareness. She simply started throwing punches and kicks like a seasoned fighter. It was impressive for a few seconds before I joined the fray. Týr had taught me to monitor the amount of force I was putting in each hit because there's no doubt I could Mortal Kombat some people if I didn't. I resorted to utilizing open palm strikes against the body armor to subdue the AVS operatives and clear the way to their captives. It seemed to work as they no doubt had the wind knocked out of them.

Starting with the AVS captives, I ripped the cuffs off every person in chains. It was like pulling apart Playdoh. From the tarmac to on board the plane, people were being freed at break-neck speed. The flight crew and flight attendants did not stop me. There were a couple of agents already on board the plane that tried but received an open palm strike to their "bulletproof" vests. One guy who pulled a gun flew back a few feet. In the back of my mind, I hoped he was going to be okay. It was and never shall be my goal to kill, merely to incapacitate. Moving through the plane and freeing people, I did my best to communicate.

"Everyone that can speak English, follow me and please translate for our non-English-speaking friends that I mean no harm and I'm here to help get you people out of here safely." I announced. A flurry of speech followed in my wake, mostly in Spanish.

Exiting the main hatch to the stairs, my eyes caught sight of my new friend breathing laboredly and many unconscious men around her. There was a lot of blood splatter around, which alarmed me.

"What the hey, dude!? We're not here to kill anyone! What's with all the blood!?" I shouted.

She scoffed before yelling back. "Relax, Blue Streak, I didn't kill anybody. They've had a beating like this coming for months. I just let out some aggression, okay?"

Rolling my eyes, I pointed to the cabin behind me. "I've got about forty people coming out."

"Good. Sounds like we'll need that bus. Be a dear and fetch it, please? I'll do the talking."

"How can we help?" One of the three former AVS captives spoke up, yelling toward me.

My finger pointed at my compatriot. "She's going to need help talking to people if any of you can speak Spanish. Maybe, if one of you can drive a bus, you can help get these people to safety."

Nods were exchanged in agreement and I jumped upward before engaging my flight. Heading in the direction that my new friend had indicated, I did indeed find a bus sitting on the tarmac. It was a white prison bus, but it may have to do. Hopping inside for a moment, I confirmed the keys were indeed in the ignition. Starting the bus was easy enough but I had no idea how to work the controls. Climbing back out of the bus, I scooted myself underneath it. Thankfully, the frame of a bus is easy enough to figure out. With arms on each beam of the frame, I started from a kneeling position and pushed upward. The whole bus lifted off the ground as I did so. It felt like a 10-pound barbell used to. It was at that moment that I really started to contemplate how strong I actually was.

Slowly lifting into the air and floating over to the location of the blank white airplane, I must have looked like every hero shot featuring Superman in the history of film. There was no interest on my part to look like that, but the faces of the people below me certainly reflected it. Getting to a clear spot, I set about making a soft landing and setting the bus' tires back down on the tarmac. Crawling out from under the bus, I started to hear sirens that I feared were approaching. They were quite a distance away, so not an immediate threat. The rescued migrants cheered. I simply offered a warm smile and a nod. One of the former AVS captives started ushering people onto the bus.

"Sirens are coming. We should hurry." I informed those around me.

"What? I don't hear anything." My new friend, the brunette, responded.

I leveled a blank look at her and tapped an ear with a finger. "Super hearing." To the ones ushering people onto the bus. "When you get clear of the gate, head south. They're coming from somewhere downtown."

When everyone was on board the bus, the doors closed and it started to move. One zip over to the gates, I used my heat vision to disable the lock and get them open. Within moments, we were staring at the rear end of the bus heading southward. Forty people were saved today, but there were still thousands in ICE custody under conditions they really didn't want the public knowing about.

"I go by 'Feedback', by the way." My new friend stated plainly, watching the bus leave.

"Pleasure to meet you, Feedback." I answered with a small smile. "I can't say that I approve of the methods, but I think your heart's in the right place."

She shrugged. "Those who would make peaceful revolution impossible make violent revolution inevitable. John Fitzgerald Kennedy."

I sighed. "Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Junior."

"Geezus, you are a fucking Girl Scout, aren't you?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Boy Scout. Eagle Scout, to be exact. Proud of it."

She nodded very slowly. "Oh, you're one of those. There's even a couple like you right here in Seattle. They're looking into options to reverse what the 'Event' did to us, but with the current administration's actions, the stochastic terrorism that's reached a fever pitch, and all the other hurdles that have come along it's a hard road." She let out a sigh. "Look, Blue, I know the struggle more than you think. I used to be there, myself. I wasn't always this young, pretty, and lithe, y'know?" She started walking northward. "Join me in my car? I'll tell you more, but we have to bolt before those other thugs get here."

I raised an eyebrow as I followed behind her. "What did you mean by all that?"

"The Pulse thing changed you, right? It did that to a lot of us. Take me, for example: sixty-some years old, audio engineer, former jazz vocalist before smoking ruined my pipes, and reminiscing about my glory days in martial arts tournaments. Ralph Macchio played 'The Karate Kid', but I was 'The Karate Kid' back in the '80s. Forty-seven national and international titles, my friend." She let out a sigh. "Your body gives up after a while and when I couldn't hide behind the machismo anymore, I transitioned in my forties. My broke ass could never get any surgeries or anything, so I kinda felt stuck. I always wondered what I'd have looked like if I'd been born female."

We arrived at a positively ancient, green Dodge Neon. She pulled out her keys and unlocked the driver side, then climbed in. Leaning over to the passenger side, she unlocked the passenger door. Accepting the unspoken invitation, I sat down in the passenger seat, moved my cape to a comfortable position, and closed the door. She closed her door as well, letting out a breath.

"Now," she started, "I find myself in the body of a nineteen year old, fully female version of myself. It's a dream come true for somebody like me, but I can see how it might be an absolute fucking nightmare for someone else. What about you, Blue?"

"Why are we sitting here? Shouldn't we be following the bus and make sure everybody's safe?" I wondered.

"They're gonna be okay. We're gonna wait for that goon squad you said you heard to pass so we don't look suspicious. Now, stop obfuscating and answer the question, please."

Letting out a long sigh, I stared forward through the windshield to the rail tracks across the road. "I was coming home after a conference. I was a corporate PR guy who was basically dead inside. My job used to mean something when I worked at the Tribune."

"The Chicago Tribune? Newspaper guy? For real?"

I nodded quickly. "I got laid off about ten years ago. In my forty-five years on this planet, I was told I had to put my head down and provide for the family, so I did. I got a loving wife and three beautiful girls out of the deal. I had a great house and a great family. It was just the job I couldn't stand. Made me feel numb to the world. Still do, in some ways. I never even thought about whether or not I'm a man. This happened and... I dunno... my folks always taught me to do your best with what you're given, but I don't know which end is up sometimes."

She nodded in understanding. "I get that. My kids are grown. They don't need me anymore. How old are your girls?"

A small, proud smile creased my lips. "The oldest is eighteen. Just graduated high school. Then, fifteen and nine."

"Ouch. Sounds like they still need you. That's gotta be rough."

"Yea." Finally, I turned to her with tears welling up in my eyes. "It hurts, but not as much as the love of your life telling you she doesn't want to share a bed with you anymore." I hung my head. "I live back with my mom, now. Same house, same farm I grew up on."

"Wow... that's rough." She took a deep breath. "Kinda makes sense that you're out here doing what you're doing, though. I mean, the parallels to a fictional character made up by two Jewish boys in Cleveland are uncanny."

"I'm even Jewish, too. By heredity, not religion." I chuckled.

"Shut the front door! Seriously?! Fuck, this universe and its sense of humor are beyond human capacity to ever fully grasp! Jewish farm boy turned journalist with a great marriage and loving kids that's granted all these amazing powers? You're a Siegel and Schuster wet dream!" She laughed.

I smirked. "You can't tell anyone, but my last name is Kent. I'm not even kidding."

She threw her head back and laughed with her whole chest. "Fuck, I gotta pee, now!"

She climbed out of the car, barely able to breathe from laughing so hard. She walked to a nearby business to relieve herself and there was a convoy of unmarked vehicles with lights and sirens passing when she returned. We got a little more cordial and I actually told her the name my mother had given me, Kristen Kent. She laughed again at the spot-on alliteration. She told me the name she had chosen for herself, Jenna Mills. In all honesty, it was incredibly refreshing to connect with someone that had endured the changes of this whole situation that I hadn't known before.

After waiting a few minutes when the convoy fully passed by, she started the car and drove us northbound. She offered me a tour of Seattle hosted by a local, but I politely declined and took a raincheck. Some day soon, I'd like to take her up on it, but I needed to get back to "my own turf". She understood. I gave her the number to the burner phone and asked her to text me sometime. She agreed. I had a feeling this was going to be the start of an interesting friendship.

Jenna drove to a more secluded area of the Industrial District in the city before she pulled over to let me out. She couldn't guarantee we hadn't been caught on camera at the airport, but I could leave from here as discreetly as possible. I slowly floated upward as we said our good-byes. Then, I turned skyward and accelerated. I knew I had to head eastward to get home. However, my navigation skills were still terrible.

I almost ended up in Canada. The Upper Peninsula of Michigan is pretty this time of year. There's a reason we go camping up there, donchaknow.

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Sixteen

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hdw1uKiTI5c ))

Screams. Terrifying screams.

Initially, I thought it was all in my head. For the last bit of time–slightly over two weeks–I'd been on a crusade against AVS and ICE. Mostly, Lauren and I worked together to find locations of aircraft that had been contracted to shuttle both powered people and immigrants around the country and, eventually, out of it. I'd gone to Nevada, Arizona, Texas, Washington, New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Virginia, Florida, and the hub of it all: Louisiana. No less than thirty aircraft were now without engines, similar to the first in Seattle. I hadn't yet hit any detention facilities, but those were definitely my next goal. Needless to say, this had not made me any friends in the administration.

Lukas Lowen, CEO of OriVox Enterprises which was the parent company of American Vanguard Solutions, had finally shown his face as he made the rounds in the media. I got a good look at the man. Compared to interviewers, he seemed to be of average male height. His hair reminded me of Mark Zuckerberg, but ginger. His gray eyes seemed to reach into the soul in a disturbing way. His physique showed he knew what a gym was and he did not skip leg day. His cool, calm, collected demeanor seemed to melt away just a bit when anyone wanted to talk about "that girl in the blue suit with the red cape". He spoke about me with scorn and animosity, naming me AVS Priority One. I knew I'd eventually paint a target on my own back, but I didn't anticipate being so afraid. Lauren and I hadn't faked the death of Christopher Kent, as of yet, so my family could be a target if any connection was made to me. That scared me more than anything else.

My eyes slowly opened, awakened from the middle of sleep. Koda noticed I was awake and licked my face. I could still hear the screaming. I had thought it was a product of my dreams, but that wasn't the case. The sounds seemed to echo into my very soul. It was the type of scream no parent ever wants to hear: the terrified scream of a child fearing for their life. There was no need for coffee. I was immediately wide awake. I gently coaxed Koda away from me and moved to put on my suit. In moments, I zipped up the back and flipped the cape over my head. Careful not to break anything, I made my way to the back sliding glass door and let myself out. One jump into the air and I was off.

It was the middle of the night. It was pitch black. Rain was falling all around me. I was through the rain in a few seconds and the wind whipped through my wet hair and cape. Just before I might have been completely dry, I hit another wall of storms. The only thing lighting my way was the flashes of lightning all around me. The screams pushed me forward, ever faster. I had zero clue where I was going and I was only marginally looking out for air traffic besides myself.

At some point, I hit what simply felt like a wall of water in the sky. It was warm and wet and just coming down in sheets. All I knew was that I was getting closer to the screams. I had to search a bit to get a good bearing on where they were originating, but I zoomed in quickly. With the atmospheric flashes lighting the way occasionally, the only thing I knew for certain was that I was in some hilly area. The elevation was higher than most areas of the central plains of the country, but nothing to write home about. It was also full of rivers and tributary streams. They seemed to snake between the hills everywhere I looked. Something wasn't right, though. As I got closer to the screams, the water level was definitely too high for comfort and the current was dangerously fast.

I could hear the screams but I couldn't see anything. Hovering for a moment, lightning flashed and thunder cracked behind me as I took a breath, closed my eyes, and willed my vision to shift to something useful. When I opened them again, it was like a blue filter was in front of my eyes. The difference to when this happened before was that I wasn't seeing skeletons but heat signatures. Looking below me, I could see groups of these signatures huddled in what seemed to be rectangular structures of some kind. There was at least one line of people from one rectangle to a larger box structure and some signatures moving along the line. Still others seemed to be moving away at a fast pace. These heat signatures are where the screams were originating from. There was a flood and people were being carried down river as a result of that flood.

Acting quickly, I zipped over to the first signatures and dove after them. I was literally plucking them out of the river. After I scooped up the first two, it became obvious to me that I was pulling children out of the flood waters. They clung to me with all their strength and let out cries of desperation. I wasn't entirely sure what to do with them at first, but I looked back toward the larger groupings of heat signatures then flew towards them. I deposited the two children I'd plucked out of the river on higher ground near what sounded like adults. The kids couched water from their lungs and cried out to the adults. I turned and blasted off down the river to grab more.

Two by two, I pulled more children out of the raging river and delivered them to safety. Something deep inside drove me to keep going as long as I could. I was not slowing down at all. A few times, I actually had to dive into the water to rescue the victims. I even scooped up a couple of teenage girls that thanked me profusely. They seemed to be about the age I was now and told me they were counselors at a summer camp for girls. I was rescuing some of the youngest campers of said summer camp, they told me. I promised the counselors that I would not stop until all of the kids were safe. After dropping them off with the others, I kept going back to the river until all the heat signatures from the camp were safe.

Once I was sure there were no more campers in the river, I rushed to help where I could. That line I'd seen earlier was counselors and other camp staff trying to make sure other campers trapped in their cabins got out of those cabins and delivered to the higher ground of the larger building that might have been a cafeteria or indoor recreation hub. At the head of the line was an elderly man doing his best to get the kids to safety. He was apparently the owner of the camp. I assisted by carrying some of the kids up the hill myself and depositing them near the other kids I'd delivered. When that was done, I helped get the adults up the hill as well.

"Are you an angel?" The old man asked.

"No, I'm a friend." I replied before I took off again.

There were more screams. More terror. More lives to save.

Following the flow of the river, I searched for more signatures. There weren't just humans in the river, but a whole host of animals, too. Hundreds of them. The wild animals were easy. All I had to do was get them to higher ground and they scattered accordingly. The domesticated ones were the trouble. I did find a farm with good fencing higher up a hill, so I decided to gather them all there. I never counted how many I pulled out of the flood waters.

There were a lot of people caught in the flood zone. It was the middle of the night, after all. Most had been asleep. There were so many campgrounds to cover. As the waters kept rising, I was even hearing car horns in the river. Diving below the surface, I did the same thing as I had done with the bus back in Seattle: position my hands on the frame and lift the vehicle. After gingerly setting the vehicle out of harm's way, it was off to the next one. There were even RV's with whole families on board. As the waters surged, whole houses were being plucked off their foundations and swept downriver. I couldn't save the houses, but I could save the people inside them. I rescued more children from the flood waters, this time some boys from a camp further down river.

As the hours passed, I started to hear helicopters around me. I was happy to know I was no longer the only one out here. Slowly, the waters started to recede and the sun began to rise. Bridges were being revealed and so was the extent of the devastation. I would later learn that instruments used to measure just how high the waters rose had broken from the raw force of the deluge. Surveying the area, I found the staging area for rescue operations. Local sheriff's departments, fire departments both locally and from the surrounding areas, state disaster organizations, the US Coast Guard, and other federal agencies all responded for the humans. Several federal, state, and local animal welfare organizations had responded as well. It was very much an all-hands-on-deck situation and I was glad for it.

I finally discovered where I was: Texas. The search and rescue teams asked for a debrief after taking a single look at me. My hair, body, and suit were absolutely drenched. There were small bits of debris from the river clinging to parts of the suit, my hair, and my skin. I kept my descriptions short and to the point. I could still hear people calling out for help. Once the other teams were informed, we parted ways and I went back to work.

Whenever I would come in contact with a helicopter and there were people or animals in the area in need of rescue, I would signal to the pilot or crew how many were below them and where they were. It was a coordinated effort, now. All of us worked tirelessly through the day. Having pointed out where I'd been dropping off the pets and other domesticated animals, I was glad to see helicopters and other rescue vehicles from the appropriate organizations rallying to that position.

My last rescue was a little girl I'd somehow missed in the chaos. She was screaming out for help and clung to a tree for dear life. She was just as drenched as I was. My swooping in scared her at first, but she learned very quickly I was there to get her to safety. She nearly jumped into my arms, wrapped her arms around my neck, and her legs around my torso in much the same way she'd been clinging to the tree.

"It's okay, sweetie. You're gonna be okay, now." I told her in the best soothing voice I could. "Where were you before the river got you?"

Trembling from fear and the cold, her answer came slowly. "Camp Mystic. Are my friends okay?"

My heart sank. That was the first location I'd been to. I was sure I'd gotten everyone out of the river, but I was being proved wrong. "I don't know who your friends are. I can take you there to find out, though. I got a lot of you girls out of the river earlier."

She started to cry. "I want my mom."

Tears welling up in my eyes, I gently rubbed her back. "I bet you do. I would, too. It's been a very scary day." I started flying to the camp up river. "You're a very brave little girl. You must be a really strong swimmer, too. You got into that tree and stayed safe all this time. What's your name, sweetie?"

"Lila." She sniffled. "What's yours?"

For a moment, I hesitated. I didn't know how to answer, honestly. It might have been easy for Jenna to call herself "Feedback". Her only power I'd witnessed was a sonic force wave activated by screaming at a pitch similar to what might come out of a speaker if a microphone is pointed at it. Lauren had chosen "Veritas" as she sought the truth. The ancient Norse had named Týr and I have no idea why. However, names have meaning. They have a certain gravitas to them. I'd been mulling over what to call myself for a while. It had to be something that mattered as well as something that rolled off the tongue well. There was only one thing that kept returning to the forefront of my mind when considering the name.

"My name... isn't quite like yours." I began. "I'm Seraphim."

"Like the angels?"

I chuckled. "Sort of. More so the Jewish interpretation than the Christian one, though."

"You fly like an angel. You answer prayers like an angel. You save people like an angel. It's a good name."

"Well, I'm no angel, honey. I'm just as human as you. I just happen to have been given a few extra things that I use to help people."

Lila's grip tightened on me like a hug. "Today, you're my angel, then."

"I'll take that."

Getting back to the camp, the devastation I'd missed in the dark of night became very apparent. It was absolutely horrifying. Turning from that, I heard the low roar of diesel engines a bit further ahead. There were a few buses lined up from the local school district to get the campers into town to reunite with their families. Several faces lit up when I slowly landed with Lila still in my arms. Counselors ran to meet us and share their joy that she'd been found. With one last comforting back rub, I assured her she was now safe and set her down. She bounded off toward the other campers and counselors.

She told everyone my name. A chorus of girls screaming "Thank you, Seraphim" hit my ears to cap off a long day of rescues.

I stayed behind for a couple of days to do everything I could to aid in the recovery effort. In the days that followed, I would learn that twenty-seven people and a number of uncounted pets still perished that day. Each body recovered was more heart-wrenching than the last and they were all an emotional gut punch. I felt like a failure. In the chaos and darkness, I couldn't save everybody no matter how much I wished I had. Family members and pet owners watched me visibly break down and cry, mourning every single recovered body.

No matter how tortuous it was, I stayed until we were sure all that could be found were. I was in Texas for five days, barely eating or sleeping the entire time. Some of the first responders were starting to worry about me, but I would not relent until every victim was accounted for. While flying overhead, the use of my x-ray vision had proved invaluable in that effort. I patrolled every inch of the affected area from the source of the flooding, through the devastated area, and down to Canyon Lake. Finally, I was reassured there was nothing more I could do. I nodded, gave a quick wave, and flew home.

Back in Sheboygan, my mother was furious that I had seemingly disappeared in the dead of night. I didn't say a word. My body simply trudged up to her and I collapsed into sobs. She had seen the news. She knew where I had been. Instead of scolding me, she simply held me while I cried. Everything I'd been blocking out for days came rushing to the surface. I finally felt every emotion I'd been holding back. After a while, I told my mother everything I'd experienced through sobs. I doubt she understood a single word. I barely did. She simply held me, stroked my hair, and rocked me while sitting on the front steps of the house. The last time I remember being in a position like this was when I skinned my knee trying to learn to ride a bike when I was six.

When I finally stopped crying, she cradled my face in her hands and gently wiped away the tears. Her facial expression was one of gentle concern. She asked me to repeat the story once more. I tripped over sobs a couple more times as I explained what happened, but she was incredibly patient with me. Never did her expression shift. It was fairly calming and comforting in the moment. When I finished regaling my tale, she took in a breath.

"What you did by leavin' here like you did when you heard those screams was a good thing." She started off well enough. "You didn't think when you went off down dere. Dere would'a been lots more people not goin' home without you dere, by golly, I tells ya." She pulled me against her chest and cradled my head. "You put so much of yourself out dere."

"I know you did all ya could, honey. You been beatin' yourself up over what happened wit yer dad since he's been gone. You gots all dese powers, dat's true. You ain't all powerful, Kristen. God's got you beat on dat. You can't be everywhere at once or do everything at once. Ainna yer fault if people get hurt if you ain't dere, donchaknow. Yer only human, honey."

"I should'a been faster." I sniffled.

"Yeah, no, you shouldn'a. You was as fast as you could be. You gots a lot of people safe, honey. Dey was sayin' dat if not for you, dere would'a been more'n a hundred that passed. No, yeah, almost thirty people passed and dat's a shame, but nothin' you could'a done. You gotta stop blamin' yourself for things you can't control. Yer dad's wit God cuz he was called, baby. Dem people what passed are wit God cuz dat's how it goes, sometimes. Ainna yer fault, baby. I'm so proud of you for doin' what you did."

More tears rolled down my cheeks, but not sad or overwhelmed ones this time. "Thanks, Mom."

Placing a hand on the back of my head, she pulled me toward her and gently kissed my forehead. "Yer welcome, kid." She smiled at me while I pulled away. "Now, let's get ya inside. Ya need a shower and dat suit needs warshing. Ya both stink."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I'm very thankful that Hannah and Madison taught me how to navigate social media because my millennial butt was not all that good at it. Using the burner phone, I had created "lurker" accounts to simply monitor things. Trying to process what had happened in Texas by looking at news reports on the internet probably was not my best idea. However, I was looking for one submission in particular. In all my years of journalism, I had not really seen someone get such in depth coverage of events from their bedroom like I was seeing on the YouTube channel The Planet Daily.

As I've said before, it was a small channel that started out as a video log–or "vlog", as the kids call it–meant to process the lockdown and events of 2020. In the years following, it had grown to a meager twenty thousand subscribers. The girl running the channel seemed to really have an eye for journalism, even if she's never been in college. That's likely about to change given that she revealed her birthday is approaching in August on a recent video where she'll turn eighteen. I tried to glean as much information as I could before sending a message of any kind. Finding out she had an Instagram account helped my search. Somewhat trembling because I've always been on the side that does the interviews not the side that gets interviewed, I sent her a direct message.

She seemed rather excited, if my claim of being the girl in the cape was legitimate. She asked to meet so that I can prove the authenticity of my claim before she would agree to anything further. Respecting her skepticism, I agreed. Her chosen place to meet was a riddle. She wanted to meet at the birthplace of Superman at 2pm the day following our interaction. I had no idea what she was talking about and she did not elaborate. Even as a fan of comics, I actually had to do some digging to understand what she meant. According to online sources, there were two options: the childhood home of Jerry Siegel or Glenville High School. Both in Cleveland, Ohio.

Funny enough, the day of our appointed meeting was the same day that James Gunn's Superman officially released in theaters. Mom had long since washed the suit after everything it went through in Texas. Dr. Voss' genius in making sure the suit was machine washable had paid off in spades. Stepping into the suit and getting ready for the meeting, I was nervous. With the suit secured and cape flipped, I let Koda out to spend some time with Týr while I was gone. They both benefitted from the experience of time together. The trip to Cleveland was quicker than one might expect. If you don't have to drive, it's just on the other side of Lake Michigan from Sheboygan or Chicago. The hard part was locating the addresses I needed to.

Glenville High School was the first place I sought out. It was the place that the two men who would be the fathers of the incredibly famous Kryptonian met. The first address was the current location of the school. Built in 1966, it wasn't where they actually attended the school. Also, my quarry wasn't there. Next, I tried the old location of the school which had been a two-story brick building that actually had Siegel and Shuster in the halls. That wasn't the meeting location, either. The building had also been demolished a very long time ago and replaced with quiet family homes. No, my quarry had chosen the more obvious location: the still-standing childhood home of Jerome Siegel on Kimberly Avenue.

Sure enough, I had found our meeting location. On the sidewalk outside the house stood a teenager with a pink tank top, denim shorts, and flip-flops on her feet. Over her shoulder, she had draped a satchel that looked to be quite a few years older than she was. Her dark brown hair was twisted into a loose braid and draped over her shoulder. I slowly maneuvered myself downward before calling out to her while still somewhat airborne.

"Miss Lane?" I asked the young woman.

She spun around to meet my eyes. Her gray eyes seemed to reach directly into my soul. "Oh, so you weren't kidding." She leaned against the fence with the red upside-down triangle with an "S" inside. On the opposite fence was a similar triangle filled with information about Jerry Siegel engraved on the surface. "Part of me was skeptical you'd even show up, if I'm being honest."

"Why would you think that?"

"My channel is tiny. Only twenty-K followers. I guess my first question is: why me? I'm sure you've gotten plenty of invitations for interviews recently."

Shrugging, I lowered myself to the ground and finally landed. "Why not? It's clear you've got a nose for journalism, even without having studied communications in college. Your subscriber count might be small compared to other voices on the platform, but even the smallest voice echoes into the void. People hear it." Approaching the sidewalk, I noticed that she was almost a full head shorter than I. My eyes wandered to the iconic house with little bits of Superman memorabilia all over.

"How would you know that much about journalism? You're about the same age as me, I think. Right?"

Slowly, I shook my head. "I might look this way, now, but I'm much older in reality." I let out a sigh and met her eyes again. "Do you now believe that I am whom I claimed to be in our messages?"

She raised an eyebrow at me. "I run on proof. How much older are you?"

"A truth seeker." I smirked. "Mid-forties. Old enough to have three kids and a spouse. My oldest just graduated high school."

"How?"

I shrugged. "Whatever that pulse thing was back in April. It's changed a lot of people, including me. I guess I'm just the most high profile?"

"Got me there. You are the flashy one, I'll give you that. I'm aware of people operating in Seattle, Los Angeles, and New York, so far. The one in New York is more conjecture, but I think she may be legit."

"Based on the previous reporting on your channel, I've no doubt you'll get to the bottom of it. I can confirm the one in Seattle calls herself 'Feedback'. I've met her. I know the one from Los Angeles personally as well. I can't speak to the one in New York."

"Yeah? You can confirm, huh? And what's the name you're going with?"

"Seraphim. I'd like to think of it as an answer to a prayer a poor Jewish woman made for her daughter in 1940, who also happens to be my great-grandmother. I hope to live up to that prayer."

"Seraphim, huh?" She tapped a finger on her lips. "Seraph, the Hebrew meaning 'burning one'. Reference to the angels encircling the throne of God, singing his praises. Why the plural form?"

I shrugged. "It sounded better? The tri-syllabic word rolls off the tongue quite well, don't you think?"

She slowly nodded. "Matches the rhythm of 'Superman', too. You're not afraid you're going to get sued by the company that owns the character?"

"Yes, that was subconsciously intended, I suppose. I didn't actually design the suit. It was made for me. The symbol was also independently created by a graphic designer. Wonderful craftsmanship, don't you think?"

"Oh, it's a lovely suit to get sued in."

I shook my head. "Not the intended purpose." I let out a quick sigh. "I didn't expect to actually endure the interview, just yet. I thought this was a show of faith."

"It is, but I am recording everything. Not video, obviously, but the audio. I'm not trying to come off as a hardass. It's just my nature. I don't really trust anyone."

"Perhaps someday you'll come to trust me." I offered a smile.

"One final question: why don't you wear a mask? Your face is out there to be used in AI facial recognition. Someone's going to figure out who you are, eventually."

"In the world today, there are people hiding their faces and doing heinous acts. They think they can act with impunity and without accountability. My decision to not wear a mask is an effort to be held accountable. I'm not hiding my face because–though I value my everyday anonymity–I act in a public way that isn't without its implications. I'm trying to foster trust. You know my face. You know you can trust me because of what I do. I'm here to help. I'm here to be a friend to those that have none."

"Wow. Someone that actually believes in altruism. Please pinch me."

"Sincerity, empathy, and compassion are some things this world lacks, right now. Isn't it time people had a little hope?"

She hesitated for a long moment. She glanced at the sidewalk and appeared to be thinking. After a time, she raised her eyes to me once more. "Please don't call me 'Miss Lane'. You make me sound like a teacher. I'm Lindsey."

I offered a warm smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lindsey."

"I'll send you the address for a podcast studio a friend will let me use. We'll do a full interview there as soon as we can. Are you still willing to do it?"

I nodded slowly, but firmly. "Of course, Miss Lane–I mean, Lindsey. You let me know and I'll be there."

"You never answered my question: why me? I'm a small channel. I'm nobody."

"We're all somebody, Lindsey."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Seventeen

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eC5OsxKjPlc ))

The farm has always been a place of solace. I'd forgotten that over the years. Having left for college immediately after high school, it had been years since I stepped foot on my parents' farm for more than a few hours at a time through multiple visits. Life in a big city simply moves at a faster pace, even if you live in the suburbs. Mine had been no different. Years had gone by in the blink of an eye. While I had been present for my family, the girls just shot up like weeds and got older. The scent of baby powder and dirty diapers was replaced by multiple beauty products and perfume. Even after I shut down upon getting laid off from the newspaper, our lives seemed content enough. There were opportunities to come together as a family and create some memories. It's just not the same out on a farm. Everything just seems to move slower out here.

Sitting on the back porch steps with my eyes toward the northern horizon, my arms rested on my knees. A mug of coffee occupied one hand and the other was stroking Koda who leaned against my thigh. Týr had finished his self-prescribed morning chores. My mother was whipping up something for breakfast in the kitchen behind me. With no children to shuttle to school, no morning meeting to be punctual for, no breaking news to respond to, and no emergency needing my attention, there was only the ambience of birds singing, crows talking to each other, and the occasional bellow of a cow from somewhere nearby.

My hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a thing called a "scrunchie" my mother had insisted on purchasing for me. An oversized sweatshirt over a tank top covered my upper body while leggings and insulated slippers covered my lower half. I was beginning to truly understand the comfort and utility of leggings my daughters seemed to rave about. I didn't have to wear the glasses Lauren had made for me, though. No closed circuit cameras with facial recognition software out in the middle of nowhere. Everything fit this new body I'd been given rather well and was comfortable enough.

My mind drifted to the possibility of returning to an exclusively male life. I won't say that I hadn't thought about the prospect. Search engines are generally free. Once you sift through all the ads, you can actually find some information. I'd looked into the experiences of transgender men all over the internet. I'd discovered the world of hair cuts, binders, packers, and testosterone treatments. Going deeper, there were top surgeries and bottom surgeries with a variety of testimonies concerning the efficacy of such treatments. The before and after pictures were the most shocking. I had no idea such a world existed and seeing people that could be clearly defined as young women before becoming someone clearly defined as a young man afterward was quite extraordinary. It could be quite possible to perhaps reclaim a life I'd known for forty-five years.

The downsides came quickly, though. There was no guarantee that I could even seek treatment in this sociopolitical climate. Further, I was now once again a dependent of my mother's and her insurance coverage would come into play. While I was working remotely, I was keeping a very small fraction of my pay to sustain myself. Most was going to Laura and the girls. Further still, I truly had no idea what effects this pulse had on my body as a whole. I already knew that needles would not pierce my skin, so the most effective route of intramuscular injections was out of the question. Creams and gels might be an option, but with much slower progression. There was no way to know if my body would accept or reject those changes, anyway. Beyond the medication, I could never do any surgeries. Given some experience with tear gas that I'd had, it would be incredibly unlikely I could even be sedated under general anesthesia. Like the needles, the scalpels likely wouldn't be able to pierce my skin either. At the end of the day, I would still have the skeletal structure of a puberty-influenced human female that stands five-feet-ten-inches. It would never be like it was before when I had the skeletal structure of a puberty-influenced human male that stood close to six-feet-four inches.

There was no going back. I could not change what had happened to me. Pondering all the facts involved, there was only one conclusion I could reach. Like an intersex person with complete androgen insensitivity, I may be forced to remain in this female body I've been given whether I liked the idea or not. It was a sobering thought. Therapy was going to get expensive.

"Kris! Ya gots company!" My mother yelled from the kitchen, thoroughly derailing my train of thought.

"Tell 'em to c'mout here, Ma!" I yelled my request back.

Footfalls reached my ear as someone approached, bypassing the kitchen. "Thanks, Mrs. Kent." A familiar feminine voice spoke to my mother.

Koda stirred and moved to meet the new person. They shared a moment. I could hear him sniffing the guest and start panting happily once his ears got scritches. He joined me once more, satisfied the guest wasn't a threat. Giving his head and neck some rubs, I took a moment to sip my coffee.

"Morning, Lauren." I greeted the guest, not averting my eyes from the horizon.

"Since when do you have a dog?" She inquired. "That's new. I don't think I ever remember a dog on the farm before." She moved to lean on the railing over my left shoulder.

"We've had a few out here. We didn't when I was in high school. I was broken up over losing two of them because the neighbor used some nasty pesticide in one of their fields." My head hung in remembrance. "Couple of really good hounds. Spent a good few years with 'em. Haven't had a dog since then."

"And you neglected to tell your best friend this because... ?" She wondered.

"Never came up. Too painful rememberin' how they died." Shaking my head, I would have liked very much to get those images out of my head. "Koda was rescued from a fire. He needed a good home." My head finally turned toward her. "What brings you up north?"

Her hair was a little shorter than the last time we'd seen each other. New haircut, I guess. With summer in full swing, the tank top and denim shorts seemed practical enough. She shook her head at me. "Business, I'm afraid. I've uncovered some finished intelligence cables from AVS to DHS. Sounds like they're going to coordinate a raid with ICE fairly soon. Sounds like a big one. A lot bigger than the Home Depot or the cannabis farm raids over in California, at any rate."

"How much bigger?"

"You know that industrial area just east of Oak Park?"

"I'm familiar. There's tons of places over there and the freight rail tracks spread into it."

"Pretty much that whole area. The focus is on Chicago Beverage Systems that's owned by Reyes Holdings, but that doesn't mean they're not going to raid Damron, Graphic Packaging, or any of the other businesses in the area. They're going to hit it hard, too. From what I've read, just about every ICE agent or AVS operative in the area is going to be committed to it."

"Where's your second source?"

"What?"

"Lauren, we're journalists. We always have other sources, right?"

"Yes, but the two or three I was in contact with couldn't confirm or deny the cables. I'm getting stiff-armed, but these shouldn't be ignored. We've got to do something."

"We?" I looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not sitting by on the sidelines, anymore, Kris. I'm going this time. Dr. Voss made me a good suit. It took a while to put together, but it's just as tough as yours. Don't worry. I'm not going to be getting my hands dirty on the ground. That's for you to do with your insane strength. Drones, I can do. Ripping open an APC is outside my skillset."

"You sure about this?"

Her face became almost expressionless but determined. "I'm sure. In the field, call me 'Veritas'."

I stood and turned toward her. "Pleasure to meet you, Veritas. I'm Seraphim."

"Finally settled on a name, huh?"

"No, yeah, took me a—" My explanation was broken off by the burner phone ringing. According to the screen, Lt. Henderson was calling. "Well, well... if it isn't that second source we needed." Tapping the green button, I put the phone to my ear. "You've got Seraphim."

"Who is that?" Lt. Henderson's slightly distorted voice asked. "I'm looking for the girl in blue and red. This her?"

"This is the number you called, is it not, Lieutenant? I know it's not widely known, yet, but I've settled on a codename. We'll use it from now on."

"Whatever you want, Blue." He let out a quick sigh. "I've got some intel for you."

"Can I put you on speaker, Lieutenant?"

"If you think it's safe, fine."

Pressing the button, I spoke toward the phone in hopes that Lauren would hear Lt. Henderson. "Okay, go ahead."

Again, he let out a sigh. "Okay, so you know: Illinois is a 'sanctuary state'. We're under orders not to participate with these guys unless they have a judicial warrant, but they only ever have administrative warrants that don't hold up. That said, I've been hearing from a few people around that they know a big raid is about to happen. They mentioned some company that's gonna pay them off-duty."

"Did you happen to catch the name of the company, Lieutenant?" I asked while likely already knowing the answer.

"American Vanguard Solutions. It's some merc company that sprang up in the last couple years. Ever since people with powers have been appearing, they've been working alongside ICE to do some raids and cover their own behinds."

"That is known, Lieutenant. To those paying attention, anyway. They're rounding up citizens to screen them for their potential of having some kind of powers. It's a 'guilty until proven innocent' affair." I rolled my eyes. "Any idea when this is all going to coalesce?"

"Sounds like it's going to happen tomorrow. Some time around 11am, I think." He cleared his throat. "You should know that you are their number one target. Ever since you've been taking out the planes they're using to get people around the country faster, they've been out for you. I don't think they've got anything that'll hold you at all, but be safe regardless. I think you're doing some good things out there. Keep it up."

Narrowing my eyes, I nodded. "Count on it, Lieutenant. Thanks." Hanging up the phone, I glanced at Lauren. "Looks like we've got our confirmation. Get on the horn and alert the local organizations. We'll try to deter this action first and intervene if we have to."

She nodded firmly. "Got it. Seraphim and Veritas are on the case!"

"You not go alone." Týr's voice dripped with conviction as he almost seemed to appear out of nowhere. I watched as he closed his iron hand into a fist and clenched it tight. "I go."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, Týr and I came into town quite early. We had coffee with Lauren and went over our game plan. I had brought a backpack with my suit inside. For once, Týr had clothes from the current century: a T-shirt, pair of jeans, good boots, and a red flannel he seemed rather partial to. For all the world, he looked like Chris Hemsworth as Thor in the first movie but with red hair. He carried a satchel with a set of armor he'd fetched from a cache back in Iceland. Lauren told me that Dr. Voss had fashioned her a suit, but was very tight-lipped about it until she was ready for the debut. Mostly, we covered communications. Lauren had fashioned some earbuds for Týr and I to wear that would also allow us to communicate with her. She was very much becoming the tech genius of our little group. How she went from investigative reporter to tech genius is still a mystery to me. Perhaps it had always been a hobby she kept close to the chest?

After formulating our plan and networking with the local protest movement, all three of us piled into Lauren's car and headed for the likely location of the raid. Týr wasn't a fan of the low ceilings and voiced that he'd much rather be flying. Frankly, I couldn't blame him because I would rather fly as well but we had to keep a lower profile and not tip off ICE or AVS to our presence this early in the game. If they were to turn and run too early it would defeat the purpose we had for today: to send a message that we would not stand for their tactics any longer. Chicago was not going to allow anything similar to events in Los Angeles to occur, nor were we. Innocent people being apprehended and locked away without due process was not something we were going to allow anymore.

Lauren parked in the lot right across from the building in question just off North Kilbourn Avenue. We had tried to not seem conspicuous and park so close to the building, but there really weren't that many accessible parking lots or facilities nearby that fit our needs. It would have to do. We crossed the street and darted toward the south end of the building. Once we found an inconspicuous spot, Týr jumped to the top and served as a lookout. Given the all-clear, I took Lauren's hand and floated to the roof with her.

On the roof, we had a whole expanse to survey the surroundings. The roof was flat with very few things protruding off the surface. Changing into a suit would be a challenge. Týr ran over to some air conditioning vents that covered from his belly button down, which worked for men. Lauren, however, started taking off her oversized T-shirt to reveal she was mostly already wearing her suit. It was a marvel, to be sure. All I had to do was utilize my super speed and nobody would see me changing.

Lauren's suit seemed to be made of some kind of leather and fabric composite with reinforcement that made it look like some kind of armor. The majority of it was a silver-gray, similar to a color called "gun metal", with green accents. The reinforcement made her chest, stomach, arms, legs, shoulders, writs, and pelvic region stand out. They were like inlaid panels of armor. It had pauldrons, bracers, leg plates, a chest plate, shin plates, and even a hood. It seemed to be the love child of Oliver Queen's iconic third suit from the Arrowverse and Natasha Romanov's suit from the MCU. She even had a half helmet she slipped on that reminded me of Captain America's helmet from the first Avengers film, but featured lenses over her eyes like Spider-Man that glowed the same green as the accents on the rest of her suit. There was a prominent "V" on her forehead and chest.

"Dr. Voss truly outdid herself." I stated toward the sight before me.

Lauren's exposed mouth smirked. "She really did, didn't she? Told you it was something to behold."

"And you did not disappoint."

She pulled gloves and boots that were the same silver-gray of the suit out of her bag before slipping them on. "Suit up, Seraphim. We've got a job to do."

I nodded to her before the world around me slowed to a crawl. The T-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, and hoodie I was wearing came off and I pulled the suit out of my bag. In the next moment, I slipped it on, zipped it up so it conformed to my body, then flipped the cape over my head. After slipping on my boots, I stuffed my other clothes in my bag before the world returned to normal speed. I smirked at Lauren.

She rolled her eyes. "Show off."

She and I positioned ourselves at the lip of the roof as a crowd gathered at the southern end of North Kilbourn Avenue. No matter if they came from the Broadview facility or the one downtown, they'd have to cross the tracks to get into the industrial area. The only other entry was from the North at Chicago Avenue. We were prepared for either possibility. Lauren checked the time. It was only 10:30 am.

"Is time?" Týr asked over my shoulder.

This caused me to turn and look at him. He looked to be half museum piece and half modern adaptation of what a Norse warrior might have looked like. His boots and pants were fairly standard fare. There was a sort of undergarment that hung to his knees. Overtop of that was a collection of a chainmail shirt and various leather or metal embellishments. His chest was covered in some kind of cuirass that bore a single rune on the chest: Tiwaz, the upward arrow attributed to him. There were pauldrons on his shoulders and bracers on his wrists. Overtop his shoulder pauldrons hung a single bit of fur that extended halfway down his back. If he had a shield with a sword or axe, he'd be the best dressed cast member of the Vikings television show. His brown furrowed with determination as his eyes scanned the crowd below us.

"Not yet, big guy. First, we have to wait." I responded.

Týr sighed in defeat. Meanwhile, Lauren had been fidgeting with her gloves and bracers. I hadn't noticed before, but there seemed to be a lot of hidden buttons. My eyes caught sight of several small objects coming out of the car we'd arrived in. The sound reaching my ears suggested they were small drones. I didn't know what purpose they would serve.

"Maybe you should say a few words?" Lauren suggested.

My eyes blinked rapidly. "What? Why?"

She turned to me. "Are you kidding? You've become a symbol. You've saved people from all manner of mishaps here in the city. You broke those two people out of AVS custody just a couple weeks ago. Heck, you went all the way down to Texas and single-handedly insured the survival of over a hundred people. Have you even been online? Týr and I might be dressed like heroes, but you legitimately are one. You're the talk of the country."

Letting out a breath, I nodded. "Yes, I've been online. I've seen what's being said. I'm apparently the 'Champion of the Oppressed'. Even given that, you know I've never enjoyed public speaking. Yes, I won some awards in high school, but that was almost thirty years ago and they were prepared statements. You've even watched me fall flat while attempting improv. What am I even supposed to say?"

"Speak from your heart. Inspire these people to do the right thing. It's your whole M.O. my friend."

Returning my gaze to the growing crowd beneath us, I focused on what they might be saying to one another. There was a lot of anger and hurt in their voices. The empathy of the people in the gathering crowd was enormous. Come what may, they were out here to do what they could to protect vulnerable members of society against tyranny. Still, some were talking about methods they might entertain to stop the stormtroopers that would be arriving in short order. Lauren was right: they needed someone to talk to them and appeal to their better morals. While helping potential innocent victims, they could not react in a manner that would put themselves or those they were trying to help in danger.

Turning around, the world slowed to a crawl all around me. I ran the length of the building and leapt into the air. At the apex of the jump, I willed myself to fly. At a reasonable speed, I circled around the area and resolved to approach from the north. At a few hundred feet above the ground, I could see quite a long distance but still did not catch sight of anything that might be construed as a vehicle used by ICE or AVS. Coming down Kilbourn, I approached the gathering crowd, greeted by cheers. Thankful for the admiration, I still did my best to quiet them down. There was a bit of murmuring among the growing crowd that was likely about to be more than two thousand. Those closest to me smiled and referred to me as the "Windy City Wonder", which caused me to chuckle. All I requested was a megaphone. It took a moment to get one, but it was delivered quickly. I thanked whomever donated it and promised to return it.

I'd never used one of these things before, so it was a little difficult to figure out at first. Once I stopped trying to damage everyone's ears with the high-pitched squeal noises, I willed myself upward and floated a few feet above the crowd. As one might expect, all eyes were on me.

Putting the device to my lips, I pulled the activation trigger and spoke. "Good morning! Can everyone hear me?" The crowd erupted in confirmation. Smiling, I continued, "First of all, I want to thank all of you for taking the time out of your day to be here. I want to thank the organizers of the Illinois Coalition for Immigrant and Refugee Rights for responding to the call from my friend Veritas and ensuring that you are all here, this morning. In case you hadn't heard, I am Seraphim."

Taking a breath, I knew what I said in the next few minutes would need to be impactful. "If you knew me personally, you'd be aware that I'm better with writing my thoughts rather than speaking them. I'm not someone that's terribly good at speeches." I took a quick breath. "But I also know that someone has to speak for those whose voices are being suppressed."

With my free hand, I pointed at the Chicago Beverage Systems building behind me. "There are people in that building that are just going about their work day with no idea what's about to happen. They didn't ask for this. They didn't ask to be exploited by a machine that treats them like numbers on a spreadsheet. They didn't ask to be vilified by an administration that doesn't believe they're people. They're here putting in an honest day's work and hoping for an honest day's pay. They're trying to feed, clothe, and house their families. They are not criminals with nefarious intentions."

Lowering my arm, I looked at the crowd. "Look around you at the person in front of, to the side, and behind you. Is their hair color different from yours? Their eye color? The tint of their skin? The clothes they wear? As people, we have our differences. That's the spice of life. It's the amazing thing we call 'humanity'. These are your neighbors, your fellow church goers, your coworkers, your brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, cousins, and, yes, even friends. These are the faces of Chicago and by extension the great country we call home."

After taking a beat to think, I continued. "The people on their way here don't want you to feel that community. They dress up like soldiers and claim to be law enforcement. They hide their identities and claim it's for accountability. They carry weapons of war and claim it's for safety. They will claim they are here to capture and detain criminals—both immigrants and people with powers. We know it's all a lie. We know that the brutality is the point. They are coming to show force and sow fear. They want you to be afraid, lay down, and just accept this new reality they are trying to create. They want you to be quiet. I'm here to say what you already know: there is another way. There's always another way.

"I have learned the hard way that true strength is showing vulnerability, compassion, and empathy. Without those things, you don't have mercy and strength without mercy is cruelty. I have carried buses and ambulances over my head and they felt to me like they were made of cardboard. I don't know the full scope of what I can do with my strength, but I do know that the heaviest things I have ever carried were the hopes, dreams, and wellbeing of a nine year old girl I pulled out of a catastrophically flooded river not too long ago, the promise of an infant child rescued from a fire safely into his mother's arms, a newborn into its mother's arms after she was the victim of a car accident, and the promise to a young boy that he'll get to see the dog he raised from a puppy some day.

"I didn't ask for this. I was once a middle-aged man with a beautiful wife and three wonderful children. I had an education from a great college and a career that maybe I didn't like so much," I paused as the crowd chuckled. "Now, I look like what you might think of as a child with way too much power. At least, that's what AVS might want you to think. They want you to be afraid of people like me — afraid of what you don't understand. It shouldn't be a requirement to show that you've put in the work. Dignity and personal agency shouldn't be predicated on whether or not you're 'one of the good ones'. Everyone deserves their right to life, liberty, and their own pursuit of happiness, whatever that means for them." My eyes scanned the crowd. "I've had a lot taken from me. My wife. My kids. My career. My manhood. By the logic of bad actors, I should be one of the most evil beings this world has ever seen. Instead, I chose to put on this suit. I chose to be there for people that need it the most. I chose to be better. Like you, I choose to be here in this moment ready to stand against bad actors and protect the vulnerable."

"I must ask you one thing: do not answer their violence with your own. Stand firm against the tide but do not put yourself in harm's way. Today is about standing for what is right. It's about making a statement that we will not allow anyone's liberty to be traded for so-called security. It's about the people inside. It's about letting ICE and AVS know that we will not stand for them trampling our Constitution. Non-violence is no weakness – it is discipline. We will meet their brutality with resolve. Let the world see who they are and, by extension, who we are: the people of Chicago standing against injustice."

"If they threaten violence, rest assured that I will stand between them and you. Let them come after me. I can take it."

I lowered my head and smiled as a thought crossed my mind. "I'm reminded of a quote that better writers than I came up with. It's from the funeral of Margaret Elizabeth Carter and spoken by her niece, Sharon Carter. She said, 'Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right... even if the whole world is telling you to move... it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say 'No, you move.'

"Today, I plan to do exactly that. The winds of oppression are nothing compared to the winds off Lake Michigan in the winter. As people of the 'Windy City', we know we can stand firm against this."

I released the trigger and lowered the megaphone. The crowd was silent for a moment before erupting into a sea of cheers and promises of solidarity.

The device in my ear crackled to life. "Did I get all that on video? You bet I did." Lauren announced through the communications. "Will it go viral? Probably, but that doesn't matter so much as that exact message getting out. Nice work, Seraphim."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Eighteen

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

((Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sYpCMLW2n_Q))

We didn't have to wait long. The various trucks, unmarked cars, panel vans, and APCs came rolling into the area ten minutes before 11 am. They fooled us a little. They didn't come from the south as we expected. They had hoped to foil our blockade by coming from the north. Lauren's drones picked them up turning off Chicago Avenue. The two columns of opposing forces, one being the motorcade from the north and the other being over two thousand humans on foot from the south, were about to meet like army forces of the 18th Century. Hoping to serve as a buffer between the two, I marched on foot at the front of the column of people. It was absolutely clear whose side I was on.

"This may get ugly, Seraphim." Lauren warned over the comms. "I've got some drones set to record and others set to live stream. Let's hope nobody does anything stupid."

"That's the plan, Veritas: remain peaceful." I stated as our column marched to meet the vehicles that largely had no livery designating their affiliation.

As we marched, our column began to fan outward in an attempt to box in the ICE officials. They stopped at the intersection of Kilbourn and Ohio, in front of a mattress factory. There was really no way to know whether that was their intended target or one they settled on because there were so many people in front of the other factory. Undeterred by our approach, agents filtered out of the various vehicles. They looked like an invading army dressed in the camouflage fatigues, tactical gear, faces covered, and weapons slung across their torsos. I didn't know enough about weapons to know if the ones they carried were lethal or non-lethal. I held onto the hope that they were non-lethal. There was very little coordination of their movements as some moved to block the crowd from interfering while some made their way toward the doorway of the mattress factory.

There was mounting evidence that the crowd would not reach the agents before they breached the building. Time was of the essence and I might be the only person present that was fast enough to head off these agents. I spoke into the comms. "I'm going in."

Without waiting for any reply, I began to walk faster than the crowd. My eyes searched for the location of the group headed to the building. In the next moment, the world slowed to a crawl as I ran toward the factory entrance. It was clear that perhaps they weren't anticipating my participation in today's events. With a column of seven agents within two meters of the entrance, I ran and put myself between them and the door. The world returned to normal speed. The wannabe soldiers with patches only showing text that read "Police", "ESO", "HSI", "DHS", or "ICE" on them came to an unsure halt a few feet in front of me as I narrowed my eyes on them. Their immediate response was to raise their weapons on me. I stood my ground.

"Metahuman! Move!" One yelled at me.

My stern expression remained unchanged. "No. You move."

The reply was a face full of pepper spray from one of the agents. I stood like nothing happened because, from my perspective, nothing had. It didn't affect me at all. I could smell it, but it otherwise had no effect. When that didn't work like they'd hoped, two quickly moved to grab me–one on each arm. They put their full force into the interaction but I didn't move a millimeter. Frustrated, they grew more forceful but the effort was futile. I didn't budge.

"I will not allow you to harm the innocent people inside this building." I told them. "Go back to wherever you came from and leave this city."

"STOP RESISTING!" The man with a typical middle-age-spread physique on my left arm yelled in my ear.

"No." Was my reply.

"You are under arrest for obstruction, metahuman! Stop resisting!" The other man on my right who seemed a little younger shouted.

In the next second, three more joined in and tried to get a hand on me. One grabbed my cape and tried to pull me in various directions with it. In my own head, the laughter could not be contained. Outwardly, I maintained a stoic, steadfast expression. Their efforts were genuinely funny. Seven grown men couldn't move me so much as a millimeter, try as they might. The solace for me in the situation was that the longer they tried to wrestle me to the ground meant more time for the people inside the building to enjoy their freedom.

"Movement from the south," Lauren announced over the comms. "Looks like AVS vehicles coming this way. I can sense two powered people in the bottling plant and three more in that crowd of protestors. Stay alert."

Meanwhile, the men were still yelling at me to stop resisting. They were putting in a great deal of effort to arrest me for getting in their way. One of the men further back fired off a few rounds of something at my forehead. A couple of those rounds struck the men trying to detain me. From the smell of them, it seemed like they might be the pepper balls I'd heard of being used in Los Angeles. They were the same solution as what was being put into pepper spray but in paintball form.

"Ow!" One of the men trying to apprehend me squealed. "Dammit, Dietrich! We're right here without masks on and having a hard enough time bringing this little bitch down! Knock it off!"

Narrowing my eyes further on him, I was now a little angry. All I had to do was move aggressively in one direction or another and all six men trying to wrestle me to the ground were flung backward off of me. I took one step forward and tapped the man on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, but this isn't the time to throw around slurs." I interjected. "What a small man you must be to justify seven men piling on and trying to subdue one 'little bitch', as you call it. I suggest therapy."

He spun around to face me, his face obscured by a neck gaiter and his eyes by sunglasses. "How about you shut the fuck up, put your hands behind your back, and stop resisting!" He noticed the men starting to get back up after I knocked them down. He immediately pulled a gun from its holster. "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! NOW!"

I didn't flinch. "No."

He fired four rounds at me, alarming just about everyone else. The other agents immediately turned toward me, leveling their weapons on me. The gathered crowd of protestors let out screams and lowered themselves to the ground. The world once again slowed to a crawl as I began moving. I grabbed his firearm out of his hands and moved back to the spot I had been standing in front of the building and held up the pistol. When the speed of the world resumed, I was standing a little bit away from him. My arm was outstretched with his pistol in my hand. I slowly closed my hand into a fist, crushing the firearm in the process.

"The violence ends now." I stated plainly as the color drained from the face of the man before me.

"AVS confirmed at the bottling plant. Four vehicles spotted." Lauren stated over the comms.

"Seraphim busy. I will handle." Týr replied.

Part of me was curious to know what he meant by "handle" but the more dominant part reminded me to stay focused on the task at hand for the moment. These agents had escalated the situation to deadly force. So far, only I had been on the receiving end of the muzzle flash. There was definitely a risk the agents would turn that force on the protestors and I was not going to let that happen. Taking a breath, my eyes met the sunglasses lenses of the agents around me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you cannot hurt me. You cannot move me. You will not breach this factory." I stated in a calm voice but projected so they could hear me. "I've no intention of harming you. I would hope you have no intentions of harming either the good people gathered here to exercise their First Amendment rights or the Fourth Amendment rights of the people within this building. I ask that you turn around and head back to your headquarters, then tell your superiors that Chicago is off limits. Your operation will be a failure so long as I am here."

The squeak of feedback from a microphone sounded. I had to bring my hands to my ears because of it. Then, a gruff male voice shouted. "GET ON THE GROUND, METAHUMAN! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!"

"I am a citizen of these United States. You do not have the authority to detain me and I will not comply."

"Oh, this is going viral. I'm getting over one hundred thousand viewers on the live stream. We're getting a lot of vocal support for this. Keep it up." Lauren informed me over comms.

None of this was about fame or views. I could really care less if something I was doing was popular or not. All I knew was what the President and his cronies were doing was wrong on several levels. Someone had to intervene on behalf of the innocent people that were being caught up in some warped crusade to "make America great again". This wasn't greatness. It was cowardice and prejudice.

A hatch popped open on a couple of the military surplus APCs that ICE had brought. Out of the hatches appeared a single man with some sort of device that I couldn't quite decipher. After a moment, I heard several "thunk" sounds from those devices/weapons. In the next moment, there were explosions. They had fired flashbang grenades over the protestors which was answered by frightened screams. The sound of aluminum hitting asphalt followed and white smoke began to form. If they couldn't get to me, they were going to go after the protestors. Not on my watch. It didn't seem at all that these ICE enforcers were going to respond to calls to their better selves. They were out to cause violence. There had to be a way to solve this. There's always another way.

For so long these agents have had masks over their faces and existed in the realm of anonymity. It's well known in psychology that the veil of anonymity is a heck of a drug that lowers adherence to social norms as well as increasing aggressive and anti-social behavior. Any news story about 4Chan in the past fifteen years confirms the phenomenon. The veil of anonymity in online spaces has certainly widened the divisions already present in people of the 21st Century. Mix in a heavy dose of unchecked power and a sense of impunity to produce a volatile soup that has become of the Immigration & Customs Enforcement agency. Their actions are those of fascists. What are fascists allergic to? The truth.

"Veritas, encircle your drones around the ICE agents." I requested. "I'll buy you some time. Be prepared to get photographs in a clockwise manner from my current position."

"What are you going to do, Seraphim?" She wondered.

"Expose the truth and see that justice is done someday."

Hearing the little motors on the drones get a little louder, I knew they were moving into the formation I requested. Meanwhile, the world once again slowed to a crawl as I leapt laterally then willed myself to hover in mid-air near the agents. I gave them all a similar stern look that I might use with my daughters when they step out of line. The world returned to normal speed.

"I am going to give you one last chance: disengage now." I demanded. "I would advise you to find a different line of work. What you're doing is wrong."

My answer was a rapid fire of pepper balls and rubber bullets that would cause extreme discomfort or seriously injure anyone else this sort of onslaught was visited upon. They didn't care.

"Suit yourself. Veritas, begin."

Once again, the world slowed to a crawl. I landed and began running around on the level the most agents were on. My idea was two fold: I would remove the masks and any other articles they were using to conceal their identities, then I would also relieve them of all their weapons. It was frankly rather extensive work. I had to move in such a way that the intended action was performed and no one was injured. When you're moving that fast and have the kind of strength that I do, delicate movements are the key. Everyone around me looked a lot like a department store mannequin, so I treated them as such. I removed sunglasses and ballcaps. I pulled down masks and neck gaiters. I took sidearms and any other firearms then unceremoniously crushed them. I took their paintball guns with pepper balls as well as their rubber bullet launchers, crushing them as well. Their flashbangs and gas grenades were removed from their gear as well. I took everything from them they might use to harm anyone in the vicinity. While I was at it, I gathered the gas grenades off the ground and threw them into the air. It's likely they could have gone into orbit.

When everything was done, I returned to the same spot I had been hovering in before. When the world returned to normal speed, there was panic. For once, it wasn't the protestors doing the panicking. Shutter sounds echoed through the area as Lauren's drones took photos and catalogued the faces of every single agent in attendance. They gasped when they realized they had none of their weapons, lethal or non-lethal. They seemed to scramble for a few moments. Now was my time to narrow my eyes on them.

"I tried to warn you, ladies and gentlemen. Now I'm not asking. Get out of my city. Quit your job. What you're doing is wrong and it will not continue. Wherever you threaten the livelihood, safety, and security of the people I have taken under my charge, I will be there to stop you. Your days of terrorizing the people of Chicago with impunity ends here. Get in your vehicles and leave."

Without their faces covered or their weapons, the agents were on the back foot. They learned very quickly that I am not to be underestimated or trifled with. In haste, they loaded back into their various vehicles and quickly left the scene with their tails between their legs. They had been outmatched and every tool of oppression they had used was taken away from them. People with that much bluster and willing to visit that much violence on people are not strong men. They're cowards masquerading in the worst cosplay ever seen.

The crowd of protestors erupted in cheers all around me.

"That was amazing, Seraphim!" Veritas shouted. "I got all of it! We'll be able to cross-reference databases and employ facial recognition to expose these assholes all over the place! So much for their veil of secrecy!"

"Could use help." Týr finally chimed in. "Girl here turn to magma. Agents trying to get to her. She could melt my hand. Much fire."

With a nod to the crowd of protestors, I jolted myself in the air toward the beverage factory. There were five military grade APCs around the entrance and all of them bore the logo for American Vanguard Solutions. Part of my brain wanted to ascertain how deeply AVS had their tentacles into taxpayers' money through the Department of Homeland Security but that would have to wait. Unfortunately most of the personnel had gone inside, leaving only the drivers in the vehicles left outside. I also had a sneaking suspicion it might be a little easier to convince the AVS people to leave than it had been for ICE.

Entering the building, I encountered a lot of fire and an unhealthy amount of smoke. The world slowed to a crawl as I made my way through the building. There was a situation to attend to, yes, but I wanted to make sure people were able to leave the building if they needed to. Thankfully, there were only one or two people in the entire building that hadn't been able to evacuate. Getting them out was easy enough.

Finally, I found myself in the belly of the problem. There were fires all around the area that would have to be dealt with, of course. Though, a lot of my attention was on a 10-foot tall person that seemed to be entirely made of lava with fire-glowing eyes and fire for hair. There were no legs to speak of. Just arms of fury, eyes of rage, and did I mention the hair was just fire and smoke?

"Good golly, if I didn't know any better I would believe that was an animatronic Te Ka right there before me!" I exclaimed.

"Seraphim, seriously?! A Moana reference?!" Veritas objected.

"I have a daughter less than ten years old. I've seen it hundreds of times."

"Less talking. More helping." Týr grumbled.

"Right. Drag AVS out of here and stand guard over the door. I'll get these fires out and have a word with Te Ka, here." I suggested.

"I like dragging idea." Týr admitted. The next thing I heard below me and over the comms was some kind of war cry in a language I had no hope of deciphering.

Moving quickly, I moved in a circle and utilized my frost breath to tame the fires. It took a little time, but they were eventually under control. I landed gently before the lava creature and looked into what I think was the eyes. Behind me, there were agents barking orders at Týr who obviously wasn't listening. From the sound of it, there were at least six bodies dragging on the ground behind the big guy. I held my arms up to the lava thing in surrender. What I interpreted from the individual was fear more than anger or malice. Thus, I acted accordingly.

"I'm not here to hurt you." I told the form before me.

"You're with them!" The thing actually talked and seemed to screech. I think she was female. There was no way to tell in this form for certain, but I remembered Týr saying something about it. Maybe he had seen her transform into this?

Next thing I know, an arm coiled itself and then smacked me with a backhand. I've been hit before. However, I'd never actually been struck in a way that affected me until that moment from anyone other than Týr. The strike sent me careening into some factory equipment that will likely never work again after this. I wasn't hurt but actually being moved by a hit was different. Collecting myself, I slowly walked back to where I was standing before with my hands up in surrender the whole time.

"No, I'm not associated with American Vanguard Solutions and I condemn their actions." I told the lava form in front of me. "I'm actually here to protect you from them. Sorry I was late. Dealing with ICE at the mattress factory held me up. The man with the metal hand is a friend of mine. His name is Týr, by the way."

The lava being cocked its head to the side and the eyes looked astonishingly expressive. It almost seemed to be raising an eyebrow at me. "You're fightin' those goons?"

"Yes, I am. I've dedicated myself to protecting the people of Chicago. That means all the people from all over the area... even the superpowered ones."

The lava being scoffed. "This ain't no superpower. I'm cursed."

I lowered my hands, rather certain I wasn't going to get hit again. "That's not true."

"Easy for you to say, gringa. Did you sprout tits in moments and end up the same age as your own niece? Not only that, you got racial-profiling ICE and their AVS friends breathing down your neck just 'cause you're broke and brown? Didn't think so."

I took a long breath. "While I can't say I have the exact same experience as you, I can say that I basically became a female twin of my eldest daughter. The world around me seems to be made of cardboard and one little slip up can really hurt someone. That much I understand. I'm doing what I can to help with the rest. I'm sorry you're dealing with so much."

"How old were you... before?"

"Forty-five. You?"

"Thirty-six. My baby girl had just turned three." The lava being seemed to be getting smaller before my eyes. "How old are you now?"

"Seventeen. I live with my mom, if you can believe it." I smirked.

As the being shrank, it became more and more human. "Same. Only reason I got this job is because I have a buddy that forged some papers."

"I get it: you're just trying to survive. It's not right that ICE and AVS are rounding people up the way they are."

Finally, the form solidified into a Hispanic teenager. I could clearly hear her voice, finally. "No, it ain't. What are you gonna do about it?"

"Everything I can. You have a name? I'm Seraphim."

"They're callin' me 'Alma', these days."

I offered a smile. "Well, Alma, why don't you get out of here and maybe go hug that little girl of yours real tight. They grow up quicker than you think. My oldest just graduated high school."

Her eyes teared up. "I will. Thanks." She turned to run out the back door.

"You're welcome."

"Coast is clear, Seraphim. We've got AVS leaving the scene as we speak. Nice work, everybody."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sitting in a small, meticulously arranged studio in a basement in Ohio would not have been on my list of things to accomplish after the showdown in Chicago. There would no doubt be ramifications for the actions taken, but I was keeping a promise. The chair I had been given was comfortable enough but I never knew how to sit anymore. There are so many social expectations on someone perceived to be a young woman that baffled me. I opted for the classic pose of sitting up straight with one leg crossed over the other. It was simple and should pass expectations.

The young woman across from me in a chair of her own wore a simple white and short-sleeved blouse, gray vest, and nicely pressed tan slacks. She wore very little makeup where I wore none. Her posture was a little more slouching but her ankles were crossed near the floor. Her dark brown hair was tied in a no-nonsense ponytail and her almost gray blue eyes focused on the cameras before she looked at me.

"You ready for this? I'm not going to pull any punches and we're likely going to be the talk of the internet for the next week," Lindsey Lane cautioned me with a large notepad sitting in her lap.

"Admittedly, I'm a bit nervous, but I'm ready for people to see what I might have to say about some things." I answered her.

"Your funeral." She joked before turning to click the mouse that sat on a little table beside her. She offered a smile to a camera that sat far enough to her right—my left—that it gave a panoramic view of both she and I in our seats. "Hello, everyone! Welcome to The Planet Daily. We are now live on Twitch, YouTube, Facebook, and Instagram. You can listen through audio on the app formerly known as Twitter as well. I'm your host, Lindsey Lane. With me today is probably someone the chat is going crazy about right now, the enigmatic Seraphim. She's come out of the woodwork and made a name for herself over the course of the past couple of months." She then turned to me. "Seraphim..."

I straightened my posture a little. "Miss Lane."

Lindsey rolled her eyes at me. "Right. The first and most pertinent question, as I see it, is: why put on the suit and do what you do?"

"Great question." I smiled while finding a good answer in my head. "Originally, the suit was a pragmatic choice. I needed something that could withstand many of the things that I can. The first thing I did that people might remember is subdue someone with fire-based powers in a mall. The fire burned my clothing. I thought it would be a bad look if my clothing couldn't handle the same things I can."

Lindsey clicked her pen before speaking. "So, why intervene at all? At the time, weren't you just some bystander in that same mall going about your business like everybody else?"

"I was, yes. Like many people at the time, I was just trying to buy some clothes. When I heard the frightened screams, I felt like I had to act. At that time, I knew what sort of powers I had and how they might be applied in some situations. I had the ability to protect people who might be frightened or hurt, so I did."

"No hesitation on your part whatsoever?"

"No. None at all. People were scared and someone might be hurt. That's all that mattered to me."

"What made you decide a suit was the best idea?"

"Again, in that confrontation with the young man with fire powers, my clothes were burned and I was afraid that similar situations might create 'not safe for work' videos based on how many people were filming me. It was about maintaining modesty and practicality."

"Could you set the record straight on whether or not you were the person seen on the SkyCam footage back in May of this year?"

"I was the person in the footage."

"So, you had an idea about the color scheme for your costume–or uniform–all the way back in May?"

"No, I didn't. That was a joke from..." My brain wanted to say 'my daughter' but caught itself before continuing. "...a friend. She had red leggings, a yellow shirt, and a blue hoodie she put me in before we went to a park to test my powers. I was still in a veil of denial at that time."

"Denial that you had powers and what had happened to you was reality or not?"

"Yes and no? When the event occurred on April 29th, I would imagine everyone dealing with the ramifications was in some level of denial throughout May. I didn't really have the luxury of denying the reality of what had occurred. On April 28th, I was a forty-five year old man stuck in a corporate rut. By April 30th, I was a seventeen year old girl with superpowers. I don't believe my experience is an isolated incident."

"There is evidence of other people affected by this event that came out the other end with superpowers. I've got sources confirming someone in Seattle, Los Angeles, New York, and even as far as Puerto Rico."

"I can confirm personal knowledge of the woman in Seattle and the one in Los Angeles, personally. I know them both."

"How do you know them, exactly?"

"I can't disclose that, Miss Lane. To protect their safety and mine, I won't."

"Would you say that putting on the suit is also a way to protect your safety?"

"In a round about way, yes. For the record: I did not design my suit, but I did have approval or veto power." I tapped my chest. "Not even this emblem was my creativity, but that of others. The designer of the suit is Dr. Ingrid Voss and she'll be glad I told you. She's very proud of it. The designer of the emblem doesn't wish to be named publicly."

She wrote something on her notepad before looking at me with a raised eyebrow. "Are you not afraid of an impending legal battle? The suit bears a striking resemblance to a certain character that belongs to Warner Brothers Discovery and DC Comics through them."

"I raised that concern myself. Given that I practically appear to be a Rule 63 of the character and have all the powers, I thought going for a similar costume design might raise more than a few eyebrows." I admitted. "Dr. Voss is very confident that will not be the case. Neither she nor I have been contacted by Warner Brothers Discovery by way of a cease and desist order, as of this moment."

"So why tread that line and design the suit in such a way?"

"The similarities are there for a reason: they're recognizable. Even people that have never consumed a single piece of media about Superman know who he is and what he generally looks like. They see the blue suit, red trunks and boots and cape, as well as the yellow accents and know that person is a force for good. When I first went to see Dr. Voss, I was simply there to ask what sort of materials a suit like this might be made of based on the needs I had. She volunteered to design and produce the suit based on my answers to her questions."

"What were those questions?"

"My intentions. She, like you and many other people, questioned my motives. Let's be honest: until three months ago, superheroes were fantasy. They were the stuff of graphic novels, some pretty compelling video games, and multibillion-dollar franchises in the movie theaters. Thus, what would possess someone to think they could do such things in our world? Fame? Fortune?" I shook my head. "Not for me. There may come a time when people seek those kinds of things, but I won't be one of them. I do what I do because I care, I have the ability, and I feel like that bestows on me a certain level of responsibility. No one is imposing that on me. It's just the kind of values I was brought up with. The strong don't dominate the weak, in my eyes. The strong are those that have the ability to help people that may not be able to help themselves and do so. The strong are those that know they can do something about the wrongs happening in our world and have the wisdom to know when they should intervene or when they shouldn't."

"Some pretty compelling moral character."

"What can I say? Like the man from Krypton, I am a farm boy at heart. My parents raised me with midwestern values that carry through to make me the person I am today."

Again, she raised an eyebrow at me. "How do you identify, these days? What are your pronouns? How do you see yourself?"

That series of questions caused me to sigh. "I... Well, to the world, I'm some girl in a tight blue suit, red hotpants, some rather nice boots, and a cape. Out of the suit, I'm just another teenage girl trying to navigate the world. In my mind and in my heart? I don't know. I lived for forty-five years as a man with a male body. I was rather proud of some of my accomplishments and not so proud of others. I had a life before this that's not so easy to let go of. I don't really know what I think of myself, right now, but I'm trying to make the best of it."

"How do you feel about being referred to as a 'girl' and with 'she/her' pronouns?"

"I've made my peace with it. It's what people see and what they can base their beliefs on. I understand that I'm something of a role model for young girls and that's fine with me. I'm working through some things, but it can be a lonely road at times."

"Is that why you saved the Camp Mystic girls and many others on the morning of Independence Day? To feed the role model narrative?"

"No. I woke up to some of the most horrifying screams I've ever heard in my life. I have children of my own. No parent ever wants to hear that sound. I went to Texas not knowing the source of the screams or why the kids were screaming. I just knew they needed help and I was the one that could be there to help." A tear welled up in my eyes. "I couldn't live with myself thinking of the pain their parents would have gone through had I not been there. There are still people who died that day and I still feel their loss. I can't help but blame myself for not getting to them in time."

Lindsey leaned forward with an understanding look on her face. "You might be faster than anyone can really comprehend, but even you can't save everyone. You're still human."

"I'm still learning that lesson."

"One final question: some would say that you've begun a crusade against Immigration & Customs Enforcement in Chicago and their partners, American Vanguard Solutions. What do you have to say to that?"

"I will not stand idly by and allow fascism to come to Chicago. The DOJ, DHS, and the President himself all make a mockery of the law. They're abusing people and stoking fear. According to the only data being analyzed on the topic, ninety-percent of people being held in ICE custody have no criminal record whatsoever. They're incarcerating innocent people, racial profiling others, and causing fear in our communities. AVS is worse. They're a private company contracted with the federal government to apprehend people simply because they have powers. The administration sees people like me as a threat and they want to eliminate that threat."

"What do you have to say to the people that state your actions justify theirs? That you and others like you are fueling the fears while proving the government's point?"

"Propaganda. I save people. I protect the innocent. I have exercised incredible restraint and ensured that no federal officer has been physically harmed by my actions. I have taken their weapons of war and their lethal force away from them and crushed it. If we don't protect the First Amendment, what's the point of any of the others?"

"Well said. Thank you, Seraphim."

"You're welcome, Miss Lane."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Nineteen

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

Addendum -- This is the final chapter of this story. Thank you to everyone that joined me on this journey. Your support has been phenomenal along the way. I've enjoyed reading your reactions to the story as it was released. To close NaNoWriMo 2025, BCTS will be the exclusive home to the totality of this novel for the next two weeks. I'll post the "afterward" as planned on my birthday. For now, thanks for all the fish.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vn7CBtdM3dE ))

The door swung open and we were once again greeted by the world outside the theater. Everybody else's eyes took a moment to adjust but mine were fine. It was opening night of the new Superman movie. Madison had convinced us all to make it a family experience. Laura, Hannah, Madison, Olivia, and I came together and now we were leaving as a group. Laura and I discussed the exorbitant prices of the tickets and food. Madison and Olivia were animatedly discussing their favorite parts with Hannah occasionally providing her own commentary. Once outside and out of normal human hearing radius, Madison walked ahead of us all and turned toward us.

"How accurate do you think they were?" She asked the group, walking backwards as she spoke.

"Accurate to what, sweetie?" Laura wondered.

"Well, I mean, Dad's the expert on this." Madison gestured toward me.

I blinked rapidly. So far, Madison and Hannah were the only ones still calling me "Dad". Olivia and Laura had moved on to simply "Kristen" or "Kris". With an oversized T-shirt tucked into some loose-fitting jeans, unassuming tennis shoes, and the glasses Lauren had made on my face, I was firmly in my "secret identity" mode. "Yea, no, I got no idea what you're talkin' about, Maddie."

Yes, that included the Wisconsin accent. I'd rationalized that if I were going to make things believable as "Seraphim" and "Kristen" being two different people then I'd have to play up a few aspects of myself in "Kristen" mode while shedding them completely in "Seraphim" mode. Being in public, "Kristen" mode was switched on.

Madison groaned and dramatically rolled her eyes. "I mean with the powers and everything. Did they capture the essence?"

I let out a sigh. "It's different in the fiction, ya know. These are people that come up with stuff in their head and make it make sense on camera. What I can do is different, ya know?"

"Yea, it's a movie, Maddie." Hannah agreed. "Though, I really think they captured a kind of guy like you, Dad. It's creepy how close they got."

"Clark's from Kansas. I'm from Wisconsin. There's some differences." I noted.

"Pa made me think about Grampa." Olivia added as she teared up. "I miss him."

"Me too." I agreed, slipping an arm over her shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"Why are you comparing Kristen to a fictional character, Madison? They're going to be different in many ways, obviously." Laura finally responded.

"She's not a man, for starters. Not anymore, anyway." Hannah nodded.

"There's a lot of similarities, that's all. I really wanted to know how accurate all the powers were to the real life equivalent we've got walking to Mom's car with us. I'm making comparisons, okay?" Madison defended her line of thinking.

"Yea, no, I get it. We're from the Midwest. We don't really swear. Honestly, we're both a little corny. We do the best we can do with what we got. He looks good in the trunks, dere." I drew the comparisons. "I ain't gonna deny there's some things the same and some things not. I liked the speech he gave to Luthor, though. That's good writin'."

"I like that the character is a good guy because he chooses to be." Hannah joined in. "Like, you've got influences from your parents and maybe expectations from them. They don't dictate who you are. Not even what you say makes you who you are. Your actions do."

"You feel like we influenced you in one way or another, Hannah?" Laura asked.

She laughed. "No way, Mom. You and Dad are like Ma and Pa Kent... which is weird to say out loud."

"That's true. They do their best to guide, not preach. I've got a couple friends with preachy parents. It's kinda cringe." Madison agreed.

I tried to lower my voice as deep as I could get it. It ended up being mid-alto range at best. "Parents ain't for tellin' their kids who they're supposed to be. We're here to give y'all the tools to help you make fools of yourselves all on your own."

Laura raised an eyebrow at me. "You memorized that without using a notebook and shorthand?"

"And I paraphrased it." I smirked.

"And your impression sucked." Madison laughed. "But I get the point. Thanks for not being preachy parents."

"You're welcome." Laura and I chorused.

Laura unlocked the SUV and we all started climbing in. Thankfully, Olivia was now to a point where she didn't have to be in a car seat anymore.

"So, what are you going to do about school, Dad? It starts up next month, you know." Hannah wondered.

"Your gramma has decided that I should go to my old school to keep up appearances. I dunno about doin' high school all over again." I admitted.

"You're gonna go to school? That's weird." Olivia tried to process the idea.

"I'm technically seventeen, kiddo. It's gotta look authentic, ya know."

"You've got a point, Kris. If the secret identity is going to work, you've got to fully lean into it. I'm with Marian on that one." Laura nodded as she started the car.

"Et tu, my love?" I couldn't hold back the chuckle. "Like I know the first thing about bein' a teenager raised on an iPad."

Hannah spun around to the rear compartment as she had claimed "shotgun" earlier in the night. "Hey, I resent that characterization! We didn't have those when we were little and we barely got phones at fourteen!"

"Yea, I don't get a phone for a few more years and you guys won't let me have an iPad." Olivia grumbled.

"It's a stereotype from old people your father is using to terrible effect," Laura reassured them.

"What I mean is that I'm gonna need you guys to teach me how to be someone of your generation." I clarified.

"So say that instead of spitting bad stereotypes. Besides, Gen Z isn't the iPad generation. It's Gen Alpha, like Olivia, that has that label." Hannah explained.

"All my friends have iPads. Why can't I have one?" Olivia whined.

"See?" Hannah motioned to her sister.

"Because you ask that question, Olivia. You don't have an iPad because we would rather you learn in a healthy way." Laura explained in that maternal vocal tone of hers. "You may not believe it, but it is for your own good."

"ANYway..." Madison decided to end that portion of the discussion. "How are you going to juggle high school and saving the world, Dad?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, yet. Gotta figure it out, like anythin' else."

"Good answer, Kris." Laura smiled.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mom, Týr, Koda, and I gathered together in the living room to watch the news. Mom and I situated ourselves on either end of the sofa with Koda curled up between us. His head was in my lap, of course. Týr settled himself into a recliner off to the side. The television was still a rather new thing for him after his long self-isolation in Iceland. I had heard through Lauren that tonight was a night to tune into the broadcast. Generally, I'm not a fan of the major news networks. Corporate news stations skirted around the actual truth depending on who owned them. It didn't signal good journalism for me.

As one might expect, the broadcast tonight was one of those "round table" interviews that happen so often on big stations. These "debates" didn't inform anyone. They caused more people to continue to marginalize themselves into their own bubbles of bias. The commercial break ended and the broadcast faded in on the young male anchor. The lower third text read: "Seraphim: Friend or Foe. Debate tonight."

"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen," the anchor began. "On tonight's broadcast, we touch on a subject that sometimes seems to be a divisive one. To the Trump administration, this entity is Enemy Number One. According to polls, the public seems to think she is a source for good. We are of course talking about the person who calls herself Seraphim and predominantly operates in the Chicagoland area. Joining me tonight are..." The image cut away to a Hispanic woman with her hair in a bun and wearing a white lab coat. "...Dr. Isobel Marquez, an astrophysicist and cosmologist with the University of Chicago. And..." The image again cut to reveal a young man, mid-twenties from the look of him, with a scowl on his face and hair like Mark Zuckerberg but ginger. His suit looked rather expensive. "...Lukas Lowen, CEO of Orivox Enterprises. Thank you both for joining us this evening."

"Thank you, Michael," They chorused.

The visual on screen moved so that a view of all three of them were together in a line in the middle of the screen. "Dr. Marquez, we'll start with you. Can you definitively answer for the people watching tonight what you believe caused all this in the first place?"

Dr. Marquez furrowed her brow. "I don't understand the question. Could you elaborate?"

"I'll explain the question: what caused our current situation? Where would someone like Seraphim or her copycat in Los Angeles come from in the first place?" The anchor explained.

Dr. Marquez rolled her eyes before beginning. "Well, I can't speak to her motives or what inspiration she's working from, but I do have a hypothesis about why she exists at all. On April 29th of this year, our planet was subject to an astronomical phenomenon we've not experienced before. I don't have all the details, as of yet. It's only been just over two months since the event occurred. We're still studying the phenomenon and its effects. We can extrapolate from recent events that, apparently, it has bestowed some extraordinary abilities in certain humans—"

Lowen scoffed and shook his head. "Oh, come on! Let's be clear: these beings are no longer human! They're a menace!"

The anchor held up his hand. "Mr. Lowen, I'm going to ask you to hold your comment until I call on you. Dr. Marquez, please proceed."

She took a breath and remained professional. "As I was saying, a certain number of people we can't accurately quantify have developed abilities that previously only existed in comic books and blockbuster movies. My team has documented some of the footage of Seraphim for study. We're also looking into the individuals in Los Angeles, the one who calls herself Feedback in Seattle, some scattered reports of someone in Manhattan, and another person in Puerto Rico. These are cases that stand out as they have gone out of their way to be public with what they can do. Hopefully, we can procure their DNA samples for analysis."

Again, Lowen scoffed. "We can get you several samples from detainees we've removed from the streets, Doctor."

I could hear Týr actually growl at that comment.

"That brings us to another point," The anchor pivoted. "Mr. Lowen, you've not kept your ties to the formation of American Vanguard Solutions and the contract with the Department of Homeland Security a secret at all. Would you kindly tell us why?"

"Gladly, Michael." Lukas Lowen leaned forward and almost looked angry. "You see, these beings, these... metahumans, as we've come to categorize them, are not simply victims. They're dangerous. You've seen this girl who calls herself 'Seraphim' just as much as I have. She put an arm through a fully-armored personnel carrier like it was wet cardboard. She's faster than anything we've ever seen. She's stronger than anything we've ever seen. She flies around with no regard for FAA protocol. She can put a fire out with just her breath. Who's to say she didn't actually start that building fire back in June with those laser eyes of hers? She and the other metahumans are a national security threat. We need to detain them, catalogue them, determine their abilities, and assess their threat level. Only then can the American public be assured of their safety."

"You can't be serious!" Dr. Marquez objected. "Suspending habeas corpus is a power only the President of the United States has in very limited circumstances!"

"President Trump issued an Executive Order in June that affords us the jurisdiction and full cooperation of federal law enforcement." Lukas sneered.

"An executive order is not law, Mr. Lowen. Surely you recognize that?" The anchor asserted.

"While that is true, we'll have our day in court to make our case. As I understand it, there's a case making its way through the federal courts in California at this very moment. Illinois has yet to respond. If Congress will not act to protect the American people, then someone has to and I believe this administration has the best interests of the people in mind."

Dr. Marquez narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow. "You mean the best interests of you and your companies, Mr. Lowen?"

"Are you suggesting that Orivox Enterprises and American Vanguard Solutions have a conflict of interest, Dr. Marquez?" Lukas sat back in his chair. "I assure you that our only interest is the safety of the American people. We have gotten some very dangerous people off the streets. Remember that young man that created an aura of fire around himself and attacked the Woodfield Mall? We have him and so many like him in custody."

"As I understand it, he was in Chicago Police custody before AVS came along and took him. Legitimate criminals are one thing. Innocents that simply happen to be gifted are another matter. They still have their rights." Dr. Marquez scolded him.

"What about the rights of people that could be violated by their shenanigans? Do we care about them?" Lukas shot back.

"So, they're being prosecuted for 'pre-crime', now? Is this The Minority Report?"

"We're exercising preemptive restraint. Once we know their identity and what they can do, we catalogue it and set them free when we confirm they have no criminal record. We keep the information for internal uses in the interest of national security."

"You mean providing data for your friends like Peter Thiel and Larry Ellison?"

Lukas shrugged and smirked. "Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe."

"I'm going to have to agree with Dr. Marquez, Mr. Lowen." The anchor finally interjected. "You seem like you don't care for the constitutional rights of these individuals. That phenomenon caused a lot of upheaval in our world, but that's no reason to suspend the constitutional rights of average citizens."

"That's just the thing, Michael: they're not 'average citizens'. These are extraordinary times that facilitate extraordinary methods." Lukas nodded.

I hit the power button on the television, then turned to everyone else. "Oh, this is bad." I breathed, my eyes very wide indeed.

Týr turned his chair to us with a glower on his face and his metal hand in a fist. "The evil of this man..."

Even my mother was shocked. "Yeah, heard dat. He weren't raised right."

"That's the understatement of the year." I nodded. "I got a feelin' we're gonna be seein' a lot of him."

"We must prepare." Týr acknowledged. "Others in danger."

"You may be right."

Beacon of Hope



Afterward

If you're reading this, thank you for reading this labor of love. I was really inspired by James Gunn's Superman and felt like the world could really use a character like that in more of a "real world" context. It got this whole ball rolling. Now, it's turned into SEVERAL book ideas.

As stated, what you've just read is the first book in the series. There are other heroes who will join Seraphim in the future. Who are they? You'll have to read the books featuring them to find out. The observant among you may have already seen the universe page and noticed titles that haven't appeared as their own books, yet. They are coming soon. I've had some life difficulties recently that have slowed down the writing process but not stopped it. These are stories I need to tell and I hope that you will enjoy reading them.

If you have read this and it's given you an idea that you may want to throw in your hat, let me know. Consult the universe page and we'll go from there. I would like "Starforged Sagas" to become something of a literary universe that many authors have a hand in shaping. Could the next one be you? Who knows?!

I really do hope you've enjoyed the ride. A bit of a Marvel-style teaser:

Seraphim will return.

Happy Birthday to me! Týr bids you all "Glaðligr Jól" (whatever that means).

ChangeDay: Advent - Part One - by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2010 How would you react if all of the sudden everyone around you began a fifteen-minute-long metamorphosis from one sex to the other, including yourself, only to learn that it isn't an isolated incident but happens worldwide? Then, exactly twenty-eight days later, the whole thing happens again, only in reverse. Over several years, humanity will adapt and this sort of thing will become common place. But, we witness this crucial advent through the eyes of an average American teenager, Micheal MacAllister, and learn how he copes with the fact that for half his life he will now be known as Mekayla. In this installment, we witness the first two events to soon be called "Change Day" and what could be in store for Micheal, his friends, his family, and the whole world.

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(Originally posted on FictionMania, so forgive some continuity mistakes in this disclaimer. xD)

DISCLAIMER: The following story is based on the ChangeDay universe, created by BobH. However, below I use exact dates that are NOT conducive with the universe canon and should not be confused as such. As part of my creative process, it helps if I have exact dates, but, again, these dates are NOT universe canon. If you feel the inspiration to write in this universe, I would suggest contacting BobH first. He's a very nice man and incredibly helpful. It's been a pleasure to experiment with this universe, thus far.

I apologize for how long it has actually taken me to finish this much of the story. It has been a while since I announced on the "hyperboard" that I was writing this. Sadly, life has occasionally gotten in the way. Other times, there was some major game launch during this holiday season that distracted my attention. Yes, I'm a gamer and highly recommend my distractions of Fallout: New Vegas, Fable III, and Assassin's Creed: Brotherhood to those interested parties. Other than that, the holidays are a busy time for a lot of people.

On this final day of the first decade of the 21st Century, I submit this tale to you. I hope that you enjoy it. If so, do not fret, there are more installments of the tale to come. I don't know, yet, how long the tale is going to be, but it should be a great ride. If there is sufficient response, I may extend the tale longer than anticipated. Feeding my ego is very welcome. xD

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— Prologue —

"...A day which will live in infamy!"

Franklin D. Roosevelt, the 32nd President of the United States, said that on December 7, 1941, after the Japanese had attacked the Navy at Pearl Harbor that Sunday morning. Admittedly, it was a terrible day for anyone who was alive to see it. In the collective minds of the United States, it unified the country into a new resolve to end the isolationism that had permeated since World War I and march headlong into its successor, World War II. Certainly, it was a day that has lived in infamy. However, it’s not the most infamous day in modern human history. There was another day, not too long ago.

If one takes certain things literally, then strange happenings occur on planet Earth every single day. Television shows, books, stories online, movies, and even religious texts tell of such amazing things that it’s impossible to categorize and list them all. The tales are so elaborate that it’s hard to fathom all the alternate realities that could be generated from them. In all reality, however, life on Earth is rather mundane and humdrum. In the early part of the 21st Century, there are amazing things that happen, but they can all be explained by science. Gone are the days of wonderment when Henry Ford first capitalized on mass production of the automobile; or when the Wright Brothers first put Bernoulli’s Principle to the test at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina, and launched us all into an age of manned flight; or the days when mankind was taking its first steps off the confines of the planet we’ve called “home” for more than 10,000 years and then proceeded to walk upon the moon. All these are in the past though ingrained in our collective psyche as great things man has done.

However, as I stand naked as a newborn babe in front of the mirror in my bedroom, I await with hesitant anticipation the recurrence of an event that changed mankind forever. The event was so profound that it uprooted deep-seated cultural and philosophical beliefs that had been a part of humanity for longer than I can recall. With baited breath, I check the time on my radio alarm clock. Thirty-five seconds remaining. The entire world was on the very same countdown. It had been this way since the first day it had happened two years ago. The one and only truly paranormal event to ever be catalogued into the history books as true fact that it very much happened.

To some, it was very much the day that will live in infamy as the day that is more infamous than all the others. In retrospect, it was not a terrible tragedy, after all. However, when you add into the equation the mass hysteria and confusion that occurred all over the world, it trumps any preceding day, easily. In random places all over the world, there were car accidents, riots, frightened mobs, and even mass suicides on that day and those following it. In my lifetime, I have never seen so much panic, despair, and confusion from the human race. The news reports were filled with all manner of human beings showing the negative side of all of us that we never want revealed in polite company. It begged us to question every “moral” value we ever had.

The new day that will live in infamy for the whole world was June 2, 2008; the first Monday in June a little more than two years ago. From that day forward, mankind has never been the same. That was the day the first “Change Day” occurred. On that day, every man, woman, and child suddenly felt strange and fifteen minutes later found themselves in a body that belonged to the opposite sex. Naturally, given our bonds to our own physical sex and the social constructs of gender that accompanied such a thing had been officially challenged. There was panic, confusion, and despair to go around for everyone. However, not everyone acted this way. Certainly, the media had a field day with this information, so that is what they broadcast. In truth, most people (though very disoriented) would deal with such a thing on their own terms in a calm and rational matter. Most, though, feared the change was permanent and the ramifications of such a suggestion was not comfortable for them. However, four weeks later, at the exact time of the first, the second Change Day was upon us and we all reverted back to what is now referred to as “the alpha stage” or the original sex we started out as. Many were relieved, others were complacent. It took us, as a worldwide society, quite a while to catch on that this cycle would likely continue on for the rest of our lives.

In my own experience, it took a very long time to catch on. I was nearing my seventeenth birthday, coming in October that year, and looking forward to becoming a junior in high school. I did not take to Change Day very well, at first. Though, it’s said that the younger generations adapted to everything much sooner than the older ones. Still, many remember exactly what they were doing at the very moment the first Change Day came upon us. It’s the same as any other significant event in history that people still ask questions about, such as: “Where were you when J.F.K. was shot?”; “What were you doing when you learned Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., was assassinated?”; “Where were you when they were chasing O.J. Simpson on the L.A. freeway?”; “Where were you when the Twin Towers fell on 9/11?”. Many people ask these same questions today and the answers are much more numerous and varied.

I remember very vividly what I was doing the exact day the first change hit us. Allow me to share with you my experiences during those first few cycles. Perhaps, someone will read this at some time in the future and learn something from an average citizen of this time… the time before Change Day was common place.

— Chapter One —

Friday May 30, 2008 — 3:15pm Mountain Daylight Time (MDT, GMT -6)

The final dismissal bell for the day echoed through the hallways of Century High School in the sleepy “rural metropolis” of Pocatello, Idaho. Like any Friday, students flooded into the hallways with the decibel level steadily rising as their excitement grew. The day had come. It was finally the last day of school before Summer Vacation and many were discussing their plans for the next three months. It being the last day and all, we’d already taken our final exams and were not really doing much at all, besides turning in books and finalizing our grades. Most carried emptied backpacks and folders they wouldn’t need until next year.

I emerged from my final class with a smile on my face. My history teacher had just reassured me that I would be maintaining my 4.0 Grade Point Average with an “A” in his class, my father would be pleased. There were a few people that greeted me in the halls and wished me a happy summer. I wasn’t too popular, so there weren’t many at all. I navigated through the crowds and went straight for my locker. Unfortunately, most of the student body had the same idea at that point. Most people were digging things out and clearing everything in preparation for the next fool that got assigned their locker next year. I, however, typically kept mine in immaculate condition. Save for the single mirror inside (yes, I was a little vain), there were only 3-ring binders and a few notebooks to collect and take home.

“Ready for the camping trip this weekend?” A voice greeted me from over my shoulder with a volume level sufficient to override the dull roar of the hallway.

I glanced up from stuffing my backpack to view the visage of one of my best friends. Kaleb Anderson and I had known each other since my family moved to the Portneuf Valley when I was still in the early years of elementary school. He was a little older than me, having just turned 17. He stood a little taller than me, as well. He was about six feet even and I was holding at five feet, ten inches. His brown hair reminded me of Christian Slater when he’d played “Will Scarlet” in that Robin Hood movie we both liked so much, starring Kevin Costner and filmed way back in the early 90’s. His eyes were a neutral blue color and I envied his physique. He had some really nicely toned muscles and never went to the gym. I almost hated him for it.

“Oh, hey, Kaleb.” I grinned stupidly at him. “Yea, dude, I’m pretty psyched. My parents aren’t big fans, though.”

He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Don’t they trust me, yet?”

I shook my head as I continued to stuff my bag. “Nah, that’s not it. I think they have a problem with the idea that there’ll be girls there the whole time. You know, the parental paranoia of 10 teenagers out in the woods with no supervision.” I let out a sigh. “That, and Dad wanted to take us all out to Massacre Rocks again for Memorial Day.”

He scoffed. “You guys do that every year. Can’t the old man give it a rest for this one time?”

“I know what you mean.” I rolled my eyes. “He makes us suffer because he’s such a huge history buff that he’s even a History Professor at I-S-U.” My father pretty much ran the History Department at Idaho State University. Since we moved to the region, he’s been climbing the ladder up to his current position. “Not only that, he gives us a new factoid about the region every year and tests us on it before we can get new clothes for school in August.”

I could see the pain in his face. “Oh, man, that’s rough. Doesn’t your mom speak up about it, though? Wouldn’t she vouch for you?”

I finished gathering the notebooks and binders, grabbed my mirror, and slammed the door shut. “Heck no! She’s on his side!” I felt quite a bit deflated. I had actually forgotten about the ill-fated camping trip until he had brought it up.

I zipped my backpack closed and stood up just in time to have a large hand land on my shoulder. Startled, I spun around to face the grinning visage of my other best friend, Mekaisto Lahoma. He was an inch taller than me and quite the muscular Native American. His ancestors had been Apache, so I had long ago assumed that there was a genetic predisposition for him to be one big side of beef. He had typical features of dark skin, black hair, brown eyes, and almost no body hair to speak of. I always thought it sucked that he’d likely never grow a beard… and thanked I my lucky stars that I was only a quarter Native. My family was predominantly Irish, but my mother was half Sioux.

“Geezus, Kai! You scared the frakkin’ daylights out of me!” I shouted.

His laugh billowed. Oddly, for such a big guy, he had a pretty decent tenor voice. “Relax, man. It’s not like I’m gonna scalp ya.”

Kaleb and I both rolled our eyes at his reference to his tribe’s legacy to the ages. “So not funny, Kai.” I glared.

He shrugged. “You white boys are just jealous that I can get away with sayin’ it. And, Mike, you really need to lay off the Battlestar Galactica. It’ll rot your brain.”

“What? Because I used ‘frak’?” I protested.

Kaleb shook his head. “I keep telling him that.”

Kai pursed his lips. “So, what were you guys talking about before I almost made Mikey here wet himself?”

“His dad’s a douche bag.” Kaleb sighed.

“I could have told you that.” Kai chuckled. “Seriously, what’s goin’ on?”

I almost spoke, but Kaleb beat me to it as we all continued down the hallway. “Kai, you’re coming camping, right?”

“Hell yea! Wouldn’t miss it! Why can’t Mike go?”

I rolled my eyes and released a very guttural grunt. “Because my parents are afraid of my ability to reproduce but not considering my overriding sense not to. That and Dad’s doing his thing at Massacre Rocks again this year.”

Now Kai scoffed. “Doesn’t that guy ever get tired of that? I mean, haven’t you guys done that for 10 years straight, now?” I nodded. “There’s only so much you can learn from one place, man. Believe me. I’ve been on that Sho-Ban reservation for a few years. There’s only so much desert and mountains you can explore and learn about before you want to scalp yourself.”

We all laughed.

“Yea, they really put those guys on a crummy piece of land, didn’t they?” Kaleb added.

“No joke. You should see the Apache lands, though. They’re almost worse.” Kai nodded. “It’s either in the middle of nowhere in Oklahoma or out in Crapsville, Arizona.”

Kaleb looked a little uneasy as we traversed the threshold of the school out into the late May sun. “So… anyway… camping?”

I shrugged, becoming more deflated as the time passed. “I dunno. I’m ready to give up, really.”

“Some warrior you are.” Kai furrowed his brow. Then, his entire face lit up with some sort of realization that was some kind of profound importance. “Hey, wait a sec. Does your mom stick pretty heavily to the Sioux ways or would she let me do some kind of vision quest with you?”

I stopped dead in my tracks. “Kai, neither you nor anyone in your family is a recognized medicine man. My mom would know that. There’s no way you would get that to slip past her.”

He shook his head. “No, no, hear me out… I tell her that, yes, we’d be going up camping with everybody, but I’d take you off and show you some of the more traditional ways to become a man in Native culture. Specifically, Apache, but we might make it work. She knows more of the Shoshone, Bannock, and Sioux stuff, but she wouldn’t know about the Apache ways. I’m pretty sure of that.”

Kaleb threw his hands up in surrender. “I’m out of that discussion. You both know I’m just a clueless white boy when it comes to that stuff.”

Kai’s face turned to pleading. “C’mon, man. It’s this or you do that boring history crap with your dad again this year.”

I took a moment to consider the options. I sure as heck didn’t want to be stuck going back to the same historical location my family visited every single year. I often wondered why we never toured the battlegrounds where Lt. Col. Custer had skirmishes with the Nez Perce tribe and Chief Joseph. Combining U.S. History with a little Native American history would have done us all some good. Alas, my father was hooked on the history surrounding the Oregon Trail. He still goes out and finds lost pieces of the route by observing the environmental damage of hundreds of wagons following the exact same route when he has days off. He’s mapped about 6 miles of previously unknown forks in the path. It somewhat unnerved me, really.

I let out a long sigh. “Okay, let’s see what we can do. Kaleb, you got a ride home?”

He nodded sharply. “Yep, I’m good. I was gonna hang out with Danika for a bit.”

“Still chasing her, eh? You know it’s really unlikely she’s gonna cave to your whiles, right?” Kai smiled as he attempted to stifle his laughter.

Kaleb tried to object, but I stopped it by interrupting. “Okay, so, Kai’s with me?”

He grinned. “Lead on, dude. Let’s work a little magic.”

Again, I was rolling my eyes.

* * * * * * *

Sunday June 1, 2008 — 9:30pm MDT

The fire at the center of our campsite snapped and crackled through the wilderness’ ambient sounds that were always ever present. Somewhere in the distance, there was a pack of coyotes whose cries echoes across the mountaintops. A few owls hooted. Of course, there was always the near constant crickets chirping. We’d been out here for a night and a full day already and I still couldn’t believe that Kai had convinced my parents to let me come along. Along with the sounds of nature were the sounds of several adolescents on the cusp of adulthood chattering, laughing, and otherwise making whatever noise felt good at the time. My eyes drifted skyward and I couldn’t remember the last time they’d viewed such beauty. In the mountains outside of Hailey, Idaho, there were no cities to produce enough light to obstruct the view. I would guess that we had a better view of the stars and one arm of the Milky Way galaxy than many astronomical observatories.

As predicted, there were about ten of us. Kaleb and Mekaisto were off to one side, supposedly discussing courtship ideas for the young, fair Danika Haines who had several times previously rejected such advances. The short (5’5”) brunette with astonishingly pleasing proportionate curves that had had Kaleb lusting after her for almost a year. She and I got along well, but Kaleb was always asking me to “put in a good word” with her. He was my best friend, but I really hated it when he put me on the spot like that. She was sitting on some camping chairs discussing I could only guess what with Jessica Newton and Jakobi Langley. Jessica was something of a late bloomer. She stood about five feet, four inches and her curves had yet to be truly defined. She kept her nearly platinum blond hair in near perfect condition at all times, even out here which I imagined was quite the feat. Jakobi, however, stood over both of them at five feet, eight inches and truly had a model or dancer’s physique. Being on the drill and flag teams had sculpted this, I’d wager. Her chocolate tresses always seemed to be in a ponytail, so I didn’t give it much thought.

As for the other guys in the troop, most of them were horsing around somewhere down by the cars. I knew Marcus Sanchez and Silus Ramsey fairly well, but the other two guys I didn’t know. There was another girl with Danika, Jessica, and Jakobi that I’d never met as well. Marcus was a wiry half-Hispanic who got all the Hispanic benefits of dark black hair, brown eyes, and nice tan skin, but all of the European disadvantages of a tall, lanky frame with very little muscle tone. He was a six-foot tall distance runner on the track team, so he didn’t give it much thought. Silus, on the other hand, was the group’s “super jock”. He stood six-foot-one, had muscle tone at every angle, played almost every sport, and could have any girl in school he wanted. He had that perfect combination of blond hair, blue eyes, and blemish-free fair complexion that was the envy of just about everybody. To say that I was jealous would be a massive understatement.

For the moment, I was alone with my thoughts. If I wasn’t staring blankly into the fire, I was glancing up considering the vastness and infinitely beautiful wonders of the universe. This is what ancient man must have seen many years ago. I knew that the land this national forest we were in had been the hunting and foraging lands of at least six local tribes. For me, seeing the silhouette shapes of the mountains against the interminably numerous stars above was something I almost never had the chance to see. Back then, they wouldn’t have appreciated the beauty as much because it would have been common place for anyone who wasn’t using the stars to make one prediction or another. Back then, they used the stars for everything.

My thoughts began to wander to the fact that I could never truly understand some of my heritage the way that Kai could. He was fully Native American. I was only one-quarter. I looked like the invading “White Man” instead of having some Native features show. It frustrated me when some would doubt that I was Native at all. Looking at me, one could see a young man of fair complexion, a small bit of muscle tone, naturally red hair (if I slept with anyone, they’d know that for certain), and not a freckle on me. One good thing about my heritage, I could actually tan and not have hundreds of little brown spots all over. I kept my dull red hair rather short in a style that even Danika had said reminded her of Leonardo DiCaprio, except that he’s blond. She also compared my eyes to what the waters of the Caribbean Sea look like on a fair day: a deep light green, I’m told. I felt torn between two worlds. Little did I know that in just over 14 hours, the feeling would be even stronger.

In my daze, I didn’t hear Danika approach and sit down on the log beside me. At this point, my eyes were focused on the dancing fire before me. She mocked clearing her throat, which sent a jolt through my body as she pulled her legs toward her chest and wrapped her arms around them. I offered a weak smile.

“Hey, Danika.” I stated softly.

“Hey, yourself. Penny for your thoughts? There seem to be a lot of them.” She noted.

I shrugged. “I’m fine. Just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“And…?” She almost pleaded.

“Just some stupid stuff.” I sighed. “Enjoying the trip, so far?”

She rolled her eyes. “I guess. I might enjoy it more if Kaleb would back off a little. I should bring a whip next time so I can actually yell ‘Down, boy!’ ” She threw her head back and let out a good giggle.

I joined her. “Yea, that might actually work. Though, I’d be careful. He might actually enjoy it.”

She visibly shuttered. I shook my head. It took all of my strength to stop myself from slapping myself with the palm of my hand, the fabled “facepalm” maneuver.

“Hey, look, I’m sorry. If there was anything I could do about the situation, I would have done it. They guy’s like the friggin’ Energizer Bunny, he doesn’t know when to quit.” I let out a sigh.

She shrugged. “I know, Mike. I’m not mad at you, though. You’re not his keeper.” She gave me a reassuring smile that I was obliged to return. She let out a quick breath and continued on another topic. Girls seem to be proficient at such a task. “So, why not hanging out with the guys?”

I glanced over at Kai and Kaleb, then back at her and pointed to them with my thumb. “Them? Oh, they’re finding new and dubious ways for Kaleb to seduce you. I’d wear your armor if I were you.”

She nodded. “Oh, really…? Thanks for the tip.”

“You’re welcome.”

She indicated by moving the crown of her head quickly toward the other male bonding occurring. “What about the other guys?”

I glanced over in their direction. “Oh, those guys?” I shrugged. “I dunno. I guess I’m not all that great at this ‘male bonding’ thing. They kind of strike me as the ‘Neanderthal’ type and, even though I play football, I don’t see us having much in common.”

She furrowed her brow. “You are a tough one to crack. No wonder she’s into you.”

My eyes widened and I could swear someone had dropped a pin and scratched a record in the same instant. “Um… what? Who?”

A raucous laughter emitted from her luscious lips and perfect teeth. Though, I found myself somewhat self-conscious at this. She reached over and playfully slapped my arm. “You are pretty dense, Michael MacAllister.” She nodded. “You haven’t been noticing any notes in your locker for the past couple of weeks?”

Was there some sort of female interwebs that guys were just not privy to? How does this sort of news get around? “Um… yea, I found some notes. They were interesting. Why do you ask?”

She let out a quick sigh and shook her head. “You still haven’t figured out who sent them, have you?” I shook my head. “And, I’ll bet you haven’t noticed the eyes baring down on you in U.S. History, either. Am I right?” Again, I shook my head. Girls really knew how to make a guy feel totally inadequate and foolish. There’s a sucker born every minute, they say. “So, you couldn’t possibly have a clue that the same girl is actually here tonight?”

My eyes darted over to the new girl. I really had no idea who she was. Sure, I’d seen her around campus and in classes, but her name eluded me. She, unlike some of the other girls, was full-figured. I’m not saying she was grossly overweight, but the girl probably enjoyed a slice of pizza or a burger more often than most girls would. She was a brunette and wore a stylish cut, but I’d never noticed her soft, subtle eyes behind the glare from the fluorescent lights on her glasses. Tonight, she wasn’t wearing said glasses and I think the other girls may have helped her do her hair. As for her height, I don’t think she ever came close enough to me for me to make an accurate guess to how height compatible we were.

“The… new girl? The brunette over there that usually wears glasses she’s not wearing tonight?” I wanted to point, but I knew it was rude and would likely embarrass the poor girl.

“Catches on quick, doesn’t he?” Danika grinned sarcastically. “She’s been eyeing you since she overheard you telling Marcus about a lightsaber thing your parents had gotten you for Christmas.”

I nodded, knowing she was referring to my Force FX Lightsaber gushing. I had been a very spoiled geek that Christmas. Before the lightsaber, I’d unwrapped a new, bigger hard drive for my Xbox, Fable 2, Gears of War 2, Fallout 3, and Dead Space. The lightsaber trumped them all. “Yea, I was a little excited about it.” I could feel my cheeks warming as I blushed.

She let out a quick sigh. “Yea, it was a little too obvious, if you ask me. I mean, my dad bought me a brand new car when I turned 16, but you didn’t see me gushing over it all over the school did you? Don’t get me wrong, I love my car, but you got a little annoying about a plastic stick that lights up and makes noise through a speaker at the bottom.”

I lowered my head in near shame. “Danika, I know you’re not a near total geek like I am, but could you not stampede all over my hobbies like that? It’s a little harsh.”

She sighed. “Sorry, Mike. You know I don’t get into that stuff. Though, she does and I’m sure she’d like to hear more about it. You up for it?”

My head quickly came back up again. “Um…” my palms started to sweat and my heart rate increased dramatically. “You’re playing ‘Matchmaker’, aren’t you. That’s the whole reason she came.”

“Hey, I didn’t have to drag her kicking and screaming. Do you wanna hang with her or not?”

“Sure. What the heck.” I shrugged.

She gave me a devious grin as she bounded back over to the other girls. With each passing moment, my anxiety grew. I watched as Danika gracefully walked over to the others and nodded her head for some reason. Jessica and Jakobi looked rather excited, whilst the new girl seemed pretty apprehensive. She was shaking her head and mouthing the word “No” several times. Finally, the other girls lifted her up and brought her over to the log and sat her down beside me. You could cut the tension between us with a butter knife.

“Shelby Whitmore, this is Michael MacAllister. Mike, this is Shelby.” Jessica introduced.

Without glancing over, I nodded. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She stated meekly.

— Chapter Two —

Monday June 2, 2008 — 10:15 am MDT

After unzipping the door, I climbed out of the tent I shared with Kai and stretched as far and wide as my body would allow. The morning air was crisp and clean with a slight chill to it that was quickly fading since the sun came up. I had slipped on a hoodie over my white T-shirt with some design I forgot about and khaki-colored cargo shorts. Today, we’d be picking up camp and heading back to our families back in Pocatello. But first, the girls had prepared breakfast. I grabbed a plate, piled on an assortment of eggs, hashbrowns, and bacon, and sat on my trusty log once more to enjoy their culinary prowess… or lack thereof. I would soon find out which it was.

“Thanks, girls.” I stated through half a mouthful of hashbrowns.

They all giggled. “You’re welcome, Mike.” Danika smiled.

At that very moment, it struck me as a little odd that the girls were doing most of the cooking during the whole trip. None of them ever struck me as the type and I’d never seen any of them perform any semblance of domestic duties. Yet, here they were making sure all of us were fed and nourished the whole time. I began to wonder if such a thing was hard-wired into the female psyche. Was it natural for a woman to perform such duties or was it something that society had always told them that these things were precisely what was expected of them? In the proceeding years, I would find the answer to that question sooner or later.

It bothers me, now, as I think back on that day about how much of blur that morning was. Minutes after everyone was fed, we began cleaning up the campsite and packing our vehicles for the trip back home. The previous night, everyone stayed awake much longer than our parents would have allowed were we still at home. The conversations carried on into the wee hours of the morning, including the one Shelby and I had once we actually got going. She seemed like a smart girl and I was actually willing to give her a chance. It surprised me that she wished she’d had the chance to attend E3 (Electronic Entertainment Expo) before they became a press only event. I had similar feelings, though I’d been to [San Diego] Comic Con and PAX (Penny Arcade Expo) more than once each, already.

There was just never enough time, though. It’s funny how life hands people these situations more than we’d like to realize. I’m sure that in the face of tragedy or other significant event that many people wished for the same thing I did on that morning: more time. At least, it would have been nice to get a warning.

- 11:55 am MDT —

We had finished packing everything in the vehicles we’d brought with us. Now, the campsite appeared pretty desolate with only some camping chairs around that still belonged to us. We’d left the fire going while we packed everything away. The sun was now blazing high in the sky and we were all warmed by the physical exertion as well. I’d taken off my hoodie and set it in the front seat of my car. Now, I was back on the log where I’d been sitting last night. Most of the guys were wearing the same ensemble of T-shirt and shorts. The only real variety was which guy was wearing the khaki, cotton, or denim shorts. I didn’t care to make a head count. The girls, however, were another story. Shelby wore denim “short-shorts” and a tanktop with her bra underneath. Jessica and Jakobi wore large T-shirts and cotton shorts with their bikinis underneath. I think they hoped to go for a swim before heading back home. Danika, however, was the odd one out. She had on some sort of summer dress with a box neckline and a sports bra underneath. At least they looked relaxed.

Exhausted, we had resolved to lounge around for a bit while cooling down, catching our breath, and enjoying a cold soda. Everybody talked amongst their perspective cliques, unfortunately. Kai, Kaleb, and I were chatting about the possibility of taking a boat and some jet skis out to the American Falls Reservoir in the next week or two, after we recovered from this weekend. Marcus and Silus also expressed an interest and hoped we could invite the girls along to, as they put it, “enjoy the sights, too”. I’d imagine the girls would have been less than impressed with the wording of that particular idea.

There had been some sporadic clouds that had rolled in throughout the morning. During an Idaho summer, they never really got much bigger than a few square miles unless it was some sort of major storm that would be gone in a few minutes anyway. Some of them had a black-ish gray bottom which meant they probably bore rain, but nothing too overly concerning.

- 12:00pm MDT -

There are a million different theories about what happened the moment the clocks around the world hit a specific time. Every human being on the planet experienced something at that exact moment. The strangest thing of all, it happened at the exact same time for everybody. For us, it was just as the clock reached the noon hour. Scientists, religious leaders, politicians, conspiracy theorists, and paranormal investigators all have their own theories. Many times, it’s conflicting. Most of the time, all the stories are different. Even now, there is no clear explanation of what exactly happened. All we know is what happened next.

On my grandmother’s grave, I could swear that I saw a bright flash at that exact moment. I’m not sure everyone had that experience, but I know for a certain fact that I did. To me, it seemed as though someone had taken my picture with an old-fashioned film camera with some sort of flashbulb. It wasn’t too intense, but it was enough to have my attention. Less than a nanosecond later, my entire body began to tingle as I looked around for the source of the flash. The tingling feeling was very faint at first but became very apparent in the next second.

“Whoa, dude… I feel really weird.” I stated.

A chorus of “me too” and “yea, I know, same here” came from my compatriots. Some of them were shaking their hands or their feet as though they’d fallen asleep. The sensation was like nothing I’d ever felt before and everybody I’ve ever talked to about it has said the same thing. Like watching Neo dodge bullets in "The Matrix", time seemed to slow to an incredibly crawling pace. Something was really off.

For a few minutes, I had this sense of vertigo like the ground was coming at me. At the same time, I felt as though something had begun to tickle the back of my neck and my shoes felt a little loose. I held my knees together and rested my elbows upon them as I placed my palms on my forehead. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe carefully. Even that young, I’d been drunk before and that’s something akin to what I was feeling. The tingling feeling remained and I could almost feel like something was tugging on my clothes or someone had lathered my whole body in Vaseline. It was just an all-around strangeness that I couldn’t wrap my head around. A moment later, something was tickling both the side of my face and the back of my neck.

I didn’t open my eyes until I heard some sort of hysterical whimpering and the sounds of clothing beginning to tear and buttons popping. My eyes shot up and darted about my surroundings. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight before my eyes. Everyone, save for me, was actually standing and their eyes darted from themselves to others with bewildered and frightened looks on their faces. I had a very strange perspective. To my right, the girls all looked like they were getting much taller and their hair seemed to be receding into their scalps. To my left, the guy looked like they were getting much shorter and their hair seemed to be growing at a rapid pace. The whimpering was coming from the girls, though mostly from Shelby. She seemed about six or so inches taller than she had last night and her body was straining against the confines of her clothing. All the girls seemed as though their clothing were ill fitted and odd looking on them, while the guys appeared to be swimming in their clothes.

I couldn’t stop staring until the waistband of my shorts started to pinch me. My eyes lowered and I panicked at what lay before them. My legs and arms, which had been toned and athletic before, seemed very much a diminutive representation of themselves. I looked pale. Even though I hadn’t had much body hair at all, it seemed to have completely disappeared. My muscle tone was much more sleek and lean. I could feel and see something budding on my chest and rubbing against my shirt. Now, I stood up to grab the waistband of my shorts and alleviate the pinching feeling. The vertigo was back. The world seemed bigger than it had a few minutes ago and so did all my clothing.

Horror rocked my senses in the next moment. Once standing and looking down at myself, whatever sensation my chest was giving me was right before my eyes. Two small mounds were visibly growing larger and pushing against my T-shirt. I pulled out the neck and found my fears to be true. I, Michael MacAllister, was apparently growing breasts. I released the neck and it snapped back into place, albeit loosely. Some strands of hair fell before my eyes and caught my attention. I grabbed a lock and pulled it taught in front of me. Earlier that morning, my hair had been the color of rust. It was bland, light, unassuming, and on the threshold of blond. However, now whatever was growing from my head appeared to be a shade somewhere between fire and blood. My vote went to “cherry”, but others had different opinions. Now, I was really freaking out.

Not paying any attention to the others, my eyes frantically darted over my own form. Breasts were still growing at an alarming rate on my chest. I ran my hands down my sides, starting at the ribs, and noticed that I now possessed a natural waistline. My hips were flaring outward right before my eyes, which is what had been tugging at the waistline of my shorts. Suddenly, a wave of shock washed over me. I pulled out the waistline of my shorts and underwear and flew into a panic. My penis, which I’d actually been rather proud of, was a size I hadn’t seen it as since I was six years old. It was so small and flaccid, yet appeared to be getting smaller and retreating into my groin. Just above it, though, was a strange mound of flesh I’d never seen before. Unlike most other guys, I’d never seen a pornographic magazine, movie, and any visual whatsoever. I had no idea what that little mound was. My pubic hair, though more straight than curly now, was the same color as the hair on my head. At least I was still a “real redhead”.

A rational person would equate that all of this should actually hurt. You “reinvent the wheel” with the human skeleton and it isn’t pretty. All of our skeletal structures were completely changing, along with a few choice internal organs. We should have been writhing in agony over this. However, no one I’ve ever talked to about this had any other physical sensation than the background tingling sensation all over their bodies. Mental sensations, however, were varied depending on who you talked to. For example, I was panicked, frightened, and just freaking out in general (as were most that first day). Physically, though, I was completely healthy… about as healthy as one can be when they transition from one sex to another in the span of about fifteen minutes.

A few moments later, about fifteen minutes from the time it all started, the tingling sensation became a decrescendo and faded away. We were still ten teenagers on a camping trip, but our demographic had completely changed. Six boys and four girls had made the trip. Now, there were six girls and four boys. Even though I’d watched many of the changes happen, I didn’t really recognize anyone. In shock, everyone was slowly examining themselves with their eyes and could scarcely believe what had really happened. Though, we should have taken pictures of that. I think back on it now and can joke with my friends about how we looked that first day. There were six girls who looked like they had raided their brothers’ closets and joined some nature cult that burned their bras. Adversely, there were four boys who looked like they had raided their sisters’ closets and had terrible “drag moms” that didn’t tell them how to properly fit their sizes. Their clothes strained against them and their empty bras lay flat on their chests.

“H-holy… fuck… dude!” I heard someone shriek to my left. I looked over in time to see an impressively beautiful and lithe Native American girl cup her hands over her mouth. “Shit! Is that my voice?! Fuck! It is!” From what she was wearing and her ethnicity, I knew that had to be Kai. The girl looked like she was wearing a nightshirt and her legs were exposed because her pants had long since surrendered to gravity and fallen to her ankles.

“This is some whack shit, yo!” Another girl shrieked. At least, she looked like a girl. For all the world, I swear she looked just like she could be J-Lo’s daughter. My mind told me that had to be Marcus.

“Tell me this isn’t fucking happening… somebody tell me this isn’t happening! I can’t be a fucking chick!” A rather anorexic-looking blond screeched with tears building up in her eyes. Her long, straight platinum blond hair hung loosely at her shoulders. She had somewhat small breasts, but looked like she could be captain of the cheerleading squad to me. I conjectured that must be Silus. He would be the one thinking it was a curse to become a woman, as much as he lusted after them almost constantly.

“You can’t be a chick?! Look at me, fucker!” A deep, billowing voice came from the other side of the camp. I’d almost completely forgotten about those that now looked like guys. My eyes darted back to them, now, to find the source of that voice. “I mean, my fucking God! My clothes are ruined and I’m hanging out at all angles and you’re crying about being a chick?!” My eyes met the voice. From the outfit, it was Shelby. She… um, he?… looked like the worst off, in the manner of wardrobe malfunctions. The tanktop had almost completely torn off, the bra was useless, the button and fly of the shorts had flown off, and the socks were in tatters. During the transformation, she’d grown almost ten inches of height and had the physique of a very lean wrestler in a “heavy weight” class. Unfortunately, with the fly open, the pink cotton panties could scarcely contain the bulge that now resided in the nether regions. It was very apparent that they didn’t just look like guys. Everyone, including me, was very shocked and stood in awe at the “Greek God” that stood before them.

However, now was not the time to gawk. He looked incredibly uncomfortable and vulnerable. I don’t know what came over me, but I marched right over to the… guy? “Um… Shelby?” Lord, had I gone through puberty in reverse? My voice was about the border of alto and soprano — low enough to almost sound sexy but high enough to break glass if I screamed. “I’ve got some things that you can borrow, if you want.”

This big guy’s eyes dropped on me. He looked positively huge compared to my perspective. He squinted a little, taking off Shelby’s glasses. “Wait… Michael?” I nodded quietly. His eyes grew huge. “Holy shit, you should look at yourself! You’re a fucking knockout!” He squinted again. “Hey, weren’t your eyes green last night?”

“Wait a second…” Another deep voice stated. “His eyes have always been the color of the Caribbean Sea.” I heard footsteps and another guy, though not as tall but still towered over me, came up and squinted at my eyes. He was wearing a dress and a sports bra. This was Danika. “Holy shit, you’re right! Those are the most stunning dark blue eyes I have ever seen in my entire life!” I could see his eyes move toward my head. “And your hair’s darker, too. Man, that’s weird.”

The other two guys came over and were saying the same things. I was hot. I had deep red hair. And, my eyes were blue. With all the gawking, I could feel my cheeks warm up. I was completely embarrassed and did not want to be standing here being fawned over, right now. The warmth in my cheeks intensified and I could feel it in other places, too. This had to stop.

“Will you stop that!” I shrieked. It sounded so very strange coming out of my mouth. “This is not the time for this! There is someone here who could really use a change of clothes. You want weird? How about I’ve got tits and no dick?! How’s that for weird?!” I growled, though it was a much less imposing growl belonging to the fairer sex.

The three fawning over me looked very apologetic. “Sorry, Mike. That was kinda fucked up.” Danika stated. “We should really be worrying about other things… like calling our parents?”

“Oh, yea, that’ll really work! What are we gonna say?” Kai chirped. In the next moment, the girl brought her hand to her ear and mocked a phone call. “Oh, hi, sorry Dad. I know you don’t recognize my voice. I’m a chick, now.” She brought the “phone” away from her ear. “Yea, I can already tell you that’s not gonna go over well.”

“So, what? You suggest we stay up here for the rest of our lives?” Another billowing male voice that I didn’t recognize came from behind me. I could see Kai’s point. If we couldn’t recognize our own voices, how would our parents?

A girl I didn’t recognize who’d likely been one of the guys I didn’t know strutted towards the fire. “Um, bad news everybody: There’s a problem with that idea. I got no signal at all up here.”

Suddenly, there was a mad dash around the camp. Everyone was digging through their pockets and purses to grab their cell phones. As soon as they were retrieved, they were switched on and everyone was playing the game of “Can you hear me, now?” by holding the phone at arm’s length and slowly walking around the campsite to try and achieve some sort of reception level. I didn’t bother. We were in the mountains in the middle of nowhere in Idaho. There would be no chance of getting any signal from where we were. Now, if we drove down the mountain and crossed over the Galena Summit to Sun Valley or Ketchum, then we might get a signal. Scratch that, all the rich Californians lived there. There’d be signal. After the futile search, everyone looked a bit more deflated.

“We’re not going to get a signal until we get off the mountain and into Ketchum or Sun Valley, guys.” I stated plainly.

“Okay, so let’s pack up and get out of here.” Danika stated plainly.

“First…” I stated, grabbing the incredibly muscular forearm that now belonged to Shelby. “…I think somebody would really appreciate a new set of clothes to wear.”

“Got that right.” ‘He’ stated plainly. The deep voice was really playing with my head–about as much as my own lark voice was.

“Wait… we’re actually gonna go out among other people like this?” Girl-Silus looked frightened.

“You got a better idea, Miss Pretty Little Thing?” Another deep voice I didn’t recognize retorted. It had to be either Jessica or Jakobi. I hadn’t heard either of them speak much.

As Boy-Shelby and I trudged out of the camp, a verbal battle drew to crescendo and I’d wager anyone in the mountains could probably hear it. A couple of things I couldn’t help noticing were the natural sway my hips took on as I walked and just how scratchy my clothes felt as I moved along and my skin came in contact with the fabric. I ignored that and the incessant jiggling on my chest as I guided the poor “lad” to my car where my pack was. Once beside my little 1996 Toyota Camry, I swung open the back door… right into my chest. A twinge of utter pain erupted through my whole body and I visibly recoiled.

“Fuckin’… OW!” I screamed.

Boy-Shelby chortled. “Found the door, did ya? With… your boobs?”

“I guess so.” I whimpered. “Fuck, that hurts!” I rubbed my chest, which wasn’t a bright idea. It didn’t alleviate the pain, but as the fabric ran over my nipples they grew stiff and I could feel some sort of electric pulse through my body that ended in my groin. Besides that, my breasts felt huge and really squishy.

I saw his lips crease into a grin. “Welcome to the joys of womanhood… and all the ‘OW’ that goes with it.”

My eyes seeing a guy, doubled up my hand into a fist and threw a punch which met with abdominal muscles (damn, I’m short!) and I quickly learned that wasn’t brilliant. I cracked a couple of knuckles and it hurt, but it didn’t break anything. All that happened was boy-Shelby winced a little. It didn’t even phase ‘him’.

“I guess that rumor that redheads are feisty is as true as they say.” ‘He’ laughed.

I glared. “Look, do you want clothes or would you rather stay in those rags?”

I’d never seen anyone stop so quickly. “You’re right, sorry.”

I slowly turned and carefully opened the door, this time. Lowering myself into the car, I could feel the full weight of the mounds on my chest. It was a very strange and awkward feeling. As I rooted through my pack to grab appropriate clothing, the fact my pants kept wanting to slide down my ass annoyed me to no end. The Vaseline feeling was ever present as well. Not that I was all oiled up or anything, but my skin just felt so much softer and everything just slid over it with relative ease. However, my clothes still felt really scratchy and that was annoying, too. In moments, I had a T-shirt, shorts, a pair of socks, and a pair of boxers. Though, all the girls had taken off their shoes when we underwent the transformation and they no longer fit. Thus, grabbing the socks was likely not such a good idea.

I turned around to boy-Shelby and handed him the clothes. “Here ya go. I grabbed a pair of socks, but I don’t know how much good they’re going to do you out here without shoes.”

“You don’t have another pair of shoes?” ‘He’ almost looked pathetic when he asked.

“What do I look like, a Payless? No, I had one pair of shoes and that’s all I need.” I shrugged.

He nodded as he took the clothes, set them on the trunk, and began to undress. I folded my arms, suddenly feeling a little chilled as the sun was blocked by a cloud. Trying to ignore the odd sensation of my nipples becoming erect and rubbing against my shirt, I watched boy-Shelby try to make sense of the tattered clothing. He hadn’t succeeded in pulling the tanktop over his shoulders, so he simply tore it off. It was on its last leg anyway. Now, he stood there bare-chested with the exception of a pink bra that hung on his shoulders. He pulled at it and it slipped right off. He was better formed than I could have ever hoped for. His muscles were so well formed and toned that I found myself very jealous. I smirked at the little chest hairs he had and the little “happy trail” from his belly button to his…

“Whoa! Dude!” I quickly turned my head. I’d seen something I didn’t want to.

“What?” I assumed he looked at me with my head turned and one hand shielding my field of vision from him. I could almost sense him look down. “Holy shit! A boner! So, that’s what that feeling was?!”

“Oh, come on! How could you not know you popped wood?” I protested.

“Gimme a break, Mike! I’ve been like this for how long?” He growled. Wow. Did I sound like that when I growled? It sounded almost menacing and imposing, something primal.

At least, I could hear him getting dressed. I heard another couple of tearing sounds.

“You’re safe, now. I’ve got the boxers on.” He seemed to grimace.

I turned around to see him slipping the shorts up to his hips. His legs were really hairy. “Everything fit okay?”

He nodded as he buttoned the fly. “Yea, surprisingly.” He looked over at the pile of tatters that used to be her clothes. He picked up the bra, of all things, and looked a little somber. “Damn. The clasps are all ruined. This was one of my favorite bras, too.” He sighed.

Sighing in reciprocation, I patted his shoulder. “It’ll be all right. We’ll figure this out, right? Maybe there’s some fluke and somebody can change us back?”

He balled up the rags in his hand. Jeez, it was huge. “At least you’re optimistic.”

“Yea.” I shrugged. Then, a thought hit me. “Hey, why’d you pop wood, anyway?”

He chortled. “Hey, if you could get a good look at your ass, you would too. You’ve got a pretty nice ham, there, Missy.”

I furrowed my brow. “Please, don’t call me that.”

Oddly, it was that moment that I noticed just how quiet it was back at camp. There wasn’t so much as a peep from anyone and I didn’t even hear the fire crackling. However, people were filing out of the campsite with whatever trash we’d left, the camping chairs, and several pairs of women’s shoes. The guy in a dress, Danika, and the girl in the nightshirt, Kai, seemed to be leading the group and walked toward boy-Shelby and I. Girl-Kai had a pair of denim shorts draped over one shoulder.

“There’s the two love birds.” The Native girl grinned. “How’d it go down here, you guys?”

Boy-Shelby shrugged. “It went okay, I guess.” He looked at me with a knowing smirk. “Found out that I really am a guy, though.”

Boy-Danika looked at him quizzically. “Oh, yea, how so?”

I was flushed before he said anything. “Well, Mike here was bending over into the car to grab clothes. I had a really good view of her ass, especially with her shorts falling down every few seconds. Let’s just say that nature is a sick, twisted bitch.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets and lowered his head.

“Honey, we knew Mother Nature was twisted. We’ve had periods, remember?” Boy-Danika stated plainly.

Kai’s eyes lit up. “No way! You seriously got a case of the ‘stiff rod’? Damn!” Shelby almost shamefully nodded.

Boy-Danika shook his head. “Okay, look, guys. I think it’s pretty safe to assume that we all look like a bunch of idiots, right now. Especially those of us who were actually girls until not too long ago. We’ve formulated a plan, based on Mike’s offer to Shelby for clothes. We’re gonna go down into Ketchum and grab something to eat. We’re hungry. Now, to do that, we’re going to need a change of clothes. Many of us have agreed to exchange clothes, provided the sizes fit. Are you guys on board for that?”

Boy-Shelby pointed at the new T-shirt and shorts. “I think what I’m wearing solves that problem.”

“Mike, what’s your take?” Girl-Kai asked.

I blinked. “What, Kai? Are you nuts? Put on girls’ clothes?! Um, no, you can count me out!”

“Mike, you should really look in a fucking mirror. Wake up, Geronimo! You are a girl!” Kai screeched. In hindsight, there wasn’t any arguing with his logic. However, I still wasn’t thinking like that.

“No fucking way, dude! There’s no way I’m a chick!” Classic case of denial, I was.

Girl-Kai dropped everything she was carrying and glared at me in a manner that was difficult to decipher. “Mike, stick your hand down your pants.”

I furrowed my brow. “What?!”

“Stick… your… motha-fuckin’ hand… down your motha-fuckin’ pants!” She paused for a moment. “Did I stutter that time?”

My response was an expression of apprehension. Boy-Danika scoffed and rolled his eyes, moved over to me, grabbed my arm at the wrist, pulled open my shorts, and firmly stuck my hand in my pants. As an added measure, he held it there. I could feel just how very soft my skin had become and just the top of my pubic hair. I looked up.

“Keep going.” He stated firmly.

I moved my hand down further, feeling the mound, now. Continuing, I could feel the space where my penis and scrotum used to be. Most of it, now, was dead space. I bent my wrist, maneuvering my hand toward my crotch. In the next moment, my fingers felt an alien presence. “What the fuck? Is that what it feels like?”

“Soft skin, slimy, warm, and the sides grip your finger like your crotch is kissing it?” He asked.

I thought for a moment and all the descriptions were accurate. “Yea, I guess.”

“Congratulations, Mike. You’re the proud owner of a new pussy. How do you feel?” Girl-Kai imitated a game show host, though sarcastically.

I slid my hand out from my pants, now that boy-Danika had let go. I slid across a surface that sent a powerful shiver through my whole system, knocking me off balance. “The fuck was that?”

Boy-Danika and Boy-Shelby laughed. Boy-Danika spoke up. “Careful with that little rosebud until you’re on private time. It’s a doozy.” He winked.

“That was the clit? Damn…” I stood astonished.

Boy-Shelby shook his head. “You have a lot to learn.”

— Chapter Three —

Coming down the mountain took a lot longer than any of us ever expected. First, we all exchanged clothes that we thought would fit each other. Danika, Shelby, Jessica, and Jakobi were the lucky ones. They had the pick of six wardrobes to choose from. The rest of us were stuck with things that were either too loose, too tight, or fit so well it was frightening. As one would imagine, many of the former guys were very apprehensive about the wardrobe choices. All the former girls were fairly girly. Since many of us had our own vehicles, we decided who would ride with who, who was sticking around in Ketchum to figure everything out, and who was just going to make a beeline for Pocatello and put the whole nightmare behind them.

Some of us were fairly hungry. Girl-Kai, Girl-Kaleb, Boy-Shelby, and Girl-Me (yes, I’d finally admitted it) had all piled into my car. Boy-Danika, Boy-Jessica, and Boy-Jakobi had all piled into Danika’s neat little Volkswagen GTI. Everyone else just simply decided they would head straight through to Pocatello. They hadn’t changed clothes and wanted to reveal the bad news to their parents. Meanwhile, the rest of us were prepared to go among the public… in a manner of speaking. Boy-Shelby had put some of my clothes on. Boy-Danika and Boy-Jessica had borrowed clothes from Kaleb. Boy-Jakobi and Girl-Kai had simply switched wardrobes. Girl-Kaleb had borrowed clothes from Boy-Jessica. As for me, I was wearing Danika’s clothes. It felt so weird. Though, the ‘girls’ had one rule: nobody wore their panties. It was explained that for one girl to share another girl’s underwear was not only an invasion of privacy, but also had hygienic concerns that they weren’t going to go into. It would take all day to explain, they said.

I had opted for something so strange that I wouldn’t have thought about it before that morning. Danika handed me a sports bra which, amazingly, kept my new “assets” in check and was quite comfortable. It also kept my nipples from rubbing against any fabrics and annoying the hell out of me. Next, I opted not to wear any underwear. My own was chaffing me so badly that I just threw them in my bag and didn’t think about it. Doing so had confirmed the existence of my new feminine crotch. Danika handed me a pair of leggings which were about three-quarter length (they fell just below my knees, which she explained was “Capri length”) that she didn’t mind whether I wore underwear or not with. On top of it all, she had this interesting tie-dyed short dress that she usually wore with her bathing suit. It pretty much looked like just and over-sized tank top, but it served its purpose. Top it all off with a pair of Jessica’s purple sandals and I was good to go. Except, Danika thought of pulling my hair back into a ponytail and holding it down with a scrunchie. I was thankful for that.

Girl-Kai, however, was pretty “plain Jane” about everything. She slipped on a pair of jeans, borrowed a pair of tennis shoes, wore a sports bra, tied her hair back into a braid, slipped on a T-shirt and was ready without complaint. Kaleb, on the other hand, had the worst time of it. He didn’t like the idea of a bra at all. Though, once he moved around in a T-shirt long enough, he was begging for one. He hated how tight the jeans were and I could almost swear I heard him say something like “jeez, they make my butt look big”. Neither of them could wrap their mind around the idea I was actually willing to wear leggings and a dress. It was a day full of strangeness.

As we drove into town, things began to take on a whole new light. There was evidence of some sort of chaos. There were car accidents that the workers were just cleaning up. Hundreds of businesses were closed. There was hardly anyone on the sidewalks. I had been to this town before and it was usually teeming with life. Now, it felt like some kind of glorified ghost town. It made us all a little uneasy. At least Denny’s was still open.

Finally back to civilization, everyone grabbed out their cell phones and immediately called home. It was really strange, but those seven conversations filled the dead air of the town. Some people passing (the ONLY pedestrians since we arrived) would look over, eavesdrop for a moment on the conversations, knowingly nod, and walk on stating “teenagers” or something similar. Dreading talking to my own parents, I found a quiet corner to sit down as I pressed “send”. Try as I might, I had no idea how to explain to my parents that they now had three daughters instead of just two, reducing the amount of sons to only two. My nerves were on edge by the third ring and I heard the line being picked up.

“Hello?” An unfamiliar man’s voice greeted.

I blinked. “Uh… yea, hello? Who is this?”

“This is the MacAllister residence. Whom am I speaking to?” That tone sounded familiar.

I let out a long sigh. “Well, I don’t know how to explain this, but it’s Michael. Who are you, anyway?”

“Oh, thank the Creator!” The man let out an exasperated and relieved sigh. “Michael, this is your mother speaking.”

I could have sworn I heard a record scratch. “Last I checked, you had to be a woman to be a mother.”

“And yet, when you left here you didn’t sound like a sixteen year old girl, either. I fear the situation is much more complicated than you’re aware of, sweetheart. Where are you?”

Had to admit, the guy had a point. “You’re my mom? Prove it.”

I could hear a growl. This wasn’t going to be pretty. “Michael Anthony MacAllister! I did not spend thirteen AND A HALF hours in labor with you for you to give me this much grief at a time like this! Now, where THE HELL are you?!”

Yep, this was definitely my mother. Only she ever emphasized “and a half” when talking about how long she dealt with the pain of my birth. I facepalmed. “Sorry, Mom. It’s been a really confusing morning. I’m at the Denny’s in Ketchum. We’re going to get something to eat and then we’re hitting the road for home.”

“Just in Ketchum? It’s nearly two o’ clock. What’s taken you so long to get there?”

“Uh… gee… I dunno. Until two hours ago, it was six guys and four girls on a camping trip. At about noon, the dudes turned into chicks and the chicks turned into dudes. It’s been a rough morning and really confusing.”

“I knew that camping trip wasn’t a good idea. Is Mekaisto with you?”

I glanced over at girl-Kai. “In a manner of speaking.”

“Good, his mother is worried sick. Why don’t the two of you come over here when you get back?”

“I thought that was the idea? I’ve got to drop off Kaleb, first, though.”

“Okay, that’s fine. You be safe out there, sweetheart. It’s been a very bad day on the roads and really confusing for everybody. We’ll fill you in when you get home. I love you, sweetheart.”

I felt weird saying it this way. “I love you, too… Mom.”

With that, I hung up and ventured inside. Girl-Kaleb and Girl-Kai were inside, joined by Boy-Jakobi. They all looked pretty shaken up. For a second, I thought I saw that Kaleb had been crying. I slipped into the booth with them, letting out another sigh.

“That was quite possibly the most confusing phone call I’ve ever made.” I stated softly.

“Yea, I think everybody’s got the same idea on that one.” Boy-Jakobi agreed.

Girl-Kai’s eyes were wide and she was shaking her head. “My grandmother was way too confusing. At least, I think it was my grandmother. Sounded like a guy to me.”

“Same here… with my Dad, though. Sounded like a woman.” Girl-Kaleb whimpered.

“Apparently, I got ahold of my mom, but sounded like a dude for me.” I announced.

“Oh, yea? How’d that go over?” Girl-Kai’s eyebrow raised.

“I didn’t think it was my mom. Then, she used that line and that tone she always uses when I piss her off. You know, the one about how long she was in labor with me?”

Girl-Kai nodded, knowing all too well. “Yep, that’s definitely your mom. She really likes to drive the point home…” She used a similar tone to my mom and accented the words. “…and a half!”

I giggled. “Yes! Exactly!” I’d never “giggled” before, really, so I added that to the list of weird things going on that day.

Boy-Jakobi leaned in to study our faces. “Did any of your parents tell you what the heck is going on or did they just say ‘we’ll tell you when you get home’?”

“Dad didn’t say anything.” Girl-Kaleb whimpered again. “…I hope it was my dad…”

“Grandma told it to me straight. She’s like that, though. She doesn’t pull the punches.” Girl-Kai announced, proudly.

“Yea? So, what the fuck is goin’ on?” I implored.

She leaned in. “It’s like this, dude: There have been news reports all over the airwaves for the last two hours. You know, while we were arguing up in the frickin’ mountains? Anyway, they’re saying this is a worldwide thing. It didn’t just happen to us, guys. It happened to everybody!”

Everybody perked up and looked at girl-Kai with astonishment. We were all stunned by the news and, naturally, unimpressed without proof.

“Pics or it didn’t happen, dude!” I interjected.

“Seriously? The whole world? That’s impossible!” Boy-Jakobi yelled.

“No, what’s impossible is you woke up a pretty hot chick this morning only to end up as a buff, tall dude at lunch time.” Girl-Kai pointed out.

He visibly recoiled. “Okay… so you have a point.”

Girl-Kaleb shook her head. “This can’t be happening… it’s just too fucked up.”

Suddenly, Boy-Danika and Boy-Jessica entered the room and sat down next to me. Boy-Danika shook his head, anticipating any questions. “Okay, pretty sure what you’re talking about. Let’s can it until we eat something. Suddenly, I feel like I have a hollow leg and could eat my family out of house and home.”

* * * * * * *

We tried to distract ourselves with other things while we ate, but the whole event was at the forefront of our minds. Oddly, Boy-Danika, Boy-Jessica, and Boy-Jakobi ate like they hadn’t had a meal all weekend. It was a little disturbing to see them shoveling food in their mouths and apparently not tasting it. Girl-Kai and I were astonished at how little we could actually eat. We’d both been pretty big eaters, Kai being the bigger of the two. Girl-Kaleb, however, barely touched her food. Having been the guy whose hair had reminded me of Christian Slater as “Will Scarlet” now appeared more like a mixture of Anne Hathaway and Rachel Leigh Cook. She looked so depressed and distraught. I guessed that Kaleb was really battling some demons.

Soon after eating, we were on the road again. It was really eerie how barren the roadways were. Naturally, we were still seeing scenes of accidents that had occurred earlier being cleaned up by the Department of Transportation and the State Police. It took us a little more than an hour to actually get back into Pocatello, which was shorter than a usual trip might have been. Even our hometown looked like a ghost town. Early in the evening, when the roads really should have been crowded with people heading home from work, there were almost no vehicles. Boy-Danika and I had decided to meet at a parking lot on Center Street, right across from the only gay bar in town, Charlie’s. There, we discussed who was taking whom home and how we were going to exchange the clothes we’d borrowed. It was decided that all the former girls would ride with Boy-Danika, as they had when they’d come on the camping trip in the first place. So, Boy-Shelby jumped from my car to the GTI, we said our “good-byes” and I was on the road again with Girl-Kai and Girl-Kaleb.

With very little deliberation, it was decided that we’d all go to my place. My parents were pretty used to Kai and Kaleb, anyway, and I feared that Kaleb needed the company. We lived in the middle class area known as “Indian Hills” in the southern part of town, which is why we attended Century High. Before long, we were pulling up out in front of my family’s modest five-bedroom house. None of us felt like bringing all the camping gear inside, just yet. Besides, the hiking bags we’d all packed now seemed to weigh a ton, anyway. Girl-Kai and I had equated it to the lack of muscle we’d both worked fairly hard to achieve for the sports we played. That was all gone, now, and it didn’t look like I’d be playing football in the fall like I wanted to.

The walk up to my house seemed, to me, like that scene from “Green Mile” where they were escorting the man on Death Row to the electric chair. There was this eerie sense that lingered since the phone call I’d made from Denny’s.

My family was pretty affluent in the area. My father, Liam MacAllister, was the head of the History Department at Idaho State University, as I mentioned before, and 41 years old. My mother, Margaret (called “Maggie”) MacAllister, was the administrative trauma nurse at Portneuf Medical Center in town, and only just turned 40 this year. As a Registered Nurse (RN), she was highly regarded among her peers and the community as a whole. My older brother, Liam Jr., was in Southern California attending USC with his sophomore year coming up–he just turned 19. My older sister, Catherine (call her “Katie” or she’ll tear you a new rectum), was nearly 18 and had only just graduated high school, still living at home. There was me, the 16-year-old high school sophomore, who was poised to become the first Valedictorian in our family. Then, there was my younger brother, Seamus (he hated his “old country” name), and my younger sister, Meghan, who were 15 and 14, respectively, but weren’t anything really special just yet. Though, Meghan was on the cheerleading squad at the middle school nearby.

Liam had actually gotten into USC Film School on a theater scholarship, which had been the talk of the town when he’d graduated. I knew my parents were incredibly proud of him, so was I. Though, he was hardly ever home. Most of the time, he just stayed with a friend off-campus until the school year started up again and he had, at least, come home for Christmas the previous year. Katie, though, was the “jock girl” of our family. She’d gotten into the University of Washington up in Seattle on a volleyball scholarship but would also be playing on their softball team. My parents were incredibly proud of me, too. I was actually looking at some Ivy League schools back east (Harvard, Princeton, and MIT to be precise). I had a shot, as long as I kept on the Valedictorian road and aced my SATs.

There was conversation at about a dull roar that I could hear as I approached the door. Not knowing whether the door was locked or not, I slowly turned the handle. It clicked and opened a crack. In that instant, the house fell silent. I slowly opened the door to reveal a family inside that I did not recognize. As I felt the eyes on me, there was the sensation of butterflies in my stomach. In the kitchen was a tall, Native American man wearing a cooking apron, sweatpants, and a long T-shirt. With him, was a young man with short red hair in similar attire frozen in place as he held plates, apparently setting the table for dinner. On the couch, there was a boy and a girl who looked younger than me, but had no resemblance my little brother and sister. The girl appeared to be half-Native with long black hair and fair skin. The boy looked like a standard member of our family with his red hair, but still looked very different than my little brother. I opened the door a little further and stepped across the threshold, my eyes darting from one of them to the next. Then, a short, slightly plump woman came out from the hallway. Her hair was about the same rust color as mine had been that morning, but she didn’t look anything like my mother. I was so nervous that my hands were shaking.

“Who the hell are you?” The half-Native girl inquired forcefully.

“Language, young man!” The woman in the hallway scolded.

I blinked. ‘Young man?’, I thought. “Um… hi?”

The big Native man dropped what he was doing instantly, shoved past the guy with the plates, and crossed over to me. “Oh, thank heavens! Michael? Mekaisto? Kaleb?”

I simply nodded, but girl-Kai spoke up. “Yea, it’s us… I guess. Mrs. Mack?”

The big man nodded. The closer he got, the shorter I felt. He had to be about 6’1”, or something about there. He bent over and pulled me into a squeezing hug. “Thank the Creator you’re safe!” He had come so fast that I didn’t have time to attempt reciprocation, so my arms were effectively pinned to my sides.

“Wait… THAT is Michael?” The younger boy on the couch asked. “Impossible! He’s supposed to be ugly!”

“Meghan, shut up!” The guy with the plates chided while he finished setting the table. “That’s just incredibly rude. They just got back, after all. I’m pretty sure they’re all confused.”

“Yea, I can see that.” The half-Native girl agreed. “He’s wearing a dress. He’s got to be confused.”

“Seamus Devon!” The woman from the hallway yelled. The half-Native girl recoiled. “It’s been a very trying day for everyone. The least you could do is give a little support.” The big guy released me and moved to embrace girl-Kai and girl-Kaleb, bringing me into full view of the woman. “Well, so you are wearing a dress… and tights, I see.”

I could feel my cheeks warm up. “Hey, we all figured we had to be incognito. We still have no idea what’s going on, so we pulled a little smoke and mirrors thing. This is really all Danika had that I was willing to borrow.”

She nodded. “Makes perfect sense to me. We were about to turn on BBC World News. Perhaps, we can all gain a little more perspective on what is really going on.” In that moment, I knew this little frumpy woman had to be my father. His parents had emigrated from Ireland when the civil unrest began to erupt in Northern Ireland, thanks to the Irish Republican Army. His parents were Protestants and prime targets for the violence. They had always watched the BBC and it was no different when they came to the United States. He’d grown up on it and we all came to believe that they were more thorough and worldly-minded than most American network news stations.

Having released my friends, my “mother” began moving back to the kitchen. “Mekaisto, Kaleb? Are the two of you staying for dinner? We’d love to have you.”

Girl-Kaleb shrugged. Girl-Kai delegated herself to speaking for them both. “I guess, Mrs. Mack. I think Kaleb’s still pretty shaken up.” I nodded in agreement; girl-Kaleb remained silent.

“Well, okay then.” The male voice boomed from the kitchen. “I’ll call your parents and let them know. I’m sure they’ll be happy to know you’re safe with us, at least.”

“Maggie, dear, do you think it would be better if I gave them a call? It might smooth things over a bit better if it comes from a woman’s voice.” My “dad” suggested.

“I don’t think it matters too much, Liam. As long as they hear their kids are safe, I don’t think it matters whose voice it is.” My “mother” quipped.

The woman looked back at us. “Well, all right, kids. Pile onto the sofa. I’ll call your parents and let them know everything’s okay. Whence dinner is served, we’ll catch the BBC.” And, with that, she moved toward the kitchen to grab the cordless phone and stepped out onto the porch to make the necessary phone calls.

We were all pretty silent and our eyes kept darting quizzically about the room. The air was so surreal. This was supposed to be my family, but I just didn’t recognize any of them. It made me feel like a real stranger. Girl-Kai, girl-Kaleb, and I moved to sit down on the sofa near my family’s 60” plasma TV. Absent-mindedly, my legs fell into a “V” shape that they usually fell into when I sat down. I would learn later that it was sort of a male cultural thing to take up as much space as possible. The guy who had been setting the table quickly crossed the room, slammed my knees together, and leaned to whisper in my ear.

“Keep these together! I can tell from across the room that you’re not wearing underwear and I don’t really care, but there are children in the house and you’re wearing a dress. Get the picture?” He growled through his whisper.

My eyes were wide from shock. “O… kaaay…?” He’d scared me more than a little.

My first lesson in female etiquette was a hard one; it hurt my knees, too. A few minutes later, I actually crossed my legs, which was an entirely new sensation with the leggings on. No one spoke too much, other than simple small talk, all through dinner. We were asked how the camping trip went and elaborated everything that had happened before noon that day. Boy-Katie whined that he probably wouldn’t be eligible for the scholarship, now, after the change. My heart sank. This whole situation had more consequences than many of us were willing to admit. We were lucky to make it through dinner without asking any awkward questions.

My “father” finished first and began to prepare the television for viewing the news broadcast as my “mother” and boy-Katie cleaned up the dinner setting. Again, girl-Kai, girl-Kaleb, and myself settled ourselves onto the couch, where I again crossed my legs not wanting to have bruises on my knees from boy-Katie’s wrath. My “brother” and “sister” situated themselves on the love seat while my parents took their usual seating on their recliners. Boy-Katie simply leaned against the love seat to monitor my younger siblings, should they fall out of line.

In moments, the title graphic played on the screen and a woman in her forties appeared wearing a man’s suit and tie. Any other day, this might appear odd. However, today was not what any of us would call “normal”. The graphic that appeared identified her as Matt Frei, though she looked nothing like him. Another square graphic appeared over her right shoulder that read “Lead Story”. Clearing her throat, she began the newscast.

“Welcome to BBC World News America. If it can be believed, I am your host, Matt Frei.” She seemed to pause for effect. “In our top story tonight, the world has been thrown into a mass of chaos and confusion. The whole of Britain and the United States has ground to a halt. Global markets are not trading and businesses have closed their doors, sending all of their employees home for the day.” As she spoke, video clips from major cities around the world (including London, New York, Washington DC, Berlin, Paris, Rome, Tokyo and many others). “At seven P-M, local time in London, something very peculiar began to happen. In the span of, perhaps, fifteen minutes, everyone began to transform from one sex to the opposite sex they were born as. Hysteria set in, en masse, and many fled to their homes. We here at the BBC soon learned that this was not an isolated incident. It occurred at the very same time, calculating for local times, around the world. In America, if you live in Washington or New York, for example, it occurred at two P-M local time. The same for Los Angeles, occurring at eleven A-M local time. If you live in Tokyo, it happened at three A-M, local time, and you will likely awaken quite bewildered, indeed.

“Scientists, scholars, politicians and religious leaders are totally baffled by this turn of events. None of them has sufficiently supplied an explanation for what precisely occurred at that hour all around the world. There has been no word at all from Prime Minister Tony Blair on this issue and 10 Downing Street remains very quiet, indeed. Her Majesty, the Queen, has not made a public appearance, either. At last report, the Royal Family were in at the castle in Windsor. However, if one were to visit Buckingham Palace at this hour, I suspect they would find a rather interesting situation. The Changing of the Guard Ceremony has continued on schedule throughout the day, though the guards appear a bit shorter and their uniforms appear loose and rather silly, as well. I dare say that the ride into BBC Headquarters was the fastest drive I’ve ever experienced. The streets of London are eerily quiet. On the motorways…” A segment of several live camera feeds flashed on the screen before returning to the anchor. “…there is no travel besides the occasional lorry keeping the freight moving about the country.

“Likewise, in America, there has been no official word from the White House, either. To shed light on this situation, we go to our BBC White House Correspondent, Katty Kay, in Washington DC, now.” The graphic moved to show a split screen between the woman and the man who now appeared in the second window. He appeared to also be in his forties and almost had something of a familial resemblance to Katty Kay, though looked more like a brother. Below their picture, the graphics identified them as being in London and Washington, respectively. “Folks, do not adjust your television screens. This is no trick of the camera. The man onscreen now, I assure you, is in fact Katty Kay. How was your day, Katty?”

The man sighed. “I regret to inform you, Matt, that it has been a very confusing day, indeed. At two P-M, local time, I was in conference with Senator John McCain speaking about his plans for the campaign. I left the office with many more questions than he and I were prepared to go into detail about.”

The woman smiled. “I would imagine so. What is the official reaction in the part of the United States on this matter?”

“The official response is that there is no official response, as of yet.” Now, the graphic changed, showing only the man with “Katty Kay” and “Washington DC” written in graphic below him. “The White House is locked up tighter than the fabled Fort Knox. The United States Congress is not in session at all. The halls of Capital Hill are very quiet. Even the Pentagon, headquarters of the United States military branches, is shut down.” Pictures flashed of the various locations being mentioned. “As you stated previously, Matt, there is no trading on Wall Street, right now, and there has not been since approximately 2:30pm, local time. Police reports across the country have reported auto accidents at their highest rate on any given day since the automobile was invented and mass-produced. No one is at work, save for a select few government offices for national security reasons. One would suspect panic, but the streets are eerily quiet. It seems that everyone has gone home to be with their families.” Scene changed to show a video of a limousine outside the White House with police escort and two young men, wearing women’s clothing, rushed from the car to the door. “One piece of news, however, is that President and Laura Bush’s two children have returned to the White House. Seen here in this video, two young men–one wearing a dress and stockings, the other in a skirt and pumps–were escorted by police motorcade to the White House earlier today. It can logically be determined that these two must be the President and First Lady’s fraternal twins, Jenna and Barbara.”

The graphic switched to the split screen once more. Woman-Matt spoke first. “That is quite interesting. Is there any official word from the White House whether or not there is to be a press conference later in the week?”

Man-Katty shook his head. “To my knowledge, there has not been any word on that at all. None of the White House aids or the White House Press Secretary have given any indication that there is a statement to be made on the matter. They have not answered our phone calls, either.”

“Thank you, Katty.” The graphic changed back to just woman-Matt, again. “Though commerce has all but frozen, we must still go to commercial. BBC World News America will be right back.”

The screen faded and my “father” hit the mute button. There was a stunned silence in the room. We were all likely considering and processing what we had just heard. Unlike the rest of my family, this was the first that Kai, Kaleb, and I had heard that what happened to us at the campsite was actually a worldwide phenomenon. We had seen many of the accidents first hand, but had no idea what was going on anywhere but our own little world. To imagine such a thing had happened everywhere was simply unfathomable. I, personally, don’t think it was very comforting for political leaders of the various countries to basically turn into shut-ins rather than reassuring the public that all would be well, in time. The majority of people were likely as freaked out as it was. They didn’t need their President or Prime Minister remaining so recluse. With not a word exchanged among the family and friends, the broadcast was back on after the four-minute commercial break.

“Welcome back to BBC World News America. Do not adjust your television sets. I am, in point of fact, Matt Frei. We continue our coverage of our lead story for this evening. If you’ve only just joined us, there has been a phenomenon that has effected the whole world. For those of you in the UK, you know that at 7pm local time men suddenly began turning into women and women into men. For those in America, it occurred at 2pm Eastern Time and 11am Pacific Time. We are getting reports from all over the world with local times that correspond with these times. However, there has yet to be any news from a particular region of the world that has some world leaders somewhat wary.

“The television network in the Middle East, the Arabic-speaking Al-Jazeera, has not been broadcasting anything and their signal has not been detected since a corresponding local time that coordinates with the 7pm London Time. We have reason to believe that the leaders of Iran, Saudi Arabia, Burma/Myanmar, and other Arabic nations with Muslim leaders have ordered a media blackout. The BBC’s own Middle East correspondent was reportedly phoning headquarters when her cellular phone was confiscated by armed guard and all other communications have been shut down. We are hearing similar reports from American network news anchors that also have correspondents in the Middle East. No one knows what to make of this. The UN has not responded and with the President of the United States and the Prime Minister of the UK apparently on holiday, there is no official word on the subject. I say again, the Middle East has allegedly instituted a media blackout and we are attempting to ascertain what that could mean for the Western world. Stay tuned for more information, hopefully at a later time.

“We are now joined by Katie Couric of the CBS Evening News and the program 60 Minutes.” The graphic changed back to the split screen with one identifier as London and the other underneath a rather chubby man in his fifties that read “New York”. “Miss Couric, thank you for joining us this evening.”

The man nodded. “Thank you, Matt. It’s a pleasure to be here.”

Woman-Matt rearranged a few papers on his desk before asking his question. “Now, I am to understand that you have done a great deal of correspondence for CBS and 60 Minutes in the Middle East. Could you, perhaps, educate the viewers as to how we should take the idea that countries like Iran, Saudi Arabia, and Burma/Myanmar have instituted a media blackout?”

As the man spoke, several different pictures of what we all knew Katie Couric looked like flashed across the screen showing scenes of when she’d done reporting in the Middle East. “Well, Matt, I have been to the Middle East several times, as you know. The governments ruled by Imam’s, Mullah’s, and Ayatollah’s could institute a media blackout on a whim, if they so chose. It’s not like here in the United States where we have ‘Freedom of the Press’ in our Constitution. The governments run their press. Given the events of today, it didn’t surprise me that they called for the blackout. What happened today undermines just about everything that Islam and the Qur’an have taught them over the past couple thousand years. All of those countries that were once led by men are now, for all intents and purposes, led by women. That alone would cause chaos in the streets.”

Woman-Matt nodded. “I see. So, it is your professional opinion that there is really nothing to fear from this media blackout, correct?”

Man-Katie nodded again. “I am not an expert on Islam or its teachings, but having experienced the culture first hand, I don’t think we have anything to worry about here. Like us, they are likely attempting to make sense of a very confusing experience. Look at your own Prime Minister, Matt. He has essentially instituted his own media blackout by not addressing the public from a podium at 10 Downing Street. Even my own President Bush is remaining tight-lipped and reclusive.”

“Yes, it’s very troublesome from all accounts, isn’t it?”

“It very much is. We have a scared and confused public and our leaders aren’t showing their faces. It’s a testament to how human they truly are. If you hadn’t asked me to this interview, I would be at home with my children.”

Woman-Matt smiled. “Well, thank you very much for your sacrifice, Miss Couric. I wish you well this evening. Do be careful on your way home.”

Man-Katie smiled back. “Thank you, Matt.”

The graphic once again morphed to show only the woman claiming to be Matt Frei with a still photograph over her right shoulder of a woman I couldn’t recognize. “There is one politician brave enough to show their face for the sake of their people, tonight. That politician would be the Prime Minister of Australia, Kevin Michael Rudd. Dressed accordingly in a women’s pant suit, the Prime Minister addressed the country of Australia this morning, at an early 7am local time, in the garden at The Lodge in Deakin, Canberra. In the address, the Prime Minister assured the Australian citizens that the government would make a full inquiry as to what has occurred. Though many were tempted to stay at home, all citizens were implored to return to work that day, as per normal. Joking that the changes would take some getting used to, the Prime Minister seemed in high spirits that the Australian people would persevere through this troubling time.” Woman-Matt smirked and chortled. “Is there nothing that troubles an Australian? You decide. We’ll be right back.”

All of us laughed as my father again hit the “mute” button, anticipating the commercial break.

“I have to say, she looked pretty good in that purple top and pant suit ensemble. I don’t think the pearls fit her character, though.” My “mother” commented. All the former girls chuckled with their deep voices. Most of the former guys didn’t know what they were talking about.

“If you’ll pardon the expression, she’s the only politician with enough balls to actually get in front of a camera, so I’d say she’s doing pretty well.” My “father” added.

“Yea, it does seem a little cowardly that President Bush and Prime Minister Blair are hiding away in their state-funded homes while we’re all a bit confused.” Boy-Katie added.

“Suddenly, I don’t feel so bad about being upset by being turned into a chick. I had the courage to go out in public and those guys are hiding behind closed curtains with their tails between their legs.” Girl-Kaleb finally spoke. “What a bunch of pussies.”

“And, now, quite literally.” My “father” quipped.

Another roaring laughter erupted in the room.

— Chapter Four —

The next few days were nothing more than a blur, really. The chaos was beginning to settle and people were slowly returning to work. The markets were trading again. Congress was in session. The Pentagon was fully operational. Though, it was anyone’s guess how the United States was going to deal with a fighting force that was now primarily female. After a few days, the President finally held a press conference. My family caught the highlights either through secondary sources online or from the BBC. None of us could stomach listening to “Dubya” for very long at all. Though, having a President named Gloria Bush was a little odd. The overall consensus was to adapt to the change and the government would pay for new names for all citizens, as a legal alias. That was something we would never have expected from a Republican president, free handouts to the “average Joe”. Thankfully, there was no “mad dash” to the County Recorder’s office. Everyone took their time adapting to the reality.

Kaleb and Kai stayed in my room for three more days, practically extending our camping trip by simply moving it to my room. After that, however, their parents came and escorted them home. I was now by myself with a family I didn’t visually recognize. After a few days, we became accustomed to each other’s new faces and everything was taking on a renewed sense of “normal”. Though, all of us were messing up pronouns left and right. For instance, Katie kept calling me “she” and I kept calling her “he”. Once, Meghan even made a little mistake in calling our father “Mom”. That was comical. Though, we’d have to get used to such designations.

Two days after “the event”–we had termed as the euphemism–Liam Jr. had come back home from Los Angeles after all the other roommates had gone home. She was now a fully Native American young woman, looking a lot like my mother did now, except completely female. It was just as confusing for my eldest sibling as it had been for me when I came home from camping.

After watching several news broadcasts, my parents decided that it was time to get to business. The government had suggested that everyone acquire a legal alias, fully federally funded. Their recommendation was to continue using one’s first initial as the letter for the new name. That way, everyone could abbreviate to just their first initial and not be mistaken as someone other than themselves on legal documentation. My parents had spent four days considering this and had brought it to all of us at the table after dinner on the sixth night after the change. We, the kids, were not allowed to give much input on our names, save for Liam Jr. and Katie because they were legally adults… almost. After a little arguing and discussion, we all had new names.

My “dad”, we now had to call “Mom”, was now Loraine (or “Lori”) MacAllister. My “mom”, we now had to call “Dad”, was now Maxwell (some people might get away with “Max”) MacAllister. My older brother would now be Leanne (or “Annie”) and my older sister would now be Chester (or “Chaz”, which made me laugh). My younger brother was now Sadie and my younger sister, the youngest of the family, was now to be called Mark. They actually didn’t change my name much. The original idea was “Michelle”, being the feminine equivalent of “Michael”, but I hated that. So, my name became something of a tongue twister. I would now be known as Mekayla MacAllister; though, technically, I could still be called “Mike” with that name (it worked for Dr. Quinn!). It would take us a long time to get used to all of this.

The one problem I had with the whole thing, though, was knowing when I had to pee. I’d gone through almost 17 years of my life with a penis. The sensation that occurred when I had the urge to urinate was uniform the whole time. However, now that I had a female vulva, it was a whole lot harder. In the first couple of weeks, I had to learn what the signal was that my body used to tell me I had to run to the bathroom. I also had to learn that standing to urinate just wasn’t going to work anymore. Embarrassingly, I had my unfair share of accidents, but mine wasn’t the only laundry being done on a daily basis. Mom, Sadie, and Leanne were having similar experiences. After a day or three, Dad actually described to us (individually) what the sensation was that a woman’s body used to tell her it was time to go pee. It had one hell of a learning curve. After about three and a half weeks, I think I got the hang of it. Though, I felt I was probably running to the bathroom more often now than I ever did when I had a penis. Not only that, but laughing, coughing, sneezing, and many other functions taken for granted would actually trigger the “I GOTTA PEE!” signal. On top of that, Dad decided to elaborate that once a woman starts having babies, it gets worse. That was not something I wanted to contemplate, ever. “Frustrating” is just not a strong enough word to use for such a thing.

The next order of business: clothes shopping. I hated the very suggestion. I had never in my entire life enjoyed the activity of shopping. If I were going to be a girl for the rest of my life, I’d be a terrible one. However, the whole family was going, so I could share my woes with Leanne. My older brother and I had always gotten along really well and I don’t think that changed once we suddenly grew breasts. Our parents piled us all into the family SUV and it was off to the mall in Idaho Falls. Though, none of us really looked all that presentable with the ill-fitting attire we had to wear until that trip. Most of the time, we just lounged around in T-shirts and sweatpants. Thankfully, we’d left really early in the morning and there was still very few people out and about town. A crowd would be our worst nightmare.

Once we parked the car, our first stop was JC Penny. Interestingly enough, my “Mom” took the “boys” off to the young men’s section and my “Dad” took us “girls” to the junior’s department. I felt as though I was in alien territory just glancing at all the outfits that were on the mannequins. One should get a degree of some kind for just being able to decipher and precisely coordinate women’s clothing. It baffled me. Before we could begin getting any clothes, though, we had to take a trip to the fitting rooms. “Dad” decided we all had to be measured so that we could possibly begin to find out what our sizes were. If outfit coordination was bad, deciphering women’s sizes was worse.

A few days prior, “Dad” had taken us down to the clinic of a doctor he was on good terms with. We were weighed, measured for height, and given a general check-up to ascertain our current health. We were all fine, but it’s all the measuring that had me baffled. Liam Jr. had been 6’2” tall and probably weighed somewhere between 160 to 175 pounds. On the scales, Leanne was only 5’8” tall and came in at 128 pounds. Seamus had been about 5’4” tall and weighed, I’d say, about 110 pounds (he was really skinny). Sadie, however, was the same height and weighed just two pounds more, at 112 (I think it was because of her new boobs.). I had been a little more than 5’10” tall and, last time I weighed in, was about 140 pounds (mostly muscle weight). Now, I was only about 5’5” tall and weighed a whopping 118 pounds. All three of us were a little frightened by these numbers.

Once at the fitting rooms, a young guy that was probably closer to Annie’s age than my own greeted us. “Dad” explained the situation and what the plan was. The guy agreed to take us, one-by-one, into the changing rooms and measure us for size. I didn’t fully understand what that was all about until it was my turn to be measured. Leanne went first, then me, then Sadie.

“I’m a seven,” Leanne announced when she emerged.

Dad nodded. “Okay, Mekayla, it’s your turn, now.”

Hearing that name still sent a twinge down my spine. I slowly stood and followed the guy into a back fitting room. Once there I turned around to face him. He smiled.

“Don’t worry, okay? Eight days ago, I was a girl. I’m not going to try anything funny.” He stated. “Now, if you could lift your arms and hold them straight out, we can start.” I did as requested and held my arms straight out as he wrapped a tape measure around my chest, just below my new breasts. Then, he made a note before moving a little higher and measuring right over top of them. I blushed, naturally. Next, he moved down to my new natural waist and made his note. “Okay, those pants aren’t really going to work for this. Are you wearing anything under them?”

I gave a bewildered expression. “What do you mean?”

He sighed. “Those sweatpants are pretty thick. I don’t think I’m going to get an accurate hip measurement with them on. Are you wearing underwear?”

Again, I blushed. “Um… boxers?”

He nodded. “Those should be fine. Like I said, I’m not going to try anything funny, but could you slide your sweatpants down your legs?” I didn’t quite understand the insinuation, but I did as requested and somehow felt weird doing it. “There’s a good girl. Thanks.”

“I’m not a girl!” I protested.

He scoffed. “You keep telling yourself that, honey.” He wrapped the tape measure around my butt and came uncomfortably close to my crotch. He took his note and then looked up at me. “Okay, pull your pants up and turn around for me?” I obliged, not really getting what he was going for. However, he measured from the base of my neck to the small of my back. “Okay, well, I’d say you’re a pretty healthy girl who’s a size 5. You should look for a 36 C bra, though.”

My eyes widened. I hadn’t anticipated bra shopping to be included in this excursion. Now, a little frightened, I exited the fitting room. Once outside, I whispered to my Dad what my size was and he nodded before sending Sadie in. I moved over and sat next to Leanne on a bench outside.

“That was a little embarrassing, eh?” She asked.

“Just a little.” I sighed. “So, what’s the damage?”

“Well, apparently I’m a size 7, but I don’t know what that means.”

“Me either. I’m a 5, though.”

“Yea? How’s the boobs?”

“A 36 C. You?”

“Same, actually. Though, from what I hear, that’s the average among American women.”

“Is that what we are, now? American women?”

She laughed. “Yep, I guess so.”

A few minutes later, Sadie emerged with a ripe blush on her face. All of our pairs of sweatpants were designed for men. Therefore, they ran a little bigger and had thicker fabric. I learned later that he really could not have gotten an accurate measurement with them on. Women’s and Girls’ sizes are fairly exact, down to half inches in some styles. Like I said, you almost have to be a scientist to really figure it all out. Once having relayed her size to Dad, Sadie came and sat with Leanne and I. Then, Dad came over to address us all.

“Okay, you three. I’m pretty sure you are not going to like what I’m about to tell you, but I do not want to hear any complaints at all. Am I understood?” Dad was laying down the law. The three of us exchanged glances before looking back up and answering something like “yea, sure” or “okay, whatever”. We really shouldn’t have agreed to anything we didn’t know we were agreeing to. “Okay, then. I’m taking you to the intimates department to get you all some fitting underwear. I’m pretty sure you’ve found out by now that men’s under things are uncomfortable and scratchy on those new bodies of yours. Not only that, I’m really tired of seeing all your boobs flopping around for all the world to see. So, you’re all getting bras.” Sadie almost interjected. “No buts! Now, let’s go.” The three of us stood and let out our selected whimper or whine. “What did I say about complaints, girls?! Move it!” That shut us up.

If I thought I was in alien territory when entering the junior’s department, I was in another galaxy when we came to the intimates department. Yet again, you’d need a degree to try and make sense of everything. They had bras and panties of every shape, size, color, and design. There was even one section for socks and hosiery while another area for “sleepwear”. It was insanity. While Dad moved through and began picking several different things off the racks, my new sisters and I were slowly trudging around with our eyes as big as dinner plates. We were pretty overwhelmed. We couldn’t really make heads or tails of anything.

“If I’d have told you a month ago that this is what we’d be doing during our summer vacation, what would you have told me?” Leanne asked while whispering in my ear.

“That you’re fucking crazy!” I whispered back.

“Yea, same here. What the hell are they thinking? Do they really believe we’re actually going to wear any of this frilly, sissy crap?”

“I don’t know. I — ”

“Wow, this is actually kinda cute.” Sadie loudly stated within earshot of Dad. Leanne and I exchanged a glance and then looked back at Sadie quizzically. She looked pretty self-conscious, now. “What?”

She was holding a pajama set that was still tethered to the rack by its hanger. It was a lavender-colored tank top with a moon wearing a sleeping cap and matching pants that had little blue “Z” shapes all over it. The bottoms looked like they were made of satin. Dad came over with the cart, gave the outfit a glance and then looked down at Sadie.

“You really think that, Sadie? Do you want me to get this for you?” He asked, patiently.

Sadie shrugged. “I dunno. It kinda looked nice.”

Dad glared at Leanne and I. “Don’t base your choice on what those two say. If you like it, we’ll get it for you. You have to try it on, first, okay?”

Sadie nodded. Annie and I would have like to hide somewhere. Even with a man’s visage, our mother had some certain looks that we would never dare challenge. We felt like idiots and wondered what we’d done wrong, all at the same time. Dad grabbed the outfit, put a few more things in the cart, and then moved straight to the fitting rooms. He handed Sadie the outfit, who gladly bounded off to try it on.

Dad spun around to face us, bearing another one of those looks. “What the HELL was that all about?”

“What? Just thought that was weird coming from Seamus, that’s all.” Leanne pleaded.

“It’s Sadie, now, and perfectly healthy for a 15-year-old girl to say. So, what is the problem?” This was the proverbial foot being put down.

“Look, it’s just all too weird and overwhelming, okay? Give us a break. It’s nothing against ‘Sadie’, per say. It’s just the whole situation.”

Dad took a deep breath. As Mom, that was not a good sign. It meant she was angry and trying not to kill her children. “Leanne, do you really think that I like the idea of using your father’s clothes because none of mine fit? Or, how about knowing, for sure and certain fact, that I gave birth to, nursed, changed diapers, and raised every single one of you kids the best way I knew how, but not being able to proclaim I’m your mother?” Under normal circumstances, this is when Mom might have started to cry. However, there were no tears. “We’re all dealing with this thing and we might as well try and support each other. Can you do that for me?”

“Yea, but what does frilly bras and panties have to do with that, huh?” I knew the moment I said it that I probably stepped over the line.

Dad advanced and got a little in my face. “I did NOT get you anything super ‘girly’, okay? We got things that are practical and would be more comfortable for you. Coming from someone who was born a woman and knows those bodies better than you two do, I think I know something about what you’re going to need, okay? Now, you are going to be proper young ladies for the rest of the day or I will buy you nothing but pink frilly panties, bras that show the most amount of cleavage, and the most ‘girly’ dresses I can find. Is that clear?”

Cooperation or forced-feminization were the options? Oh, we were nodding our heads as fast as our muscles would allow us to. We did not want to incur any of that wrath. We stayed pretty silent for the next hour, or so. Sadie came out of the fitting room, showing off her pajamas and how well they fit. Dad paid for them and all the other things bought in the intimates department at the closest customer service counter. Then, we marched right back to the fitting rooms. Dad handed Sadie, Leanne, and I each a bra and pair of panties. We were told to put them on, tear off the tags, and give back the boxer shorts we were wearing. Reluctantly, we obliged.

Once in the dressing room, I stared at the bra and panties I’d been handed. Both of them were a pale purple color that I grumbled at the sight of. They were both a cotton and Lycra fabric blend. The bra was pretty plain and almost looked to be built like a cross between a bikini top and a sports bra. However, there was a little bit of padding in the “cups”. I let out a sigh before stripping down to my “birthday suit”.

There was one big mirror that caught my attention at the back of the dressing room. This was the first time since the change that I’d seen myself completely naked. My eyes bulged out of their sockets. My deep red hair fell just below my shoulders. My eyes really were now a deep blue color. My skin was fair and flawless, from what I could tell. I twisted and turned, to check out every angle. My shoulders were narrow. My arms were long and lean. My ribs were far less broad than they had been. My hips flared out from the waist and followed a cascading, tapering line down my thighs to my knees. My butt was round, firm and smooth. My feet and hands were small and pretty dainty. I didn’t notice my crotch so much as I noticed my full, plump breasts and cute pink nipples at the crest. If I had met the girl in the mirror before the change, I’d have made her pregnant several times over. I had been embarrassed back at the camp when boy-Shelby had called me a knockout. Now, my eyes beheld what he may have seen and I was inclined to agree with him. However, then reality set in and the realization that I WAS the girl in the mirror hit home.

Avoiding the reflection, I grabbed the panties and slipped them on. Surprisingly, it wasn’t hard to tell where to stop pulling them up. The shape of my hips stopped any further advance. They set firm, yet comfortable, against my butt, my legs, and my crotch. It was still a strange feeling to have something right against the skin of my crotch and my lower abdomen at the same time. For a moment, I glanced in the mirror. They looked really nice, once they were on. The “boy shorts” design gripped against my thigh. The waistband stayed about two inches from my belly button. I spun around and they looked really good on my ass, too. I started to ask myself, “from what angle do these look bad?” before a knock came to the dressing room door and frightened me a little.

“Y-yes?” I inquired of the interloper.

“Mekayla, honey, are you okay in there? It’s been 20 minutes, now. We’ve got a lot of shopping to do.” Dad’s voice inquired.

“Y-yea, I-I’m fine.” To me, that last word had a double meaning.

“Do you mind if I come in?”

“Um… why?”

“Well, you may be staring at the bra wondering just how exactly to put it on. I’m here to help you. I’ve already gotten Sadie and Leanne taken care of. They’re waiting for us.”

I was blushing pretty badly and wasn’t entirely sure why. “Okay, I guess so.”

Instinctively, I wrapped my arms over my chest as the door began to swing open. Under different circumstances, this would be a very strange thing indeed and the cops would probably have been called. I mean, a father helping his daughter put on a bra? Tell me you wouldn’t call them! These were not considered “normal” circumstances, though. A little more than a week ago, that man had been my mother and had been a woman all her life.

Dad stepped in and immediately closed the door. Then, he glanced at me with a reassuring smile. “Okay, let’s get this over with so I don’t embarrass you too much.” He crossed the room and picked up the bra, snapping off the price tag. “The secret is really simple, actually. I’ll show you the best way women know how to do this.” He wrapped it around my natural waist with the clasps in front. “First, you wrap it around like this. But, you want the cups facing outward, kinda like they’re upside down. That way, when you pull the straps over your shoulder, they face your body. Can you feel them against your butt, right now?” Amazingly, I did, so I nodded. Then, he clasped them together. “Start at the clasps on the outside. Bras usually have two or three. For girls your age, there’s almost always just two.” He had me look down and examine them, so I committed all this to memory. Then, clasped the bra closed. “Now, it’s pretty simple. Just twist it around so that now the clasps are in back and just pull the whole thing up to your chest and over your shoulders.” I did as requested and had straps over my shoulders and the cups against my breasts with relative ease.

Oddly, it didn’t feel right. “Well, that was easy enough, but it still isn’t quite comfortable.”

Again, Dad smiled reassuringly. “Now, you get your hand in the cup and adjust them puppies until it is comfortable. You want me to show you?” I meekly nodded, not comprehending the explanation. He moved over behind me, pulled out the shoulder strap just a little, reached into the bra to the outside of each breast, and pulled them up and inward. I really couldn’t decipher the tactile sensations I was getting from having someone else touch my breasts. I just felt embarrassed that it was my own parent touching them. I watched attentively and tried to learn the lesson. When he was done, everything was comfortable enough that it was hard to tell whether I was wearing a bra or not. Were it not for the shoulder straps feeling taught, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. “There, how’s that feel?”

“Almost like I’m not even wearing one, actually.”

He smiled. “Good. That’s the point. See? It’s not so hard.”

I don’t know what came over me. Instinctively, I reached over and embraced him, lovingly and appreciatively. “Thanks, Mom. What would we do without you?”

I felt some big arms return the embrace. The sensation of comfort and security that I felt in that moment cannot be explained, really. Psychologists would call this a “bonding moment”, I guess.

“You really are gorgeous, Mekayla.” He stated, kissing the top of my head. “Yes, as Michael, you were a handsome, strapping young man and I think all my children are beautiful, but I thought you should know that.”

“Thanks… Dad.” I chortled.

“Now, hand me those boxer shorts and get that cute little rump of yours dressed so we can get this shopping trip over with, will you?” He requested, playfully swatting my rump. I actually screeched just like a girl and we had a good laugh at that.

The rest of the day’s shopping actually turned into a blur, after that. Our preferences were for the least “girly” ensembles in the whole department and Dad was willing to accommodate. The majority of the purchases were for jeans and T-shirts. I did find one tank top that caught my attention enough to make me want to buy it, but that was it. Dad did insist on at least one pair of “capris” for each of us. He stated that if we weren’t going anywhere near the shorts, skirts, or summer dresses, then we’d at least need something that would cool us off some when the weather started getting really hot. We grabbed three pairs of jeans, five T-shirts, a pair of capris each, and one tank top for me. We wouldn’t know until we got home that Dad had actually bought us all a set of pajamas and two pairs of sweatpants, each. After stopping at the fitting rooms to check the fit, we were back out and moved on to the shoe department. Dad insisted on at least three pairs that coordinated with different outfits, but finding the least “girly” shoes was pretty difficult. However, I did learn that I had gone from a Men’s size 11 to a Women’s size 7  ½. Sadie, Leanne, and I pretty much agreed that two pairs of tennis shoes and a pair of flip-flips was the least girlish option that Dad would agree with.

Long before we reached the shoe department, Mom and “the boys” met up with us, having finished all their shopping for the day. It was good not having ‘Chaz’ and Mark with us at the beginning and the elder of the two was actually giving us pointers on which shoes to go for. Once the purchases were made, we all had to carry our own bags so that nothing got mixed up. I think Mom and Dad were really worried about the money we’d spent and how that would affect future finances, but they had already decided that such was a necessary evil. Once we got home, everybody set their shopping bags in their rooms and we all met back down in the living room… plopping down on the couches, exhausted from the day. For a few minutes, we all sat in silence.

“I vote we order pizza,” Dad stated, breaking the silence.

“I second that,” Mom agreed.

“I’m too tired to care,” Chaz chuckled. We all joined in.

* * * * * * *

In that first month, nobody really felt like going outside. In my own household, Mom and Dad had no choice but to go back to work. My siblings and I, on the other hand, didn’t really have anywhere that we really needed to be. Most of the time, we merely lounged around the house. Friends didn’t come over and most of our family stayed in contact by phone. I spent most of my time in my room. I would wear a sports bra, a pair of panties, and the usual T-shirt/sweatpants configuration. Though, I did find the girls’ sweatpants Dad had purchased to be a bit more comfortable than my other ones.

Still, much of my time was spent online, playing games on my Xbox. It was pretty weird, though, to have the Xbox LIVE community turn 180 degrees and become a female-dominated arena. I guess we all had the same idea: escape from the reality that had befallen us all. Thankfully, trash talking became a thing of the past except in extreme circumstances. There was always a troll in the room, no matter what we did.

Often, the only chance I had to hang out with and talk to Kai and Kaleb was when we played on the Xbox LIVE together. However, their names had changed, too. Mekaisto (which meant “Red Hawk”) had changed to become Magaska (which meant “White Swan”). Calling her “Kai” no longer worked too well. So, we resolved to just calling her “Magz”, which sounded good if we were playing “Call of Duty”. Kaleb, however, had not been so fortunate. Her name became Kaylee and there wasn’t much of a nickname we could devise to, perhaps, masculinize it a little. Fortunately, the name had grown on her in about two weeks. We became Mekayla, Magaska, and Kaylee, the terrifying triumvirate on the battlefield. Many who were actually professional gamers told us that we should form a team and start to compete professionally, but not wanting to be seen in public really put a damper on that idea. We were content to just have the gaming world as our escape from reality for a little while.

For at least the first two weeks, the whole world seemed to be uprooted. In certain parts of the USA, there were gang wars and riots in response to what was now being called “Change Day”. Having all the men turned into women had actually usurped the power structure in many different ways. After a few days, the President of the United States had actually held a press conference and gave a speech. The next day, the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom followed. All around the world, leaders were finally showing their faces to the public. After five days, the media blackout in the Middle East finally lifted and Al-Jazeera began broadcasting again. The Muslim leaders had decided that they were born to privilege as men and would retain that, regardless of the changes. Of course, that did apparently go against their own teachings, but they were not about to give up their power. Even the Pope became the “Holy Mother” and the cardinals and bishops underneath her were allowed to retain their positions, regardless of the change. I thought it was all incredibly self-serving and hypocritical. They would go against their own teachings that they’d preached about all that time simply to retain their power. I think that’s about the time that I swore off religious doctrine of any kind.

Nobody knew what we were all in for. After four weeks, everything would change… again.

— Chapter Five —

Monday June 30, 2008 — 11:55 am MDT

Lately, I had been feeling a little more than lazy. Here I was, 16 years old and on my summer vacation. What was I doing with it? Sitting around the house, either on the couch watching television or on my bed playing my Xbox, and wearing T-shirts with my sweatpants. I hadn't left the house since the family shopping trip and really couldn't remember where my car keys were. Adding to this complication, neither had any of my siblings. We had since separated from each other. I think "cabin fever" and close proximity was starting to drive us all crazy. Ever since my boobs grew in, I shrank five inches, and lost my penis, I didn't have any drive to go out in public. To a certain extent, I was fine with that. However, I had a bit of "wander lust" and was wondering what was going on in my own world. This still did not give me any incentive to venture around town, though. It helped that it was hot outside and the air conditioning made things bearable.

Today, though, there was a good reason why I was slumped on the couch trying my best to find something entertaining on daytime TV. For the past couple of days, my lower back ached. I had no idea why. I just knew everything felt more than a little off. I propped my legs up on the arm of the loveseat, set a pillow under my lumbar region, and padded my head with another couple of pillows. Not only that, but my whole abdominal region just didn't feel right. I passed it off as something I had eaten that didn't agree with me and, perhaps, that my body was still trying to adapt to the fact there was a pair of breasts on the front of it. Either that, or I'd spent too much time sitting "Indian style" on my bed. I let out a sigh and continued watching a Mythbusters rerun on Discovery Channel.

Moments later, Annie entered looking about as disheveled as I felt. She blinked at what was on TV. "Oh, this is still one of those episodes where Adam and Jamie were still guys, huh?"

"Yes, and Kari Byron was the only hottie on the show." I meekly nodded.

As she rounded the loveseat to sit on the couch, I noted that her wardrobe was similar to mine. She wore the boring T-shirt and sweatpants combination. Though, she, too, was wearing the ones that Dad had bought on our shopping trip. I had to admit, they were incredibly comfortable and gripped my lower curves in an unnoticeable yet flattering manner.

She glanced over at me, quizzically. "You know something funny? Your hair looks about the same color hers was when she first started on the show. It's kinda freaky, actually."

I rolled my eyes. "Duly noted."

"For the record: I still don't think he looks like a Kevin and it's really creepy how much he looks like I did before..." She glanced down at herself. "...well, you know."

"Yeah, that is kinda weird. Is it like looking in a mirror for you?" I glanced up to get a better vantage point.

She shrugged. "Not so much, anymore. Now, I look like a sure shot for a role as Pocahontas or Sacagawea. Unfortunately, that kinda kills my career as an actor. It's down to niche parts that don't get filled often in this country."

My heart sank. There was yet another reason to have a bout of depression in the family. "Had your heart set on some Golden Globes and Oscars, huh?"

She slowly nodded. "Yes, I did. Maybe even a couple SAG awards. I mean, I'm not tooting my own horn, but something came out right when Mom and Dad brought me into the world. I have a gift and it's pretty much going to go to waste, now."

I nodded. I'd seen my brother on stage. He was a genius, there was no other way to describe it. I let out a heavy sigh. "And here I was just kinda sulking because I might not be able to play football in the fall. Other than my grades, it's about the only thing I've got going for me. I don't really have any hopes or dreams like you and Catherine did. Now, Chaz is looking at not being able to fulfill his scholarship requirements. That's pretty messed up."

Annie cocked her head to the side. "Mike, don't sell yourself short. You're freaking brilliant, okay? I mean, you've got how many Ivy League schools salivating over you possibly applying to their school? You could go to law school and then, maybe, run for Congress one day. That would be pretty awesome, if you ask me."

"Yeah, I think I know what you're saying. However, I could do that as a girl or a boy. Catherine got approved to womens' teams for her scholarship. Also, last time I checked, isn't Hollywood pretty vicious on the ladies?"

She giggled. "Yes. The competition's pretty stiff and there are some real bitches out there."

Suddenly, both of us fell silent. I can't speak for Annie, but I began to feel all tingly all over my body. As soon as that sensation came on, my back and stomach problems faded quite quickly. Both she and I stood, glaring at each other.

"Oh, shit! Not again!" We squealed in unison. I still was not used to how high my voice was and, I gather, neither was she.

Suddenly nervous, we began to hyperventilate and gave our bodies a glance. Thus far, nothing was different, but I could almost feel my clothes sliding across certain parts of my body. I felt a sense of vertigo again, but this time in reverse. Instinctively, I knew I was steadily growing taller. Glancing at my arms, I could see little hairs growing on them. My head itched as did my legs. Once sitting comfortably on my upper body, the T-shirt started to feel tight all over, rather than just in the chest region. Again, Annie and I exchanged glances.

We seemed be growing at about the same rate. She looked about the same height, but the couch behind her seemed to be shrinking. Her skin seemed to be getting lighter and her hair was receding into her scalp. I could almost watch as the hem of her sweatpants climbed higher on her legs, crawling away from her ankles. Her top also seemed like it was getting tight all over and I could swear I could see muscles grow on her shoulders and arms. It was really surreal.

As if on cue, we both looked back down at ourselves. The breasts that seemed to sit happily on my chest moments ago looked like they were deflating. I could feel a sensation almost like there was an intruder in my panties, but once my breasts had deflated enough, I could watch as the bulge in my crotch was growing bigger. My eyes shot as big as dinner plates and I could feel a sense of excitement building in me.

"Holy shit, I'm back! I'm a man again!" My voice cracked as its register lowered into something that I knew very well. The unfamiliar feminine voice was fading back into my very familiar masculine one. I tore off my T-shirt before my upper body was too large to accomplish the task and watched as my cleavage slowly receded. In a minute or two, I wouldn't have to wear a bra anymore.

"Dude, me too! Fuck yea!" Came an increasingly familiar tenor voice of my older brother. He, too, followed suit and tore off his T-shirt.

Though, I looked at him quizzically because he seemed to be wearing a pink bra with lace. "Um, Annie... I mean, Liam? What the fuck?"

He looked a little embarrassed. "I thought it looked pretty good. What?" He looked down at his deflating breasts. They no longer filled the cups and were dwindling fast. "Well... it did."

Both of our hips were narrowing and, now, the sweatpants were growing tight in other parts of our legs. Also, our waists and rib cages were flaring out at an alarming rate and returning to what we'd always been used to. My washboard abs returned as did my biceps and thigh muscles. Though, admittedly, I felt a sense of loss as I continued to watch my breasts recede into my chest. As awkward as they were, they hadn't been too bad to deal with. Though, that faded quickly as my penis continued to swell in my crotch. It was nice to have my old friend back.

Soon, almost as suddenly as it had come on, the tingling feeling faded and both Liam and I could see that we were back to our old selves; albeit, wearing some very feminine attire that appeared very much out of place, now. In fifteen minutes, we had reverted back to things we knew how to handle. Glancing at each other, my brother and I had the same thought. We both ran off to our respective rooms to change our clothes. The bras, panties, and feminine sweat pants just weren't appropriate anymore.

Before I really had a chance to get changed, my cell phone started chirping at me. I had ignored it most of the time, but I was suddenly in a good mood. So, I picked it up and glanced at who was calling. Elated, I answered the call.

"Hey, what's up? Mike MacAllister is BACK!" I greeted cheerfully.

"No shit! Same here, man! God, it's good to have my dick back!" Kai mirrored my sentiment. "We should really celebrate this momentous occasion, bro. I'm getting really tired of staring at the walls in the house. How about we do that trip to the reservoir we talked about at the camping trip? It'll be nice to get out and don some trunks!"

"Dude, get out of my head! I was kinda thinking the same thing. I gotta get outta here or the family is going to tear itself apart." I chuckled. It was nice to chuckle, rather than giggle.

"I know what you're going through. It's been pretty crazy around here, too. So, you dropping by in a bit?"

"Yea, just give me a few minutes. Why don't you give Kaleb a call and see if he's up to it. I'll go ahead and ring Danika to see if she and the girls would be interested." I suggested, voicing my thoughts as they came to mind.

"You think that Kaleb has calmed down and can handle a social situation with her, yet?" I could hear the suggestion in his voice.

I shrugged, as if he could see me. "I don't know. This last month has had some effects on us, dude. Maybe his time on the other side of the fence has calmed him a little?"

"You do know this is Kaleb we're talking about, right?"

I laughed. "Yea, that's true. Still, after this month of seclusion, the more the merrier, right?"

"You've got a point, there. Okay. I'll call Kaleb and see you in a bit?"

"Consider it done." I hung up the phone and prepared to shred my month of femininity so I could get on with my life.

* * * * * * *

In about two and a half hours, the world felt as if the majority of the month of June hadn't happened. We were back to ourselves and were celebrating pretty heavily. I had just grabbed my swim trunks, a plain T-shirt, and my sandals. I had no idea where Kai had gotten his connections, but he had procured four jet skis for us to frolic on the American Falls Reservoir with. Near as I could tell, everyone was enjoying themselves. I had picked up Kaleb, then moved on to the reservation to grab Kai and the four jet skis. Rather than overburden my dinky little car with such a load, Kai's uncle allowed us to use his pickup truck. We arrived shortly after Danika who had brought Jessica, Jakobi, and Shelby with her. And, already, the girls were apparently very happy to have their femininity returned to them, which was made apparent by them stripping down to their bikinis and dashing for the water before we had a chance to unload the jet skis.

Once we had the jet skis in the water, I did take a few turns to zip across the water at almost 50 miles per hour and feel the air rush through my, now, much shorter hair. I cannot accurately explain how great it felt to finally have no secrets when it came to my body, or inhibitions. For the first time since the whole ordeal began, I knew how everything felt and it was comfortable again. I'm fairly sure that there are people out there who may know what I'm talking about, but most didn't really get it until that day. I was very happy to be a teenage boy, once more.

Soon, though, the sun began to drop towards the horizon and several people's stomachs began to complain to them. To solve the issue, Danika and Kai jumped in her car to run into town for supplies. When they came back, we would have another feast by campfire. Coming down from the excitement, I noticed Shelby sitting by herself with her eyes transfixed in her laptop computer. I had no idea how long she'd been there, but her top was damp where the dry fabric came in contact with her wet bikini top and hair. So, at least she'd been enjoying herself before being something of an anti-social geek chick. Something compelled me to approach her, though.

Breathing labouredly and carrying a towel wrapped around my neck, I plopped onto the bench of the picnic table across from her. "Hey, there, Shelby."

"Hey, Mike." She stated blankly, not looking away from the screen.

I arched an eyebrow. "Um... what's up? School's out, y'know, and we don't have to study so hard."

Now, she moved to face me, giving me a 'Whatever!' smirk. "No, we should actually be studying. Something caught my attention. I don't think we're out of the woods, Mike."

Again, a perplexed expression found its way onto my face. "What do you mean?"

She lightly tapped the table next to her. I understood the gesture and moved to sit next to her. I assumed she was about to show me what she was talking about. "Well, I've been looking for some answers to what happened for most of the month. I'm pretty sure you're wondering just as much as I was. I mean, you saw! I went from a five-foot-two, C-note-and-change little mouse to a whopping six-foot, hundred-and-sixty-pound Greek god... or gorilla, I don't know which analogy is more accurate." She stopped only momentarily to think, then shook her head. "I dunno about you, but that really messed me up for a long time. I had to go shopping with my dad, who'd become my mom, and that was really embarrassing."

I nodded very knowingly. "Yea, I hear ya. I went with my mom-turned-dad. Really messed with my head, too." I scoffed. "I mean, until this month, Victoria's Secret was 'forbidden territory' and here I was smack dab in the middle of it!" Yes, I actually used 'air quotes'.

She smirked. "Suddenly, I'm actually tempted to ask what color your panties are."

My eyes shot wide open. "I took those off and put on my trunks!"

Then, she was like Kryptonite. Her eyes became half-open, bedroom eyes and she let out a playful giggle while she grinned. "Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much."

My face fell into my palm. The infamous 'facepalm' reared its ugly head again. "I'm not going to get out of that line of questioning, am I?"

She giggled again. "Afraid not." She shook her head. "Seriously, though? You will want to hang onto those. You're going to need them again."

My eyes again widened to the size of dinner plates. "Wait... What?!"

She nodded rather solidly. "Yes, I'm afraid so. If my suspicions are correct, just before the next New Moon."

"You have GOT to be kidding me!" I was almost disgusted with the whine that came from my lips.

She turned to me, straddling the bench. Okay, I couldn't help it, I looked. I was, after all, a healthy teenage boy again. Quickly, though, my eyes darted back up to hers. Suddenly, I found myself swimming in her gorgeous hazel eyes.

"Don't you think it's convenient that suddenly -- and spontaneously -- everybody in the world suddenly began to transform in to the opposite sex representation of themselves at exactly the same time? Then, try and quantify that exactly twenty-eight days later, we all changed back into our original selves?" Her expression was serious and scientific. It was a little intimidating.

I stumbled over my own words for a moment, then managed to crank out something coherent. "Actually, no, I hadn't given it much thought. I was just happy to have my..." I looked down at my own lap. "...little friend back."

She smiled, closed her eyes, and slowly ran her hands from her stomach up to her breasts; then, ran her hands up, over, and on top of them before stopping at her shoulders. I had no way of knowing whether she was aware of just how sexy that appeared to me. So much so that I could feel my little friend in my crotch respond. She spoke with breathy happiness, which only made it worse. "Yes, I'm very aware of happy you must be to have some old friends back in your possession."

I cleared my through and pulled my towel down from around my neck and covered my little problem with it. "Uh... yea... something like that." I swear I could feel my cheeks flush.

As suddenly as it had come, the sensuous nature melted and the cold, scientific demeanor returned to her face. "Still, I've been doing a little research. Did you know that women who were even just slightly pregnant didn't change with everybody else?"

I blinked. Now, that, I hadn't heard. The only way to cope with my new problem was to be as analytical and scientific as she was being. "Wait... no pregnant women changed? Logically, that kinda makes sense. I mean, that is the future of the human race they're gestating, right?"

She nodded. "Right. Know how I know?" I merely shook my head. Then, she turned to her laptop. "Well, you know the whole presidential campaign that's going on right now between Senator McCain and Senator Obama?"

I shrugged. "I don't really follow politics. I know they're screwed up and they're going to screw up the country with their greed, but I'm still a couple years away from voting, myself."

"No reason not to start now." She shook her head as she brought up a webpage. "Still, not important. The shining star of this whole thing is actually who McCain picked to be his Vice President candidate."

"Who'd he go with?"

"An unknown, sadly. Obama didn't take Senator Hilary Clinton, like most thought he would. But the kicker is that McCain wanted to ride the wave of women voters and went with some chick who's the Governor of Alaska, of all places."

I scrunched my face. "You're serious?"

She nodded. "As a heart attack. This lady's a piece of work, too. Still, that's not the important part." She pointed at a photo of a middle-aged woman holding a baby and some other young people surrounding her. "You see that girl standing there?"

I leaned in to get a better look. The close proximity made my little friend respond again. The towel was sufficient for now as I glanced at the photo. "Yea? What's so important about her?"

"Well, that's Bristol Palin, Governor Sarah Palin's teenage daughter. She's about our age."

I shrugged as I sat back down. "What's so special about her?"

"Well, it's kinda funny, actually." Shelby smiled and giggled slightly. "In a state where her mom says that Sex Ed. should teach 'abstinence only' and doesn't do the condom thing, that little brunette girl right there is pregnant."

I tried to work out several things in my head before I responded. "So, instead of being just another campaign about 'issues', the social war is going to start again?"

She shook her head. "The only reason they know that she's pregnant is that when everyone around her changed sex, she didn't. Then, pregnant women all over the place were saying they never changed, either. Don't you see?"

"So, what happened to us didn't happen to any pregnant women? Well, at least someone was spared that experience. Still, how does this equate into your little conjecture?"

"Well, I'm not going to sit here and claim to be an expert. Even the experts don't have an explanation for this. Yet, when I learned about the pregnancies, something just clicked. So, I did some checking. Already, there's stories popping up all over the internet." She closed the window with the Palin family and brought up another window with a story from the Associated Press. "This story was posted today. Here it is about 6 o'clock, our time, and there are already revelations happening. Gotta love the twenty-four-hour news cycle."

I glanced aside to her. "Why don't you tell me what's in the article. I'm not up for reading, much."

She sighed. "Well, this one's about a woman in Tacoma, Washington, that just gave birth to her baby last week. There were a few complications, so they kept her on observation in the hospital. They were going to release her about 3pm, or so. Well, then, everyone changed again. There's a hitch: If this was all over, that woman would take her baby home and get on with her life, right?" I nodded. "Well, nope. It's not a happy story. At 11am, Pacific Time, she turned into a man."

My jaw dislodged and fell on the ground. "What? No way!"

She nodded. "Also, there's another story." She opened another window with a photo of what seemed to be two happy women in their living room. "You see these two?" Again, I nodded. "Okay, well, the one on the left was born male. She's a transsexual. Fortunately for her, she lives in the United Kingdom that's a little more understanding of such things -- much more than us here in the States. When you became a fully-functioning female, so did she."

I visibly shivered. "No offense, but I don't really want to relive that, thanks."

"What do you mean?" She looked quizzical.

"Okay, so there isn't really anything wrong with being a woman. I just want that out there." I was playing defense. It was safer. She nodded. "Okay, just so we're clear. However, to me, it's pretty gross, okay? I was not really enjoying myself."

"Hey, being a guy wasn't a picnic, either." Good, she understood my apprehensions. "I mean, all that hair really itches. And, I've been meaning to ask: how the fuck do you deal with your 'morning surprise'?" I laughed. She waved me off. "Anyway, that's not the point, is it? Getting back to the story: this transsexual was finally a fully-functioning woman, right?"

I nodded. "Okay, I get what you're saying. Moving on."

"Yes, well, her partner there in the picture? She became a man. Well, they did a little fooling around and now the transsexual-turned-functional woman is pregnant..."

"...and, lemme guess, didn't change back today?" I finished her sentence, given the previous context.

"Exactly. So, you have Bristol Palin who hasn't changed at all. Then, you have the mother in Tacoma that can't feed her baby, now, because she turned into a man. And, finally, you have the transsexual-turned-functional woman in the UK that is now pregnant and hasn't changed. Beyond that, you have everybody else -- including us -- that had no extenuating circumstances that spontaneously changed sex earlier this month only to return to our original sex today. You see why that would start my wheels turning a little?"

A sense of utter dread began to crawl over me. "Unfortunately, I kinda get what you're saying. All the signs are kinda pointing to us changing again. You figured that out pretty fast. Why haven't you gone to the press with this?"

She scoffed. "Already ahead of you. I've emailed CNN, MSNBC, ABC, CBS, and even Fox News about this. We'll see what happens. The thing that gets me, though, is that I've already predicted that it's going to happen again. The thing that got me was when."

I furrowed my brow. "Yea... so, when's the dreaded day?"

She opened another browser window. "Well, the first time this happened was during our camping trip, just as we were going home. Well, that was the 2nd. Today is the 30th, the final day of June. For some odd, yet interesting, reason, the two dates are precisely twenty-eight days apart. You know what else happens every 28 days?" The puzzled look on my face gave her the answer. "Full moons and menstrual cycles. It's so simple, it's scary."

I recoiled. "Menstrual cycles? Really?"

She looked down her nose at me. "Well, you'll probably come face-to-face with that reality some day, so you'd better get used to the idea."

I shivered. "Sorry... that's just really gross. No offense."

She smirked. "Men have been saying that for thousands of years. Paybacks really are a bitch. If this transformation cycle continues and a transsexual-turned-functional woman can get pregnant, you'd better believe the bleeding is a reality, too." I think she could tell I wanted to throw up. "Beyond that, you didn't hear my other point, did you?" I meekly shook my head. "Full moons. The lunar cycle lasts for 28 days. This month, we had a New Moon on the 3rd. In two days, we'll have another one. So, both times, we've been between the Last Quarter and New Moon end of the cycle. So, counting out 28 days from today... on July 28th, you're going to have breasts again and I'm going to have a penis."

The dreaded facepalm made its return.

Out of nowhere, Kaleb came trudging up to the picnic table, panting. "Hey, guys? What are you two love birds chattin' about?"

I looked up at him with a serious expression. "Kaleb, don't get rid of your panties. Kaylee's going to be back soon." I stood and trudged away from them. The weight of the news coming down on me.

Shelby glanced over at Kaleb. "That's your girl name? Kaylee? Boy, your parents aren't very creative, are they?"

[- To Be Concluded -]

Dream Come True - Chapter One - by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2011 Ostracized by family and many friends, Melissa Sterling finds herself on the cold, lonely streets. Being transgendered, not many opportunities present themselves and too many people are overtly discriminatory. Like her family, the state safety net has abandoned her with no income and no health care. A modern American tragedy. In her own mind, she can't seem to catch a break and life doesn't seem worth living. That is, until fate seems to have another plan in place. In this installment, we meet Melissa and learn of her fate, for better or for worse.

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DISCLAIMER: Admittedly, overall, this story is inspired by a combination of Swishy's Kate Draffen story, Issy's Changing Cal, and all of the works by Bad Guru (FictionMania). I've seen several iterations of the tale elsewhere, too. However, having not dealt with the holidays in a favorable manner, I've had a dark cloud over my head. It's been impeding my work on ChangeDay: Advent. I needed something to uplift myself. If I've plagiarized anything without permission, I apologize. That was not my intention. I, personally, needed to tell a story like this. Maybe there are others who derive the same feelings that I hope to convey in this tale. Yes, it is in fact quite autobiographical, with names and situations changed not only to protect them but also add to the fantasy. I hope it makes the readers feel the same way I hope it makes me feel.

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— Chapter One —

“Full Name?” Came the cold, clinical bite of the woman’s voice. If social workers really hate what they do so much, why can’t they find a better job?

“Melissa Deanne Sterling.” Was my reply, somewhat proud and happy with the fact. Sadly, though I’d been working on it for almost a year, my voice didn’t sound as feminine as hers did. Which was a blow to my self-esteem because she sounded as though she’d chain-smoked in her younger years.

“Age?” Again, cold and monotone. Did I hear her sigh?

“Twenty-five. I just had a birthday…” I was trying to make small-talk. Obviously, an exorcise in futility.

She cut me off. “Sex?”

“Female.”

Again, she sighed. “Look, Mr. Sterling, it won’t do you any good to lie on legal paperwork. You know you could be held in jail for perjury?”

Suddenly, my cheeks flushed. I knew. I just didn’t want to admit it. Obviously, this woman had received no manner of sensitivity training when dealing with people like me. I cleared my throat. “It’s Miss Sterling, thank you. Are you aware of state statute…”

Now, she was getting grumpy. “I’m aware of the non-discrimination law that was passed eighteen months ago, Mr. Sterling…”

Now, I stood. “Look, this is difficult enough as it is. You don’t have to continue to patronize and disrespect me. I haven’t done that to you, so would it kill you to show a little common decency?”

She put her pen down. “I don’t care what you think. It’s my job to place you and you are making it more difficult with each question you lie about. If you’re going to act insubordinate, then our business here is done, Mr. Sterling.” She slammed the window shut.

That was my last nerve. “How fucking hard is it to say MISS Sterling?! Fuck off, you god damn prejudiced bitch!”

That was not the smartest thing I’d done all day. Angrily, I grabbed up my purse and began placing my identification back into the bill fold when I heard heavy footsteps behind me.

“Is there a problem here?” From the sound of the keys, it sounded as though one of the security guards had been alerted to the scene. When I turned to look, my conjecture was confirmed.

“Not with you, sir.” A sigh spilt from my lips as I continued my labor.

“Look, Mister…” He began, causing me to growl. “…if you’ve got a problem with the social workers, then you’ve got a problem with me. That’s just the way it is.”

Finished, I spun and stood to face him. He towered over me, but my resolve made me feel ten feet tall. “I am NOT a ‘mister’ and I am NOT a ‘sir’, thanks! Is there any way I can speak to a supervisor?!”

“I’m afraid not. They’ve all gone home for the day. If you behave yourself, maybe you can come back tomorrow and sort everything out?” He may have been trying to be polite, but I understood his innuendo: they wanted me out of the building and they wanted it five minutes ago. Social services really do have terrible “customer service”.

“You want me gone? Fine! I’m out of here!” I could feel the tears well up in my eyes as I made my way through the sea of the hopeless toward the door.

This was supposed to be my way out. I hate this town.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Water droplets cascaded downward from the heavens, splattering against all manner of surfaces. Clad in only my coat for protection, the hood was lifted over my head but provided little protection for the rest of my body. My jeans, socks, and shoes were soaked clean through. I could hazard a guess that the wheeled luggage performed a similar job of protecting all the clothing I had in the world from the same abuse the rest of me was receiving. Laundry day was only two days ago. Now, I’d have to find a dryer if I wanted to keep any of the clothes. With the smattering of droplets, my glasses did little to help my eyesight. The only good thing about the rain: it hid the tears flowing down my cheeks.

My life had never been this dismal before. Certainly, it wasn’t great, but I didn’t have much to complain about. I had a decent upbringing. My parents were both stably employed through my entire childhood. Albeit small, I had grown up in a decent community. The schools weren’t too bad -- about on par with the national average. We never went hungry. We always had clean clothes and a new pair of shoes every year. I was able to indulge in some hobbies, but not too many.

Despite it all, I was still miserable, even then. I was living a lie.

I was always relatively feminine, compared to my peers. I never really did fit in with the guys. There was always an inherent empathy for the girls. However, acting on these impulses usually got me hurt. At school, I’d been the target of school yard bullies ever since I can remember. It never stopped and it seemed I had a new nemesis in every school. As a survival mechanism, I went on autopilot and became emotionally numb. Their enjoyment and fulfillment taken from them, the bullies eventually sought more responsive targets. To do so, I had to exhibit a kind of hyper masculinity that would make me “one of the guys”. I hated every second.

To make matters worse, school wasn’t the only place where I experienced such abuse. If it wasn’t enough that the kids were putting me down and beating on me at every available opportunity, there were similar experiences waiting for me once I got home. My parents had divorced when I was still in diapers, so I don’t remember spending extended periods of time with my own father. Then, my mother had married my step-father. To say he was an “alpha male” is an understatement. He demanded respect and control at every opportunity. My brother and I were typically the objects on which he asserted his power. Through intimidation, physical abuse, and psychological torment, he asserted the legitimacy of his regime. Living in China was likely better than being under “his” roof.

Needless to say, I engaged in as many extracurricular activities as I could get my hands on to avoid going home at night. Again, to assert masculinity, I’d joined the football team in high school (my step-father had forbidden me from doing such in junior high). I wasn’t a half bad running back, but far from the star of the offense. I was a little more effective on defense, but not by much. My small build and lack of sufficient muscle tone did me a disservice. There were also the many years spent in one choir or another which honed my voice into something I was very proud of. I wasn’t the best, but I wasn’t far from the top. My detriment was that that teacher didn’t’ think as highly of me as others in the class. Where I shined, though, was on the stage. Our school had a very good drama department and a great auditorium with which to work in whatever could be imagined. My only joy and acceptance through school came when I was on stage and it made high school culture much easier to deal with. I also learned two foreign languages, which have come in handy in my post-secondary school life.

The culture in my hometown was stifling, however. The rural, small-town, conservative atmosphere is what had caused my problems in the first place. Thus, in order to move forward with my life, I had to do everything I could to get out. In one last effort to attempt to “prove” some semblance of masculinity, I joined the Armed Forces after high school by enlisting with the Navy. It was not to last. I was discharged under the ten-year-old “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy when my stash of panties was discovered during a surprise inspection and they didn’t believe my “conquest trophy” excuse. They were, of course, ignorant to the fact that I didn’t even know what my sexual orientation was, at that time. They didn’t care, either.

My parents didn’t want me back, so I was on my own. Apparently, I had brought the family some kind of ultimate shame that was simply unforgivable. That’s when things went downhill and I was plunged into my current situation. Invisibly, there was another homeless veteran on the streets. The one concession was that I was near Seattle, Washington, and had all the benefits of living in a liberally-minded area of the country. Not only did the city have a non-discrimination policy considering sexual orientation and gender identity, but the state had a similar, albeit more comprehensive, law in place, as well.

One beacon of light was when a friend of mine had brought down to Lambert House, thinking it was just fine for me, given the terms of my discharge. If I ever see her again, I’m going to have to thank her. The place was good to me and I was finally able to be myself in a social setting. Gone were all my pretences and defense mechanisms. Through the program, I’d been given a stable place to live and all the meals I’d need while I tried to put my life back together. They also referred me to councilors and medical professionals that finally brought light to my feelings. I am a transsexual. For a year, I had state aid for my hormone medications and any appointments my therapist set. I was even able to get my name legally changed and update all my documents.

Then, I aged out of the program and the state cut back social programs. Economic recessions are a real bitch. I had, officially, fallen through the cracks.

No employer has hired me in a year and a half. My previous employer fired me because I’d begun my transition, but I couldn’t prove it nor did I have the financial means to hire a lawyer who could. All my money had run out a long time ago. Now, I had to deal with the adult shelters who were most unkind to someone like me, both “clients” and staff alike. I was back to my autopilot and numb emotions as I trudged from one soup kitchen to another, barely nourishing my meager existence.

Speaking of which, it’s feeding time. Slowly, I stood, grabbed my luggage, and began to trudge down the alleyway. The only sounds besides my soft sobs were the plastic wheels coming in contact with the asphalt and the distant sirens blaring through the downtown towers.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

You have to be really bored or a major insomniac to count the little dots on ceiling tiles. Yet, that was my current activity. All around me, there were snores and other evident sounds of people sleeping. I was hardly so lucky. Tonight, my jacket-turned-pillow offered little comfort. It was still fairly damp from the day. There would be no change of clothes, either. They were all in the same shape. The wool-ish rescue blanket draped over top of my body itched like mad. The prison mattress underneath me offered little comfort. I wanted to cry in self-pity again.

“Mel? You awake?” A soft, feminine voice beckoned to me.

For some odd reason, most places would discriminate and deny me access to transitional housing programs for women. However, emergency shelters didn’t care enough to question my ID card. At least I didn’t have to sleep around men who could rape me at any second to show me “how a real woman does things”.

“Unfortunately.” I whispered, trying not to sound distressed.

“Me too.” Thank you, Captain Obvious. “Pretty shitty day today, huh?”

She had no idea. “You could say that.” I finally rolled my head over to my right to face the voice. My eyes landed on a petite brunette who I’d come in contact with on several occasions. If anything, we were acquaintances. She was a year younger than I, but I couldn’t recall her name if you paid me.

“Did you have any luck?” She looked empathetic to my plight.

I gently shook my head. “No. Some bitch slammed the window in my face and kept talking to me like I was a man.”

She sat up. Her upper body was covered by a tank top and no bra. Didn’t the blanket itch her like it did to me? “What?! How can they be so heartless?”

I shrugged. “They’re in social services and there’s no shortage of homeless out here?”

“How do you know they were being discriminate, though?”

“She called me ‘Mr. Sterling’ and seemed to think I was lying about what my real name was. I told her everything that was on my I-D, but she seemed hell bent on denying me.”

“That’s, like, what? The third or fourth place?”

Tears welled up, again. “Yeah.”

She patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mel. There’s gotta be something for you down the line. There just has to be.”

“My faith in the truth of that statement is diminished as the days go on.”

She lay back down. I rolled my head back up to the ceiling. That was typically the extent of our conversations. She’d ask me how I was, I would tell her how bad it was, then she’d tell me it’ll get better. I wish I could believe that.

To make matters worse, I thought I might be coming down with something. I felt that my joints were a little sore and the room seemed both warmer and colder than it probably was all at once. Great. Just what I need.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Funny. I don’t remember falling asleep. Yet, there I was becoming aware that my eyes were closed, yet the sounds of my surroundings were very strange indeed. I could hear a bit of talking and the sound of a heart monitor somewhere nearby. Just on reflex, I decided to shift a little and my body felt as though it weighed a ton.

‘Lovely,’ I thought. ‘I am sick. How much is it going to cost, this time?’

I tried to vocalize something, but all that emitted from me was grumbles and moans. Next was to try and open my eyes. The moment I tried, there was much regret. My vision was really blurry and the lights were really bright. Immediately, the effort was abandoned. What the heck is wrong with me?

Suddenly, I could hear shuffled footsteps come from my left, cross at the foot of the bed, and move over to my right side. “Well, hello, there.” I heard the sweet, maternal voice greet. “How are we feeling?”

I tried to answer, but nothing seemed to be obeying my commands. The most I could muster was incoherent moans and grunts. At least, they sounded vaguely feminine. I was always afraid I’d come off sounding like a man.

“Ah, having a few difficulties? That’s pretty natural after a seizure like you had.”

WHAT?! Seizure? How? When? Why? My body stiffening seemed to convey the message I was trying to get across. She gently patted my shoulder.

“It’s okay, honey. You don’t have to answer or move around too much. Dr. Michaels is on your case. You’re in good hands, sweetheart. Thirsty?”

Slowly, I managed a nod. My throat felt like a desert. Somehow, my bed began to tilt upward. Was I on a gurney? Then, she helped me open my mouth, bringing a plastic cup to it and slowly pouring in the liquid. I could scarcely believe how much effort it was taking just to swallow. The effort exhausted me.

“Okay, dear.” She lifted the cup away from me. “That should be good for now. Why don’t you rest some more and I’ll see you when you’re stronger. Remember: you’re safe, now. No need to worry.”

I managed to groan out some form of “Thank You” before I lost consciousness once more.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

There is no way for me to know how much time had passed when opened my eyes again. Yet still, for some unknown reason, I awoke with a start, sat straight up in bed, and let out the most androgynous scream I’ve ever heard. Thankfully, the lights were turned out and the room was in a state of twilight. My eyes darted around and came upon linoleum flooring, cinderblock walls, and white everywhere. Apparently, I was situated in a corner with just a curtain separating myself and whoever happened to be my neighbor. Instantly, my mind recognized this to be a hospital. Whatever had scared me awake, I was a little more scared to know where I was.

The curtain was pulled to the side slightly and a plump older woman who, oddly, looked quite a bit like my mother entered the area. She had a nice maternal smile on her face, though. That helped.

“Well, well…” She began. “She does live. Everything all right?”

For whatever reason, I slowly shook my head and started to cry. Whatever the nurse happened to be carrying, she set on a table nearby and rushed to my side. Before I knew it, I was being embraced and soothed. On reflex, my body fell into her arms and soft sobs were the only thing coming out of me for the next few minutes. Soon, it seemed that just as quickly as they had come, my tears dried up and I was regaining some composure. The nurse let me go.

“There.” She stated sweetly. Who was this woman? “Feel better?” All I could do was nod and sniffle. “Good. Lovely to have you awake, finally.” She smiled as she pulled the table over. “My name is Janet and I’ve been your attending nurse.”

I liked her already. “Where am I?” My voice sounded like a bored frog.

“Welcome to Virginia Mason, my dear.” Another smile. Sensing some mild confusion, she continued. “You’ve been here about five days now. You’d be at Harborview were it not for your doctor’s insistence that you be placed here.”

Five days? Must have been some serious flu! “Yes, his office partners with you guys for patient records reasons.”

She nodded. “A good thing, too. We’ve got your whole chart here, so no need to fret about that.” She began to fiddle with my IV. Thankfully, they’d placed on the back of my hand, rather than in the bend of my elbow. I’d explained that preference to my doctor, so I was glad a note like that was communicated well.

“Why am I here, anyway?”

“Well, the majority of that will have to be answered by the doctor when she comes in. She should be along shortly. Though, the rest is easily answered. Do you have a history of febrile seizures in your family?” The quizzical look on my face delivered the answer. “Um, seizures when you have a fever?”

My mind wandered for a moment, searching for the intended information. “Yes, actually, but those only happen during early childhood, right? My mom and baby sister had them, but I don’t think I ever have.”

She nodded. “The doctor expected as much. After a CT scan and cranial MRI, we couldn’t find any evidence that you were epileptic and it isn’t in your chart, either. So, it was our thought that you experienced one of those febrile seizures. Though, yes, it is extremely rare for someone your age. Though, you did have a fairly high fever when you were brought in.”

My eyes closed as I tried to absorb the informational assault. Before I could continue, someone else announced their presence by clearing their throat. My eyes glided over to the form of the newcomer. She was quite pretty, I must say. Taller than average, for a woman, she stood almost silhouetted against the hallway light. Her blond hair was tied back in a somewhat messy bun. Silver wire framed glasses set on her nose and almost hid her blue eyes and well-manicured eyebrows behind them. She had a fair complexion with no visible blemishes. After that, she was clad in a lavender blouse, navy pencil skirt, nylons, and sensible flats adorned her feet. Over it all was the typical white lab coat with a stethoscope around her neck. Her smile was as warm as the nurse’s.

“Good morning, Melissa. Feeling well?” She glanced over at the nurse. “Hello, Janet. You may stay, if you’d like.” The nurse nodded.

There was only one question on my mind. “Is it really morning or are you just saying that because I’m awake?”

She giggled. Since when do doctors giggle? “Nope. It really is morning. It’s about 7:30, to be exact. I’m sure it’s a little weird for you, having been here so long and actually wake up in the morning.”

All my body would do is nod. “Yes, pretty weird.”

She moved over and set down some kind of computer pad she was carrying and moved over by the bed. “I’m Dr. Kaitlyn Michaels. You can call me Dr. Michaels or Katie, if you’d like.”

There was a lot of nodding going on this morning. What’s one more? “So, what’s the damage, Doc?”

Again, another smile. It helped that she was so pretty. “Well, we’ve got some lab results coming back in about an hour or so, but the overall prognosis is fine. You haven’t had a fever in two days and I’m glad to see your white blood cell count come down. Any headache, joint pain, or even a little nausea?” I slowly shook my head. “Then, I would say that you were the picture of health, but I want to see those lab results come back so that we can find what put you in this situation in the first place.”

“Yes, Janet was telling me that I had a fever, then a seizure?”

“Yes, very uncommon for someone who isn’t in Kindergarten. You can understand my reservations, then?”

“I guess so, yeah. So, no idea what’s causing all of this, yet?”

“Oh, I’ve got a couple hypotheses, but I’d like to have some conclusive results before I jump into telling you my master plan.” She smirked. “So, for right now, let’s see about getting the diodes off and taking out the IV just before getting you fed. Once I’ve had a chance to look over the labs, I’ll be back in here. Okay?”

“Sounds like a plan, Doc. Thanks.”

She smiled and gently squeezed my arm before she turned, grabbed her computer pad, and turned to leave the room. I was left alone with Janet, but I wasn’t complaining much.

The next several hours passed by quickly enough that they’re nothing but a blur. Most of it, I spent surfing the modest amount of channels on the TV. At times, Janet would come in to check on me and we’d engage in short conversation before she had to move along to her other patients. The culminating moment for me was during lunch. They brought me the first decent cheeseburger I’d had in a long time, such was not on the menu at shelters and soup kitchens. Though quite hungry, I savored as much of it as possible. Strangely, I didn’t really notice that I wasn’t actually wearing underwear. For obvious reasons, they had taped me into an adult diaper, but Janet defended her decision based on my financial situation and the cost of a catheter. Of course, she had also considered my comfort level, given my current biological status. Though utterly embarrassed, I thanked her for her foresight. After she helped me into the bathroom, I took the thing off and she handed me a clean pair of panties as mine were stashed away with other belongings. Thankfully, Janet had carefully removed all the IV tubes, so I didn't have those to fumble over. Still, she left the IV in if there was a chance they'd have to take more blood, I guessed.

Soon, there was nothing interesting on television. It’s a common lament, but how can there be even 50 channels and nothing of substance being broadcast? I let out a sigh. As if on cue, Dr. Michaels poked her head around the curtain and gave a smile. Politely, I shut off the TV and sat up.

“Are you decent?” She asked.

I raised an eyebrow. “As much as I can be while wearing a hospital gown. Why?”

She used her head to signal behind her. “I have a couple of men with me that are eager to meet you. Is it all right that I let them in on our conversation? They have some things to add.”

One thing came to mind: specialists. “Okay, Dr. Michaels, what’s going on? I thought this was just about blood test results.”

She didn’t answer. She moved into the room and two men followed her, as she’d stated. The first looked to be in his forties with a receding hairline, salt and pepper hair, dark eyes, and a few wrinkles. He wore a navy blue three-piece suit. He was some official, I conjectured. The second man seemed closer to fifty, but he’d shaven his head bald. He was an African-American in a lab coat, an unfortunate rarity. Though, with his wire frame glasses and well-manicured mustache/goatee combination, he reminded me of Denzel Washington. My apprehension rose into my throat.

The black doctor spoke first. His smile was as warm as Dr. Michaels’. “Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Abraham Carver.” I shook his hand anxiously. He pointed to the official. “And this is Agent Anthony Donovan…”

“C-D-C.” Agent Donovan interrupted.

“Wait, Centers for Disease Control? What the heck is going on, here?” Now, I was frightened.

Dr. Michaels quickly dismissed that it was as bad as I was thinking it was. “No, Melissa, it’s not like that. You’re not infested with the Black Plague, I promise.”

“Then, what do I have?”

Dr. Carver cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Before we answer that, I’m going to ask you a series of seemingly redundant questions. Are you okay with that?”

“Did a doctor just tell me he was going to ask me some dumb questions? I better mark this on the calendar!” The mood was lightened. Everyone but Agent Donovan had a good chuckle. “Go ahead, I guess.”

Dr. Carver opened up a manila folder of some kind. “First: Have you traveled outside the United States to Canada, Europe, Mexico, Central America, South America, Australia, Japan, or the African continent anytime during the past 12 months?”

“No. I can’t afford to pay attention, much less travel anywhere.” Dr. Michaels hid a giggle while Dr. Carver managed a smirk.

“Next: Have you eaten any questionable food in the past 3 months?”

“I’m homeless. To me, it’s all questionable.”

“That answers the next question about whether your living environment would contribute to expedient disease communication. We’ll move on to the next question: Have you participated in any clinical trials in recent months?”

“Yes. Three. One for depression. Another one for birth control. And, the last was for anxiety.”

“What type of birth control?”

“Some new oral contraceptive. ‘The pill’ is evolving, I guess.”

“Why did you engage in such a clinical trial.”

I blushed. “I’ve been cut off the state Medicaid program. It was an easy way to get some kind of hormones.”

“They let someone like you participate in a female-only clinical trial?” Agent Donovan interjected.

“What, exactly, is that supposed to mean?” I growled.

“Agent Donovan, you’re upsetting my patient. If you cannot control your outbursts, I will not hesitate to ask you to leave. Am I clear?” Dr. Michaels stepped in. He grumbled something incoherent and folded his arms. Then, she moved over to the bed and held my hand. “Melissa, we found something in your blood work. A virus, we think, or evidence thereof.”

“Well, I had assumed that. I mean, I somehow fell asleep in a temporary shelter then woke up in a hospital five days later. I know that I had a high fever and then a seizure resultant from that. What else is there to tell?” My thoughts spilt out of my mouth as I tried to grasp the situation.

“Well, what we have to report could either be good news or bad news. Though, given your situation, I’d hazard it was good news.” Dr. Carver smiled, again.

Dr. Michaels nodded. “Yes, probably good news. What we found is something we think to be some kind of retrovirus, but I’ve only seen something like this before in medical journals. You, however, are the first recorded case in the United States.”

“First case of what?”

“Well, it’s been called a number of names, but we’re sticking with Human Transmutation Virus, or H-T-V for short. We’re not sure of the causes or how it’s spread, but I’m sure you’ve heard of the common vernacular of ‘Girl Flu’ coming from the United Kingdom or Australia. Have you heard of it?”

My brain performed a self scan, but for all that was in me, I couldn’t pinpoint anything relevant. “I don’t think so. I haven’t been up on current events, I’m afraid. Surviving takes up a lot of a person’s day, it seems.”

Dr. Michaels smiled again. “Well, then this is your lucky day.”

Dr. Carver nodded. “Indeed it is. HTV seems to affect its host differently with each case, as one would suspect, but the end result is always the same. I’m sure you’ve heard the term ‘sex change’ before. To my knowledge, HTV is the only thing known to man that can actually accomplish that task. As the retrovirus takes its course through the body, it takes the host from one biological, genetic, and physiological sex directly to the opposite sex.”

“Wait… does this mean… ?” The blood left my face.

“Yes, Melissa. When this is all over, you will be female, totally and completely. Not even a gynecologist like myself will ever be able to tell that you had once had a male body. HTV even changes your DNA.” Dr. Michaels explained.

The world went black.

[ - To Be Concluded - ]
Photo Credit: Haley Ramm

Dream Come True - Chapter Two - by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2011 Ostracized by family and many friends, Melissa Sterling finds herself on the cold, lonely streets. Being transgendered, not many opportunities present themselves and too many people are overtly discriminatory. Like her family, the state safety net has abandoned her with no income and no health care. A modern American tragedy. In her own mind, she can't seem to catch a break and life doesn't seem worth living. That is, until fate seems to have another plan in place. In this installment, we learn what has happened to Melissa and a few details. Also, Melissa's transformation begins to show itself.

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(For the Disclaimer, see Chapter One)

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR: I would first like to thank everyone for the kudos and comments in Chapter One. They made my day for several days running. Thank you for all the kind and encouraging words. I hope this and future installments of this tale continue to live up to the expectations. Lots of love all around! xD

HUGGZ!!

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— Chapter Two —

There was some hope deep within me that another five days hadn’t passed. Thankfully, it was only about twenty minutes until I regained consciousness. When I did, the lights were on in my room. This time, they didn’t hurt my eyes as much. In fact, I was glad for them. The room was beginning to feel like some sort of cave. Grunting, I pulled myself up into a sitting position and glanced around the room. The doctors and agent had left the room. Janet was nowhere to be seen. I heard someone clear their throat. Startled, my eyes darted in the direction my ears had said the sound had come from.

There, in a rather comfortable looking chair, was a short, round, balding man. The hair that was leaving his head had migrated to his chest and arms. His dress was appropriate to his station, like I’d always seen him. He wore a plain white button-down shirt, grey slacks, and brown Oxford shoes. He also wore a satisfied smile that made his comforting gray eyes sparkle.

“DAVE!” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. I leapt off the bed and gathered him up in an embrace. He was, after all, about three or four inches shorter than me when we were both standing.

He chuckled. “Hello, Melissa. I see you’re feeling better.”

By obligation, a nurse poked her head past the curtain. I wish she hadn’t. Apparently, my gown was a little more revealing than I’d have liked in the back. I released the man, turning to face the nurse with a blush forming on my face. He merely stood.

“What in the world is going on back here?” She demanded.

“Everything’s okay,” He stated. “I’m Melissa’s P-C-P, David Halden.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t a primary care provider be a doctor?”

He shook his head. “Advanced Registered Nurse Practitioner, actually.”

She nodded. “Oh. ARNP, huh? Carry on.” She turned and left. He probably had better credentials than she did.

I shuffled back over to the gurney, sat down, and covered myself as much as possible with the blankets, feeling very much exposed, now. “So… how long have you been here?”

“Only a few minutes, actually.” He stated, returning to his seat. “It seems I missed the announcement, though.”

“I guess so…” I trailed off.

He smirked. “You still think it’s a dream, don’t you?”

In point of fact, that’s exactly what I was thinking. For a moment, I hesitated. Then, got brave and actually brought my hand up to meet with my face. The sound of a loud slap echoed through the room. “OW!” Okay, not dreaming.

“Melissa, please don’t hurt yourself. You are certainly not dreaming, though I can empathize with your belief that you are.” He chuckled.

I rubbed the sore spot on my cheek for a moment. As I thought, it was a little rough from a couple days’ worth of growth. I suddenly felt embarrassed that two strange doctors and an agent from the CDC had seen me in this condition. That was a fleeting thought, though. There was a strange sensation on my arm and part of my neck. I pulled my hand away from my face to see several small, dark hairs on my palm, fingers, wrist, and upper arm. My eyes widened in disbelief.

“Okay, that’s not normal!” I announced.

He shot out of his seat and took my hand, giving it a look over. Then, he glanced at my cheek. “Well, I’ll be damned. It’s already happening.”

“What?!” A sense of horror washed over me.

He squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Oh, don’t worry. Melissa, your beard stubble is falling out.”

“It is?” Deep down, I’d always wished that it would without any help from expensive procedures like electrolysis or laser hair removal.

He continued his examination. “Well, not all of it, but I’d say give it time. Admittedly, it is very fascinating to watch you simply wipe it off your face. I’ve heard some whispers about HTV, but I thought it was nothing more than some elaborate hoax. I never thought I’d have a patient diagnosed with it.”

“Well, lucky you. I hadn’t even heard about it.” I was still staring at my hand.

“I had no intention of giving you some sense of false hope and I will continue to do that with the rest of my transgender patients. It would seem like you’ve won that lottery you keep fantasizing about.” Finished with the examination, our eyes met. “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and have a look? Besides, you can wipe away the strays while you’re at it.”

All I could do was nod while he moved to the side and allowed me to trudge over to the bathroom, dumbstruck. All hyperboles aside, I was never as hairy as one would believe someone with Central European or Scandinavian heritage to have. Granted, I shaved both my arms and my legs but even those produced less hair than my brother had. The embarrassing place where I had hair was on my butt. I hated that with a passion. Yet, even with all of that, the single worse place was on my face. It had been the subject of a great many crying fits. The rest was just annoying. For the majority of society, any evidence of hair on someone’s face meant “man”, even though I’d met several women with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome who could grow better beards than me.

Slowly, I made my way up to the mirror. For the most part, it was my reflection staring back at me. My long, straight, brown hair rested on my shoulders. My eyebrows could use a little attention from a pair of tweezers. There wasn’t much special about my blue eyes, but I loved that I’d always had long, thick, feminine eyelashes. I never liked my face. My nose seemed too big. My brow bone was always too prominent. My cheekbones weren’t prominent enough. My jaw was somewhat angular and too masculine for my liking. Then, it all came down into my “Jay Leno” chin -- which was a hyperbolic statement but it looked huge to me. I watched my Adam’s Apple rise and fall as I let out a sigh. However, right there in front of me was the patch where I’d rubbed my face after slapping myself. More than half the hair was gone.

My eyes shot wide as dinner plates. I moved closer to the sink, leaned forward, and began to run my hand along my beard stubble. Sure enough, as I rubbed my face, little hairs were literally falling off my face! I was looking right at it and still couldn’t believe it!

“Holy shit!” I giggled with glee.

“Told you so.” Dave’s voice echoed from the room.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Remorse filled me even as I labored through a much needed shower. It had been five days and I could smell my own stench. A girl’s got to have standards, right? The fact that my doctor (not really a doctor, but that’s how I saw him) was waiting for me had not escaped me. I simply rationalized that it would be more polite to save his nostril hairs from burning away than having him wait the ten-or-so minutes it would take me to practice a little personal hygiene. Thankfully, they had small bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. None were the brands I typically used, but I was thankful to have them, regardless.

While I went about my routine, the marvel of the mirror had overtaken me and I began a little personal inventory. With my heritage, there was always a bit more hair on me than I assumed to be average. There was always thick, dark hair on my arms which extended onto the backs of my hands and a bit on my knuckles. In my teen years when shaving it off would mean ridicule, I could hold my arm under a shower head and the hair on my arm would actually part along the bone. Gross. Then, there was the hair on my legs. It was thicker and I would typically have two or three hairs that seemed to sprout from the same follicle. Disgusting. I also had a “happy” trail and a veritable forest in my crotch. Not to mention, the hair on my posterior I mentioned earlier. Unfortunately, there was also a few hairs on my chest and around my nipples that drove me crazy. As a child, my worst fear was becoming a huge, hairy gorilla with a Polish sausage in my loins. Sadly, I wasn’t too far off, which caused me constant distress.

However, there was a lot of hair in the tub when I finished and I hadn’t even touched a razor, yet. Just looking down at myself as I stepped out of the shower basin was enough to tell me that I was considerably less hairy. Gone was about eighty-five percent of the hair on my arms and it had vanished from the back of my hand and knuckles. Gone was the “happy trail” and about fifty percent of the hair in my crotch area. Only about seventy percent of the hair was gone from my legs and they were considerably smoother, though I’d probably still have to shave every few days, or so. There was still hair in my armpits, but it was also not as dense and much finer. Thankfully, the obnoxious hairs on my chest and buttocks were all gone. I was very happy to see both those areas smooth as a baby’s bottom.

Even with all this happiness, there was still my naked body to contend with. I had always hated being naked. Thankfully, I was always on the short end of male height standards, coming in at a meager five feet and seven inches. My arms were okay and my legs weren’t too bad, either. Though, both were still on the end of “too masculine” for my liking. My shoulders were more narrow than my mothers’, but that was overshadowed by the broadness of my ribs. Add to that my narrow hips and my torso is a breeding ground for unhappiness. My hands weren’t too large, but bigger than the average woman’s hands. Then, there were my feet. I cursed whatever twisted soul had made my physique rather petite but gave me freakish clown feet. Being slightly above average female height, wearing a size 5/6, and toting around an off-the-rack bra were nice, but it was an act of Congress to get a pair of shoes that fit. I was a size 10, which is in the “large” category of women’s shoes and greatly limited my choices in footwear. Thus, for every small positive, there was a huge negative.

Speaking of which, we finally come to the bane of my existence. There are no words to describe how uncomfortable it made me to have that phallus strapped to my pelvic region. The thing was disgusting and cumbersome. While a year’s worth of hormones had given me softer skin, a more radiant complexion, approximately “A cup” small breasts, softer eyes, and a clear sense of mind, it had done nothing to decrease the size of the monstrous thing below my waist. It pained me to know that the thing was larger than most men that I have ever met. It’s especially sad when you can put your own boyfriend to shame. I hated it and often cried myself to sleep because of it. I was very much a prime candidate for sex reassignment surgery… which I would likely never be able to afford.

Rather than depress myself further, the decision to get dressed again was easily made. I quickly patted myself dry, shuffled into the panties, and slipped the hospital gown back on. Using a second towel to wrap my hair in, I returned to the hospital room. Thankfully, my doctor was still there and wearing a smile on his face.

“Feel better?” He grinned.

“Yes, very much. Thanks for indulging my ‘girly habits’ on that one.” I smiled back.

“Well, I didn’t want to be rude and just outright say you smelt like you’d been in a hospital for a few days.” We both had a small chuckle. “Why don’t you have a seat? Curiosity is getting the better of me and I’d like to perform an examination, if you’d be okay with that.”

“Not a problem on my end.” As requested, I sat down on the gurney once more. “I’ll probably be a lab rat for a while. I’d rather it was you than anyone else.”

He set right into his examination, starting with my feet and legs. He merely glanced at them from a couple different angles. “I thought you liked Dr. Michaels. She seems sincere and caring.”

“Yes, she strikes me the same way. I guess she’s okay.” I shrugged.

He blinked and did a double take. “I guess whatever effects they’ve foreseen have already begun. That little patch of hair on your feet is gone and your legs would be about on par with any other young woman your age.” He moved to my arms. “It would seem that your arms are in the same boat. I’m guessing you’re happy about that?”

A lovely smile creased my lips. “Very happy.” Then, a little sigh came out. “So, what can I expect with this HTV thing, realistically?”

“I’m not really sure, Melissa. Like I said, I’ve heard about it but assumed it a hoax. Though, with what some of these doctors here are suggesting, there probably won’t be a need for me to write that letter to the surgeon we’ve discussed.” He glanced at my torso. “Would you be averse to taking off the gown for a more thorough examination?”

“Nope. Besides, I need you to bring me back into the real world if I’m imagining anything.” I smirked, slipping off the gown.

First, he gazed over my entire form, probably making a mental checklist. Then, he went about poking and prodding at my little breasts. “Well, the hair growth all over your body has greatly diminished. I hadn’t expected that. Also, it would seem that there has been no atrophy of your breasts as a result of you suddenly coming off your hormones for an extended period of time. That’s some good news.”

“Well, I hadn’t expected much change. I mean, I just caught the bug, right?”

“Exactly. According to our results, the pathogen has been incubating in your system for nearly a month, now.” A deep, unfamiliar voice stated. Both of us in the room turned to the voice, only to discover that Dr. Carver had returned with Dr. Michaels accompanying him.

“I thought that breast exams were supposed to my territory, Mr. Halden.” Dr. Michaels smirked.

While I went flush in embarrassment and quickly covered myself, he nodded to the other two. “Usually, it would be. However, I currently know Melissa better than either of you, from both a medical and personal standpoint. All either of you can do is speculate as to what her hormones have done up to this point and what can be attributed to HTV.”

“Touché.” I giggled.

“So, what did we miss?” Dr. Michaels asked.

Dave glanced at me, then back to them. “Well, I would hazard a guess that her body is mandating a more feminine hair growth pattern, but that’s just conjecture.”

“Oh? How so?” Dr. Carver spoke up, taking notes.

Dave waved them over and pointed to a few points. “Well, you can see her arms and legs have much finer hair than before. She’s always been self-conscious about a few stray chest hairs and the hairs surrounding her navel. Those are gone, now. We found this after she slapped herself to prove she wasn’t dreaming. When she rubbed her face, her facial hair started falling out. As you can see, I would say that sixty percent of it doesn’t exist anymore.”

Dr. Carver leaned in and examined my cheeks, chin, and upper neck. “Fascinating. I haven’t seen many of these early stages before. Melissa, I’d imagine this is a very happy day for you.”

Nodding, I stated clearly. “I’ve always said that if I never had to shave my face again, it would be too soon. Does this mean that I’ll likely never have to shave my face again in a few days?”

Dr. Carver nodded. “I could agree with that estimate. Usually, the HTV process takes an average of three months. For some, more. For others, less.”

Dave seemed surprised. “Three months? That’s quite fast!”

“Yes, Mr. Halden. It’s not just the virus that boggles the minds of modern scientists, but the transformation process itself. Like I told Melissa before, in three months’ time there isn’t a gynecologist on the planet that will be able to tell that she was ever male at all.”

Dave smiled at me. “Sounds like a dream come true, right Melissa?”

Tears formed in my eyes. “A dream I’ve had since I was very little.”

“So, this begs the question: what happens to Melissa while this transformation is taking place?” Dave began. “I saw in the logs that a representative from the CDC was here earlier to ascertain the situation.”

“Agent Donovan was only here to assess any threat to the general population. As it stands, Melissa is well beyond any fathomable contagious period for any known pathogens.” Dr. Carver explained. “However, with so little being known about this particular pathogen, he is reluctant to release her into the general population.”

“Wait… are you saying that I’m being quarantined?” My mind wondered.

Dr. Carver nodded. “In a way, yes. I know that’s not very good news, but being the first case of HTV in the United States has its limitations. They’ve had time to deal with this in the former British Empire. With the UK, Australia, and Canada having already documented several reported cases, they’re not as paranoid as the United States. They used to be. There’s always got to be a first.”

“I have to be honest, here.” Dr. Michaels added. “The thing I’m most afraid of is the press getting wind of this. If they do, Melissa won’t be getting much sleep. They’ll hound her for comment day and night. However, the hospital has already taken precautions regarding that. Security was already a part of the CDC quarantine, but that’s likely to stir suspicion. It’s only a matter of time before they learn about you.”

“Wait. How many people are involved in that or is it just me?” I wondered.

Dr. Carver shook his head. “No, Melissa, it isn’t just you. Everyone in that same shelter the night you were brought in has been relocated to a safe house nearby. Also, anyone who has had contact with them has been brought in. There’s a day center downtown that has been shut down, closed off, and quarantined.”

A chuckle escaped my lips. “Oh, you’re doing them a favor, Dr. Carver. Bringing the federal government in means federal money. They’re probably sleeping in better accommodations than they have in almost a year, a lot longer than that for some of them. Believe me, for them, it’s a step up from the prison mattress we usually sleep on.” Then, I paused for a moment of reflection. “Wait, they closed down and quarantined Angeline’s? I always thought the place needed it, but that’s a bit much.”

“They’re not taking any chances. Any potential spread has to be eliminated. Think about it: a retrovirus capable of changing people’s sex that we understand so little about?”

He had a point. One fact did plague my mind. “So, you’re telling me that HTV affects natal females as much as it does natal males?”

“Yes. In respect to age and original birth sex, HTV is indiscriminate. It changes females into males just as it changes males into females. However, none of the research shows that it is as dangerous as the CDC would like to think. In fact, compared with other retroviruses, it’s very benign and relatively harmless. Also, it’s not as communicable as influenza or even small pox. I have reason to believe that it only affects people with a certain genetic marker. I can’t prove it, but it is a theory.” Dr. Carver shrugged.

“For those in the room that don’t know, Dr. Carver is the foremost North American authority on HTV. He flew in from Montreal two days ago.” Dr. Michaels smiled.

“So, you’ll be performing some extra tests on Melissa’s blood to see if you can pinpoint some kind of commonality?” Dave spoke up.

“Yes, if I have permission.” Dr. Carver glanced at me.

All I could do was shrug. “I don’t really care, Dr. Carver. I’ve already resolved that I’ll probably be a lab rat until this all washes over, so test away. Far be it from me to stand in the way of scientific discovery.”

“Thank you, Melissa. I didn’t want to proceed without some form of permission.”

“Well, with concerns about the media, I happen to know a publicist or two. If you’re interested, Melissa, I could give them a call and have them come down to talk to you. I know the public will expect some kind of statement soon, but you shouldn’t rush it.” Dave stated.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea, Mr. Halden.” Dr. Michaels spoke up.

“Oh, I do.” Came my firm reply. “I’m well aware that I’ll have to speak to the press at some point. I’d rather it was on my terms, so a publicist isn’t a bad idea.” Glancing at my doctor, I continued. “I can’t really pay them, though. I don’t think publicists do ‘pro bono’ work.”

He merely grinned. “The ones that I know do. Like I said, only when you’re ready. My concerns are to my patient, first and foremost.”

Now, I giggled. “Thanks, Dave.”

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

The next week or so passed by like one long blur. Again, there wasn’t much on television, but I did find some programs that I liked. Watching reruns of Mythbusters is always entertaining. For lapses in entertainment, Janet brought me a few books. Unfortunately, most of them were romance novels I would have never read, even if you paid me to. Once I communicated my preferences, the science fiction and fantasy novels were much more common. When she brought me Twilight, I would have liked to have regurgitated. Still, she was doing her best and I was thankful for the effort.

As predicted, the changes I was experiencing were subtle, at first. After two weeks, it was confirmed that I had a body hair pattern synonymous with a young woman of my age and heritage. The hair on my arms was soft, light, and fine, yet only occupied my upper arm between my wrist and elbow. The hair on my legs continued to thin out until the furriest part was my lower legs. My thighs were almost completely devoid of dark hair. My armpits were about the same as my shins. Interestingly enough, the hair even fell off my scrotum, which seemed a little odd to me. Finally, my face was completely smooth. Like my father, my facial hair had grown halfway down my neck, but there was no evidence that it ever existed anymore. When the last hairs fell out, I yelped out an elated “Woo hoo!” and my voice cracked into a higher register, which only served to make the experience that much better. Other than that, the hair on my head seemed a little more oily but that was the extent of it.

On the other hand, I was eating… a lot. During my teen years, I never really experienced the whole “eat your family out of house and home” thing most guys go through. Granted, I could put away half a large pizza and not blink. It was even funny to see the reactions on people when a girl as thin as I would devour a cheeseburger. I liked to think that, when I was able, my appetite was fairly “healthy” and “normal”. In the past week, I was putting away about six meals that were all about the size of the average “value meal” from most fast food chains -- just the regular size, not “super sized”. The nurses were a little worried that I was eating too much because I’d been half-starved by homeless shelters. However, Dr. Carver quickly dismissed such ideas by stating it was not uncommon for someone being affected by HTV to have similar eating habits. Essentially, my body was saying that it needed the extra energy and, as far as Dr. Carver was concerned, that was a good sign.

Today, however, I was having a case of the tummy aches. It wasn’t excruciating by any means, just an annoying dull pain that made it hard to take naps. I really didn’t think much of it until my doctor and Dr. Michaels came in for a check up in the late afternoon.

“Hey, Dave.” I smiled when I saw his grinning face.

“Hello, Melissa.” He greeted back.

“Hey, Mel.” Dr. Michaels stated with a toothy grin. This was definitely her “hello” smile that most women greet each other with.

“Hey, Dr. Michaels.” I returned with my own "hello" smile.

“How’s our girl feeling today?” Dave took a seat near the gurney.

I let out a sigh. “Not that great. I’m almost completely bored out of my mind and I’ve had a dull tummy ache all day.”

Dr. Michaels set down her computer pad. “Really?” She rushed to the bed side. “I’ll do an abdominal exam. You just let me know where it hurts. Sound good?”

Lazily, I shrugged. “I guess so.”

She pulled back the blanket and formed her hands into some odd shape. She had one hand over the other and all her fingers were extended. Then, she carefully applied pressure with her fingertips around my abdominal region, starting in the area near my stomach, then over to my liver, then down over my intestines, then down into the lower abdominal region. I winced.

“Hmm…” She softly announced. “Well, no problems with your gastrointestinal tract, from what I can tell. Your liver seems fine. The problem seems to be in your pelvic region. Have you been having issues urinating? No burning sensations or anything?”

Shaking my head, I replied. “No, not really. I doubt it’s a bladder infection or anything like that, seeing how sanitary everything is around here.”

“One can never tell. It helps to rule things out. Given the circumstances, I may have to examine your groin. Would you be okay with that?”

“I don’t see why not. I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Probably not, but let’s check to make sure.”

Again, she pulled the blankets back. Now, Dave stood and moved to the gurney. She moved over to a counter, picked up some disposable gloves and handed Dave a pair while she slipped a pair on herself. Then, she proceeded to lift the hospital gown and pull down my panties. Flushed with embarrassment, I turned my head to the side. I could feel gloved hands messing with my… junk… for a few minutes and then my panties were placed back on my hips.

“That is incredibly interesting.” She stated with a heightened tone to her voice.

“Indeed.” Dave agreed.

My head snapped back to face them as she pulled the hospital gown back on. “What? What’s going on?”

She pulled off the gloves and smiled at me. “Well, it would appear that you no longer have testicles, my dear. They’ve ascended into your pelvis. Usually, patients say that’s pretty painful.”

Another shrug from me. “Didn’t even notice. I learned a technique a long time ago to pop them up into that little pocket near my pelvic bone whenever I tuck myself.”

She nodded. “Probably why it didn’t hurt. Either that, or you were asleep when it occurred. There’s something else, too.”

Dave smiled. “The tissue of your scrotum is beginning to stretch down along your perineum, to prepare itself to be your labia minora, I’d assume.”

“I concur, Mr. Halden. That, and the sides of your perineum seem a little… what’s the word?…” She paused to think. “Oh, yes, I believe it applicable to say ‘puffy’. Yes, they look puffy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And that has what kind of significance?”

“Well, if you were a twelve-year-old girl, I’d say that your mons pubis was beginning to define itself.” She smiled.

“And that is…?” Okay, so I wasn’t up to date on gynecological terms. Sue me.

Dave took this one. “You know that little mound just above the vulva?” I nodded. “Well, that and the labia majora make up the mons pubis, or ‘pubic mound’.”

“Wait… that’s starting, already?” You could hear the slight elation to my voice.

“Yes, I would say that it is. I don’t know how common that is until I confer with Dr. Carver, though.” She stated plainly.

“But, that’s not what’s causing the abdominal pain, is it?”

“No, I don’t believe so. What I would believe is happening is that your internal organs are beginning to form. I’ll have to call Dr. Carver down here to examine you, but I think I’m right on this.”

I lay my head back, let out a nice sigh, closed my eyes, and smiled. “Awesome.”

[ - To Be Concluded - ]
Photo Credit: Haley Ramm

Dream Come True - Chapter Three - by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2011 Ostracized by family and many friends, Melissa Sterling finds herself on the cold, lonely streets. Being transgendered, not many opportunities present themselves and too many people are overtly discriminatory. Like her family, the state safety net has abandoned her with no income and no health care. A modern American tragedy. In her own mind, she can't seem to catch a break and life doesn't seem worth living. That is, until fate seems to have another plan in place. In this installment, by way of a leak every news organization in the country learns that there is now a case of HTV in the United States. Melissa's transformation is in full swing and coming to a head. Plus, she gets a special visitor.

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(For the Disclaimer, see Chapter One)

A WORD FROM THE AUTHOR: Again, thank you everyone for your kind words of encouragement and all the kudos. It keeps me going. For those with questions, I hope that some of them are answered here. If not, don't fear, Chapter Four is in full swing and many more may be answered then. I can feel that this tale is going to be quite a long one. Exactly how long? I have no idea. Like BioWare says before they release a game: "When it's done, it'll be done." I hope that you've been enjoying the ride as much as I have. I'm on a roll! xD

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— Chapter Three —

The television screen revealed a familiar face. He was a man approximately in his late forties. All his hair was white, rather than gray, and he had a full head of it. Due to the framing of the camera, all that could be seen was his chocolate brown suit jacket, white button-down shirt, and blue “power tie”. He was none other than the KOMO 4 News anchorman of several years, Hal Denny. When the broadcast started, I really thought nothing of it. I was merely curious as to what was going on in the local news. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

A graphic filled the right side of the screen displaying “Top Story” and “Breaking News”. Right on cue, a moment after returning from the commercial break, he took a quick breath and began to speak. “In our top story tonight, we’ve been reporting on a strange occurrence. Last week, the day center for homeless women in downtown Seattle, Angeline’s, was closed down and surrounded in a police barricade. Not much was known as to why this was implemented at the center funded by the Y-W-C-A and private donations, but there was a suspected federal connection. Also, many women have been detained and cordoned off in some sections of Harborview Medical Center, Swedish Medical Center, and Virginia Mason Medical Center. This week, the Centers For Disease Control released a statement that explained some of the questions, quote: ‘We are currently investigating the transmission of a rare pathogen introduced into the homeless population of Seattle. Naturally, the environment would only encourage the spread of such a pathogen. Suspect persons have been quarantined for their own safety as well as the safety of the general public,’ unquote.” He took a quick breath. “This news station has attempted to contact the Mayor’s office and the local CDC office for comment, but were unsuccessful.

“Today, KOMO 4 News was able to shed some light on the subject. For that, we go to our correspondent, Monica Kasey.” The graphic morphed to fit both the announcer and the correspondent side-by-side in the same window. “Good evening, Monica.”

She was dressed modestly in a navy skirt suit, lavender blouse, black nylons, modest pumps, and a professional-looking overcoat. I’d always considered her very stunning. She was a junior correspondent, but I assumed that wouldn’t last very long given that she always seemed to break major stories. Being half-Asian, that was an accomplishment at American news stations. It was apparently drizzling outside, so she had both her microphone and umbrella handy. Behind her was an illuminated sign that read “Emergency” and an arrow pointing to an emergency room entrance. However, what I really noticed was the blue and white sign just above that with lettering indicating which hospital she was standing outside of. My eyes widened.

She offered a smile. “Good evening, Hal.”

“There seems to be quite a development in this story. What do you have for us?”

“As you can see, Hal, I’m standing outside of Virginia Mason Hospital and Medical Center here at Ninth Avenue and Spring Street. This is where we’ve learned that most of those women being quarantined are being kept. We’re not certain where, precisely, because the hospital staff is remaining tight-lipped about this entire development. What we do know is that this is all being orchestrated by the CDC and, as you explained, they have not been available for comment. We are being reassured that there is no clear and present danger for the citizens of Seattle, as a whole.” She read off her note card. “Today, however, we learned a piece of information that could shed some light on this topic. Through an anonymous source, we were directed to some of the hospital’s records and ran across a name that many outside a certain population may not know. The day after Angeline’s was quarantined, Dr. Abraham Carver came on duty in the trauma ward here at Virginia Mason.”

The graphic returned to the side-by-side of Hal and Monica. There was a surprised look on Hal’s face. “Would you care to explain who Dr. Carver is for the viewers who are unfamiliar with him?”

Monica nodded. “Certainly. From what we’ve uncovered, Dr. Carver is a physician from Montreal, Quebec, Canada. He is a renowned microbiologist, epidemiologist, and geneticist. What he is best known for has been his work in the past five years. He is considered North America’s foremost expert in the elusive Human Transmutation Virus, or HTV. As you know, the first recorded case of HTV came out of Hong Kong, China, about fifteen years ago. Since then, there have been cases popping up out of Japan, Indonesia, Australia, Canada, the United Kingdom, France, Germany, Italy, several ‘Eastern Block’ European countries, most of Africa, and some places in the Middle East. There have been a few cases from Central and South America, but some epidemiologists suggest that the majority of cases go unreported, so accurate numbers of cases are almost impossible. Sadly, the majority of HTV victims in the Middle East have been executed due, in part, to religious beliefs of the people involved.

“The Human Transmutation Virus is considered to be a retrovirus that causes a dramatic change in those who contract it. Baffling most scientists, the disease totally transforms the victim from a fully functioning member of either sex into a fully functional member of the opposite sex. Many English-speaking populations have given it the pseudonym of ‘Girl-Flu’ because of the flu-like symptoms at the onset of the transformation.”

Suddenly, I was made aware of some kind of shouting match going on outside, but I just turned up the volume on the television and chose to ignore it.

“Based on this information, are you being led to believe that we may be witnessing the first case of HTV in the United States?” Hal likely echoed the sentiment of most viewers, now.

Monica nodded. “It would appear to be just that, Hal. Digging a little further, we discovered that most of the women here at Virginia Mason are being held communally in a residential area of the hospital. There is one specific patient being treated here in the trauma ward by Dr. Carver, but we were unable to uncover that person’s identity or any information about their status. I am led to believe that it is a woman who was homeless when all of this began, based on what we’ve uncovered so far.”

“So, Seattle could very well have one more male citizen in the wake of all of this?” Hal questioned.

Again, Monica nodded. “It would appear that way, Hal. We can neither confirm nor deny the statement, but it seems plausible, based on the evidence we’ve uncovered so far. We’ll keep you updated as more information becomes available.”

“Thank you, Monica…” Hal stated before the graphic changed again to feature only his visage.

Right at that moment, Janet burst into my room looking rather winded. I hit the mute button.

“Melissa…” She breathed.

I turned to her nonchalantly. “The cat’s out of the bag, now.”

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

To say that there was a media firestorm after that would be no hyperbole. News organizations of every imaginable type descended on Seattle and surrounded the Virginia Mason campus. Representatives from all the major news networks -- ABC, CBS, NBC, and even Fox News -- had correspondents and cameras strategically placed that were spinning their own variety of conspiracy theory. Local stations from Seattle, Tacoma, and even Olympia were represented as well. The Seattle Times, The News Tribune, The Olympian, and The Stranger rounded out the local newspapers present. Nationally, the New York Times, L.A. Times, Washington Post, Newsweek, and one I’d never heard of, the Huffington Post, were also on hand. Suddenly, it didn’t feel so bad to be under quarantine. However, doctors and nurses from the hospital were getting hounded to make some kind of statement on the matter. I overheard a lot of nurses stating that they had enough stress to deal with at work and would rather not have to deal with it on the way into work. The time had come to make a phone call.

In my own little room, things were about the same. Periodically, a nurse would come in and insert a needle into the IV needle still imbedded in my hand to give me some relief from my abdominal pain. Still, they were keeping me numb enough to feel the annoying dull pain, but stave off everything else. Occasionally, something would spasm and cause me to cringe momentarily, but that was only temporary. Dr. Michaels wanted to keep tabs and know when the pain finally subsided. It had yet to be explained to me exactly what, precisely, was causing the pain. Up to this point, all I had to go on was Dr. Michaels’ conjecture. Now, my joints ached and my whole body felt like one big slab of Jell-O. I brought up the concern that I may be getting a fever to the nurses because I always experienced similar sensations just before I developed a fever. Thankfully, they diligently checked my temperature and there was no fever. I really didn’t want to pass out for another five days.

I was, however, taking a lot more naps. Taking into consideration what my body was going through still wasn’t much comfort. There were too many questions left unanswered and Dr. Carver hadn’t made an appearance in a few days. He had to be around somewhere, though, because the nurses were taking blood samples at regular intervals that I was almost certain he had ordered. Not much, though. Usually, it just a small vial every six hours, or so. Now, I was really feeling like a lab rat. Janet’s visits were really such a blessing. For the most part, she was the only visitor authorized by the CDC.

My eyes fluttered open after a particularly long nap. The reason I knew it was a long nap was because I had apparently fell asleep during the beginning of an episode of Dirty Jobs and now there was some kind of fishing show. I hate sport fishing. I winced a little as I rolled over from my side to my back. Typically, I slept on my stomach but the pain was too much to even try that.

“Sleeping quite a bit, recently?” A male voice softly inquired.

I rolled my head and my eyes landed on him. “Oh… hey, Dr. Carver. Long time no see.” I groaned.

“Yes. I apologize for that, Melissa. My efforts to analyze HTV at its different stages have kept me away. I’ll try to be less of a science geek in the future.” He smiled.

“See that you do.” I breathed tiredly.

He crossed over to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Now, I grumbled. “Wish you guys would take away all the pain, but I’m glad for the dull roar, at least.”

“I’m sorry for that, Melissa. It is a necessary evil for the time being. Anything else?”

I pressed a button to bring the gurney to an upright position so I wasn’t being rude. “Yeah, my joints ache like I’ve got a fever coming on and my whole body feels like Jell-O. Care to elaborate why?”

“Certainly.” As if on cue, he took the chair next to the gurney. “Right now, your body is going through what I call the ‘pupa’ stage of development. Everything that is changing is going on internally. After several patients, I discovered that the joint aches are being caused by your body reforming growth plates in certain places. The ‘body jelly’ sensation is muscle reformation. Male and female muscle structures have several differences. I know that it’s uncomfortable and we’re going to do our best to make you as comfortable as we can. Are you satisfied with what has been done so far?”

“In a word: no. This abdominal pain makes it really hard to sleep in certain positions. I’ve taken to sleeping on my side because neither my belly or back is very comfortable.”

“There is a reason for that, I assure you.” He gave a reassuring smile. Then, he quickly glanced down at his clipboard then back up at me. “Would you like some good news?”

“Yes, I would love some good news.”

“Well, with the blood tests, I’ve not only been monitoring the changes with how the virus and your body are reacting. There are several other things going on. You may not know the typical hormone levels in humans, so I’ll elaborate:

“In males, testosterone will hover around four to five hundred nanograms per milliliter, while leaving the estrogen levels somewhere between fifty and one hundred fifty, but typically sixty. In females, there’s the menstrual cycle to take into account. Thus, hormone levels vary greatly and are as diverse as women, themselves. That being said, average testosterone levels are anywhere between six and eighty six picograms per milliliter. Progesterone levels are lowest at ovulation and highest at the time a woman has her period. After ovulation, it climbs above fourteen picograms per milliliter and we know that an egg has been released from the ovary. Estrogen levels can vary from fifty to five hundred nanograms per milliliter, depending on the phase of her cycle and whether she’s postmenopausal or not.”

I held my head to keep it from spinning. “Nanograms? Picograms? Never learned those in any science class I’ve ever taken. You’re throwing me through a loop, Doc.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t learn them until med school. They’re just ways to measure the small amounts that are present in human blood. There’s a lot of chemistry to consider. The short answer: after three consecutive days of testing, your estrogen is about five hundred, progesterone is above fourteen, and testosterone is only nine. I am very happy to pronounce that you are now chemically female.”

A smile crossed my lips a nurse pulled back the curtain and wheeled in a machine that I hadn’t ever seen before. I looked at her quizzically, then repeated the expression to Dr. Carver who only released another chuckle.

“That, Melissa, is a sonogram machine. We’re going to confirm my hypothesis about what is causing your abdominal pain. Are you with me?” He explained.

I slowly nodded. “Oh. Sure, let’s do this.” Then, the gurney began to lower to the lying down position.

Dr. Carver moved over to the machine, setting his clipboard on top of it as he began to power it up. Meanwhile, the nurse was getting me into position by pulling back the blankets and lifting my hospital gown. Dr. Carver took note of the diminished size of the bulge in my panties.

“We’ll take a look at that when we’re finished with the sonogram. I’ve been meaning to examine you, myself, for days, now.” He reassured me.

He didn’t get much more out of me than a nod. The nurse lowered the waistband of my panties, but made sure to protect my dignity for the time being. Looking down my body, I noted the size of the bulge and how different my belly was beginning to look. Dr. Carver had said there wouldn’t be too many external changes yet, but there was definitely something going on. In a moment, he was putting some gel on the business end of the machine and a little on my abdomen as well. It was so cold that goosebumps started to form. Yet again, he flashed a reassuring smile as he set to work.

I tensed up a little as the little wand-looking roller thing was placed on my tummy. In half a second, a picture was being sent back to the main unit. Dr. Carver rooted around for a few minutes and I could barely tell what anything was that I was seeing on the screen. Then, he stopped and I could see something I’d only ever seen on examination room walls. Right before my eyes in black and white was nothing more than ovaries, fallopian tubes, and an actual uterus. Tears quickly welled up in my eyes and began falling down my cheeks. That had to be the happiest day of my life, up to that point.

Ever since I can remember, there was nothing I wanted more than to have my own children. This dream had been shot down and ridiculed by other kids ever since I can remember and even my own family. To them, I was a boy and boys don’t have babies. With the onset of puberty, the cold, hard truth was made apparent. When other girls were blossoming into swans, I was being left behind and turning into some perversion. My doom was to be some huge, tall, broad, hairy gorilla with a Polish sausage between my legs. It had been the reason why so many tears stained my pillows when I was a teenager. I had not known any greater pain.

As I crumpled into a crying mass, Dr. Carver saved several frames of the sonogram and made ready to print them out for me to commemorate the occasion. He cleaned the machine and the nurse did her best to get me cleaned up as well, holding my hand the whole time. Her name was Heather, I found out later. Soon, I regained my composure and Dr. Carver stood at the end of my bed with yet another reassuring smile.

“Well, chalk this up as just another of a great many pieces of good news, today.” He stated softly. “Are you settled enough for a more thorough examination?”

Slowly nodding as I wiped away tears, there wasn’t much more movement I could coax out of my body. “I don’t know if I can handle much more good news, but let’s go for it.”

He chuckled. Thus, the panties came off the rest of the way and he set about his examination. Geezus, the little monster looked small, now! Dr. Carver had taken measurements when I’d first come in while I was unconscious. Flaccid, I was six inches long and only about an inch in circumference. When erect, he believed that I was about nine and a half inches long and about two inches around. Like I said, Polish sausage. Now, though, the little bastard was still about three inches long and there was no hope of him growing erect because my libido was pretty much gone. Looking down, I could see and Dr. Carver confirmed that my mons pubis and labia majora that my phallus was shrinking into were fully mature. I couldn’t see anything below that, though.

“Well, well…” Dr. Carver thought out loud.

“Care elaborating, Doctor?” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Well, Melissa, given the development, I‘d say that your abdominal pain should subside either tonight or tomorrow. You are now the proud owner of a healthy, nearly developed uterus. Also, you no longer have a scrotum. I would now call this tissue nothing more than labia minora. It’s fully extended along your perineum and has begun to split. In the next couple of days we’re going to have to be careful. It will take about twelve to sixteen hours for your urethra to reroute itself into the labia. So, I’m cutting down your fluid intake until that happens.”

“So, in a day or two, I’ll actually have to sit to pee, instead of choosing to like I’ve done for the past few years.”

He nodded as he helped lift my panties back onto my hips. “Precisely. Also, over the next couple of days, that little phallus with fold over, connect itself to the labia, and continue to shrink until it becomes your clitoris.”

My head fell onto the pillow, then I smiled as tears once again welled up in my eyes. He was right. There was a lot of good news, today.

“Dr. Carver? Could you do me a favor?”

“Yes, Melissa. What do you need?”

“Could you call my doctor for me? On one hand, he should hear the good news and you should send him a copy of the ultrasound. On the other hand, I think it’s time to call that publicist.”

“Are you sure it’s best to involve the publicist, now?”

I sat up, which didn’t feel too good. “Yes, there isn’t a better time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Look,” I began and let out a sigh, “I may be effectively trapped in this hospital room, but I’m not blind to what’s going on outside. I know that every news organization imaginable has descended on this hospital, even some I’ve never heard of. The nurses have been stating for the past couple of days that the reporters are harassing them as they come in to work. You can’t tell me that they haven’t been trying to get a comment out of you, either. They mentioned you, specifically, on KOMO the other night.” Again, I let out a sigh and the tears welling up were of concern rather than happiness. “You guys work hard enough as it is. You don’t need all the harassment.” I looked directly at Heather, who then smiled. “None of you do.” Then, my eyes returned to Dr. Carver. “What they want is me. If I give them what they want, they may focus their attention on me and leave you guys alone.”

A smile crossed his lips that was beyond my comprehension to decipher. “Melissa, did it hurt?”

I was taken aback. “Did what hurt?”

“When you fell from heaven. Did it hurt?”

It was corny, but everyone in the room shared a good laugh, even if it caused me to wince in pain.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Some kind of explosive pressure release had awakened me from a confusing, but not unpleasant dream. Honestly, my body wanted to just ignore it and go back to sleep. My mind had other ideas. It was working overtime to try and decipher what that sensation of warmth spreading around my pelvic region was. Grunting, I rolled over and tried to sit up, hearing some strange sound as I did so. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, pulled back the covers and let out a startled scream. I found that I was, again, wearing a diaper. But, that wasn’t the most startling revelation. My scream was a girl’s scream.

“Holy shit! Was that me?” My voice was beginning to sound very unfamiliar, but not in a bad way. I had trained it into a female speaking register years ago, but screaming had proved impossible. I hadn’t screamed properly since I was about eleven years old.

Janet burst in from behind the curtain, clutching her chest. “Heavens! Melissa, are you all right? Where did that scream come from?”

My eyes big as dinner plates, I tilted my head toward her. “In a manner of speaking.”

She blinked. “Melissa… your voice?”

I swallowed. Through the training, I could actually restrict the size of my larynx. Now, it felt a little strange, so I relaxed it. “Yes…” I stopped. Usually, when I relaxed, it landed in a male register. My hand shot to my throat. The Adam’s Apple I’d been cursed with at seventeen was nowhere to be found. “Oh. My. GOD!” I squeaked. “It’s gone!”

She rushed over to the bed, smiling. “Yes, it would appear something’s gone. To what are you referring?” I lifted my head and ran my hand slowly up and down my soft, smooth neck. “Your Adam’s Apple? Well, Dr. Carver did say that a lot of internal changes were happening, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did.” I was still marveling over my voice. It sounded right. Sure, I’d trained it to sound correctly female before, but this was a little different. I sounded like a proper twenty-something young woman… and I didn’t have to try. “God damn… I don’t think I’m going to get over this one.”

“Watch your mouth, Missy. Now, why did you scream?” She gave me a stern look. “Congratulations on the ability to scream, by the way.”

Now, a grimace crossed my face. I firmly pointed at the mass of cotton, plastic, and polymer between my legs and fastened to my hips. “Um… what the hell is this doing here?”

She tilted her head to the side in a maternal, yet condescending, way. “Honey, that’s no big deal. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the past twenty hours. If Dr. Carver hadn’t explained that it was normal and not to worry, you’d be hooked up to a lot of machines, right now. During that time, your urethra disappeared. We couldn’t take any chances. It was explained that you’d be incontinent for a few days while your body recovers from not having a way to dispose of fluid waste for… how long was it?… oh, about seventeen hours.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” My voice was naturally rising and falling in pitch, out of habit I’d developed over the years. Now, I was reveling in how pretty it sounded.

“No kidding, my dear. What woke you up, by the way? I’ve been trying for hours, now.”

I blushed in embarrassment. “Something happened. I don’t know, but I think I wet the bed. There was a bunch of pressure, then, suddenly, nothing but warmth.”

“You’re sure?” She glanced down and nodded. “Yep, it happened. Good, we can stop dehydrating you, now. What can I get you, besides a fresh diaper?”

“Well, hold the diaper and get me some coffee.”

She shook her head. “Don’t have a choice with the diaper, missy. I’m not taking any chances. You don’t want soaked sheets, trust me. I’ll get you a small cup of coffee and some vitamin waters. Sound good.”

I grumbled… femininely. “Fine, if you insist.” I let my body forcibly fall back onto the pillow while I pressed the button to raise it into the sitting position.

While Janet was away, I decided to distract myself from the feeling in my crotch by humming scales. After a few minutes, I began to lightly sing them. First, I tested to see the lowest note I could possibly hit. I was enamored to find out that I couldn’t sing any lower than Fiona Apple -- whereas before, I could give most bass singers a run for their money. Then, I tested my range by starting at that lowest note and going up and singing the “Do, Re, Mi” song from The Sound of Music. The higher I got, the happier I became. I could feel my voice jump into a female falsetto and climb ever higher. Without testing with a vocal instructor, I surmised that I was likely in the mezzo soprano range, which was very delightful. Not a full soprano, though. I couldn’t hit the high C note without screaming and alerting the nurses for no good reason.

Janet reentered the room with her hands quite full. She had two twenty-ounce bottles of Vitamin Water (the flavored stuff), a twelve-ounce coffee, and a white plastic crinkling thing. I dreaded the latter, but smiled at the other two. Once she reached me, she placed the drinks on the table to my left and then moved to my right side. She presented the offending plastic thing but gave me a sweet smile.

“I realize this can be a little embarrassing, but it’ll serve a double purpose. Try to think about it positively?” Janet requested.

“I can try, I guess.” My arms folded.

“I’m going to need you to lie down, though, hon. It’s easier that way.”

Rolling my eyes, the gurney began to lower into the lying position again. I was not going to like this in the slightest. I flinched as I heard the tapes being unfastened.

“Hey, honey, it’s this or a catheter. What’s it going to be?” She sternly scolded.

“It’s just embarrassing, okay?”

“Yes, dear, I get that. I’m not here to make fun of you and neither is anyone else on my staff. Think of it this way: it’s strange enough to have someone slowly transforming into a female under our care. In the big picture, the diaper thing is very small.”

“You may have a point, there.”

“See?” She immediately stopped and stared at my crotch, which mildly annoyed me. “Melissa, have you seen this?”

I lifted myself onto my elbows. “What?” Then, I caught sight of it. “Okay, the voice is no longer the flavor of the day.”

My crotch looked almost alien to me. There was a mild dip from my belly to my crotch, but then there was a mound. Beyond that, a void. Nothing. Nada. Nichts. There was no longer some deformed bulbous thing looking back up at me. How long had I been out? My eyes were beginning to dry out, they were so wide.

“Hang on a moment.” She pulled the soaked diaper out from under me, rolled it up, and taped it closed. Then, she opened my legs a little further. “Honey, we have got to get you a mirror! That’s one of the prettiest pussies I’ve ever seen!”

“That’s a little soon! Dr. Carver said it would take a couple of days before the little monster disappeared! How long have I been out?!”

She placed a hand on my shoulder. “Shh, honey… calm down. I told you that you’ve been in and out of consciousness for the last twenty hours, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did.”

“Well, I thought you’d be happy to find out that the one thing causing you the most emotional pain for all of your young life was gone.” A smile creased her lips. “And she’s an adorable little rosebud, too. That’s not all, though, honey. You have a vaginal opening, now. You are officially a member of the female species.” She winked.

“No shit?!”

“I told you we have to get you a mirror. That’s one gorgeous vulva you’ve got there.” I let out another happy sigh as she moved back to the right side of the bed, unfolding the plastic thing. “Now, lay back down so we can get this over with. Don’t get too used to the coffee, dear. We’ve got to get your fluids back up.”

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

Daytime television is seriously boring. Ever notice that? If you’re not a shut-in housewife or drama queen, there is nothing to watch! Again, I was engaging in the sport of channel surfing. I should get a gold metal in this.

On top of that, I had a smooth, empty crotch and couldn’t even enjoy it. I had an offending sheet of plastic, cotton, and polymer so thick that I couldn’t close my legs all the way. I had gotten used to the idea, though, because I had no way to tell when I needed to empty my bladder. It just emptied on its own without much warning. Janet had said that it would be a couple of days until I could use a toilet properly, so I’d started a mental countdown. It was definitely better than a catheter, though.

At the very least, I didn’t have any more abdominal pain. It had moved to my chest, ribs, arms, hands, hips, legs, and feet. Yep, still had the joint pain.

The curtain parted. “Hello, there, Melissa. How’s my favorite patient doing?” It was a male voice.

My head rolled toward the door to come upon the silhouette of my doctor. “Merph.”

“Well, that’s not a very spirited response.” He lamented.

“Yea, well, I’m bored out of my mind, there’s nothing on TV, and I just had my diaper changed about half an hour ago. How, exactly, am I supposed to feel?” I was still amazed with how lovely my voice sounded as it resonated around the room. I’d get used to it, eventually, but I was celebrating inwardly.

He staggered backward. “Melissa… your voice… when?”

“Yesterday. Woke up after my urethra rerouted only to piss myself.” Next, I was less somber. “I did manage to scream, though.”

“A real scream?”

“Yes, a real scream. Like, horror movie good scream.”

“Well, you’re coming right along.” He moved over to his usual spot in the chair on my right side. “Have you experimented?”

Lazily, I nodded. “Yeah, a little. I think I’m a mezzo soprano. Can’t tell until I talk to a vocal specialist, though.”

“And, what were you before?”

“Baritone, I guess. I could sing both bass and tenor.”

He leaned in. “And your Adam’s Apple is gone, I see.”

My head rolled over to him with a huge smile plastered on my face. “That’s not the only offending protrusion that’s gone.”

His eyes widened. “You mean… ?”

“Yep! She’s a happy little rosebud, from what I hear. And, you can forget the surgery. I grew my own, thanks.”

His face brightened up and his eyes sparkled. “That’s wonderful! I’m very happy for you!” He leapt up and gathered me into a hug. I reciprocated. “I have to be honest, I thought it would take longer, even after I received your sonogram stills.” He released me.

“Me too. You should have seen me curse at Janet for messing with me. She told me she was going to bring me a mirror to prove it. Apparently, I have a pretty pussy.” I shrugged.

“I don’t know if I would use that particular terminology with the press. The FCC will assuredly frown on it.” Another, alien, male voice stated plainly.

Okay, now was the time to demonstrate to Dave. I let out quite the blood-curdling scream. It even surprised me. I jumped and clamored to grab hold of Dave, which made my diaper crinkle quite loudly.

“Now, I see what you mean.” Dave stated, covering the ear closest to me and wincing in pain.

“I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. David, did you not tell her I was coming?” The man questioned.

“I was about to.” He grimaced. “Melissa, this is Nathaniel Dobbs. Nathan, meet Melissa Sterling.”

The man approached. First thought: jeez, he’s hot! He looked like a homogenization of Mark McGrath and Ryan Reynolds, with Elijah Woods’ hairstyle. His hair was brown and his eyes a subtle green. There wasn’t much to decipher his body with, other than he looked amazing in a double-breasted suit jacket. And, enter the alien sensations. My nipples tightened and rubbed against the fabric of the hospital gown while there was an interesting tingling sensation in my groin. All the sudden, my whole body became some degrees warmer, my heart beat a little faster, and I had butterflies in my tummy.

He held out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Melissa. Dave had told me a great deal. I have to say, though, that none of his descriptions do you any justice.”

Blushing heavily, I slowly took his hand and shook it. “Um… thanks.”

“Well, you’re going to have to find a few more words than that if we’re going to be impressing the press.” He winked. Now, my crotch felt warm and I sincerely hoped my bladder hadn‘t emptied itself just then. “You are the girl of the hour and they have no idea you’re a girl.”

I giggled. ’Geezus, get a grip, Melissa!’. “Y-yes… I saw the piece on KOMO 4... And ABC… And CBS…”

“And NBC, MSNBC, CNN, plus Fox News, for good measure. They’re all clamoring for anything they can get their hands on. I have to say, I’d be honored to handle this for you, if you’ll have me.” He winked.

I was light-headed, but it felt great. “Well… what’s your credentials?” Changing the subject was a good idea.

Dave moved to the foot of the bed, helping distract me from the hunk of man meat. “Actually, Nathan, here, has represented a few people in the past years. He handled the Chris Crocker case and was with Felicia Day, until recently.”

My eyes lit up. “Felicia Day? What’s she like? I love her.” I cooed.

Nathan laughed. “Star struck, eh? Well, Felicia’s a great girl. Maybe I’ll introduce you, once the CDC let’s you out of your cage.”

“That would be awesome.” I tried to sit back and relax. “Now, let’s talk strategy. How’s this all going to go down?”

He slipped one hand into his pocket and began to pace. He had a really nice ass, too. “Well, I’m not going to lie to you. Right now, you could take hundreds of different offers. I don’t know your preference, here, but I’m saying that you won’t have to be homeless after this. First, though, I think we should start light. Seeing that the CDC has you in lockdown until they’re satisfied, I would suggest we come up with some kind of press release that I could read outside for a press conference. That would give them something to salivate over and they’d think they were getting some deeper story. Then, we make them wait. The CDC lockdown is in your favor there. You don’t have to face them until you’re ready and they won’t be bothering you. Believe me, honey, the paparazzi are ruthless when they want to be. In here, you’re safe from that.”

I lowered my head to contemplate his proposal. It was a damn good one, too. My mind decided to linger on one particular, point, though. I glanced up at him with one eyebrow raised and my nose scrunched. It had to look really cute. “Wait. Are we talking monetary compensation, here? You said something about offers.”

“Yes, Melissa, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. I’m not going to sugarcoat anything, here. You could stand to make a great deal of money from this. I mean, you are the first recorded case of HTV in the entire United States. Before, you were homeless and wandering the streets for a place to lay your head. I want to see if we can get you enough to get a home of your own.”

Either that was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard or I was seeing this through the rose-colored glasses of unadulterated lust. At that moment, I could have cared less. At least my libido was back. “Well, in that case, you had me at ‘hello’. Let’s get this ball rolling, then.”

He smiled. “I hoped you’d say that. Think you can write up a press release in three days?”

“I might be able to manage that. I don’t have anything to write with, though.”

Until that moment, Dave had been digging through his bag and had largely gone unnoticed. Then, he turned around and presented a relatively flat, black, electronic device. “My gift to you, Melissa.” He grinned widely.

‘Holy shit, he bought me a laptop!’ I stared at it blankly for a minute. “Dude… you got me a Dell?”

They both laughed.

“Actually, it’s a Sony Vaio. They’ve got a little more power.” Dave corrected me.

Taking the laptop, tears welled up in my eyes. “Yea, but there’s no good joke with that brand.”

More laughter.

[ - To Be Concluded - ]
Photo Credit: Haley Ramm

Dream Come True - Chapter Four - by: Danielle Krieger (c) 2011 Ostracized by family and many friends, Melissa Sterling finds herself on the cold, lonely streets. Being transgendered, not many opportunities present themselves and too many people are overtly discriminatory. Like her family, the state safety net has abandoned her with no income and no health care. A modern American tragedy. In her own mind, she can't seem to catch a break and life doesn't seem worth living. That is, until fate seems to have another plan in place. In this installment, the public learns Melissa's name as a press conference is held, but no one sees her face. She gets two special visitors and the transformation takes a turn toward scary. Also, a rite of passage that most women dread.

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A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Again, I'd like to thank everyone for the comments and the kudos. As I've said before, it's kept me going on this. Honestly, this chapter was finished almost immediately after Chapter Three. I just waited a couple of days to post it. That was one VERY productive day! xD

So, kick back, relax, and let's see what Melissa gets herself into, shall we? *incredibly deceptively cute evil grin*

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— Chapter Four —

Both Janet and Heather had found replacements for their shift. Today was the day. They had joined me in my room and we had snacks, drinks, and plenty of good conversation to go around. Admittedly, I was nervous as a bunny at that moment and very glad to be behind the CDC quarantine. We had all decided that tuning into CNN would be the best course of action because the local stations probably wouldn’t cover the story until later that night. Also, they had a lead in and were constantly showing a live feed from the press conference outside. Thankfully, Janet had brought in a 42-inch flat screen from her house for the occasion. The little 20-inch in my room just didn’t seem to be enough and there was no way we were all going to huddle around the 17-inch monitor on my laptop. Yes, they were streaming the press conference online, too. It was crazy!

Through the camera lens, I could see a couple hundred people. Some were the actual reporters, others were just the cameramen and sound crew. Thankfully, they were rather subdued, regardless of the revelation they were about to get. The reporters were all sitting in a semi-circle around a podium placed just outside the hospital. There was even a little carpet leading from the entrance to podium. Thankfully, the police had shut down the block of Ninth Avenue in front of Virginia Mason days ago, so there were no traffic issues. As if downtown Seattle needed any more traffic headaches, anyway.

As soon as Nathan and Dr. Carver stepped out of the hospital, the flashing of cameras started -- yet another reason I was glad that I wasn’t out there.

“Holy crap, Melissa! You weren’t kidding! That man is hot!” Heather stated enthusiastically.

“Yes, he is a luscious piece of man meat, isn’t he?” Janet agreed.

I giggled. “I do not lie about hunks like that.”

“Shh! It’s starting!” Heather was thoroughly engrossed.

Outside I could hear shuffles and the curtain opened. There was no fourth wall to my room. It was just a curtain between me and the nurses’ station. A crowd was gathering to watch the broadcast.

Nathan cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press: on behalf of my client, I’d like to thank you all for coming, this morning. I know that many of you have been here for at least a week, now, so thank you for your diligence.” He pulled a piece of paper out from his jacket pocket. Janet had printed my statement after using her jump drive to transfer and access the hospital’s printer. “First, I will go ahead and read my client’s statement and then we will have a brief question and answer segment. Dr. Abraham Carver has graciously agreed to help answer the questions that I may not be able to.”

He unfolded the piece of paper. So far, so good. He cleared his throat again as he began to read my prepared statement. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press: thank you for showing interest in a humble young woman with a humble past. My name is Melissa Deanne Sterling, spelling provided. You can now put a name to your stories, though the face will have to wait. I’m not done changing, yet.

“Just one month ago, I was a homeless transsexual woman with no home, no future, and no hope. This has plagued my existence for a few years, now. I grew up in Southern Idaho with a conservative family in a conservative environment. As a way out, I joined the United States Navy to, hopefully, see the world and maybe go to college. Sadly, such was not to be. The ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy ended my military career far too early. From there, things went from bad to worse. I fell into a deep depression and only wanted to put my life together.

“Without much thought and even less money, I moved into Seattle. With the status of my discharge, not even the Veterans Administration would help me, so I turned to the state. For a year, I began to see a small light in all the blackness. I was able to see a psychological therapist, procure a primary care provider, and a pharmacy who all showed me not only compassion, but kindness. I was finally able to start my transition, like I’d always dreamed I could. I could finally be a whole person.”

Tears flowed down my cheeks as I recalled my past while he read it. This was harder than I had originally thought.

He continued. “Good things never seem to last. The entire nation was plunged into the worst economic recession since the Great Depression and many states, including Washington, found themselves with massive budget shortfalls. Major Depressive Disorder and Gender Identity Dysphoria (my term) are not as important to some as Schizophrenia, Bipolar Disorder, or drug and alcohol dependence. I could not meet the new standards to remain on the Medicaid program; thus, fell through the cracks. I would like the Governor and the Department of Social and Health Services to know that I do not fault them for doing what had to be done, it was likely a very difficult decision to make and I am not the only victim. I don’t know if I could ever make that decision.

“For a year and a half, I have been roaming the streets of Seattle, never knowing where I would be laying my head at the end of the day or where my next meal was coming from. I applied for and was denied access to so many transitional housing programs that I have lost count. Though it has been illegal in the State of Washington since 2006, I suspect the denials were because some believed me to be a man in a dress, but I cannot prove these allegations. I also did not win the Section 8 lottery held through the Seattle Housing Authority and Housing and Urban Development office. Frankly, I stopped caring some time ago. This kind of disappointment eats at the very soul of a person.

“The last thing that I remember was not being able to sleep in the temporary night shelter at St. Mark’s Cathedral, counting the divots on the ceiling tiles, while a compassionate soul attempted to cajole me after a particularly heart-wrenching denial. Then, awakened in strange surroundings. The kind nursing staff informed me that I had been unconscious for five days and I thank them for their diligence in my case.”

Janet and Heather turned to smile at me before snapping their heads back to the broadcast.

Nathan continued. “It wasn’t long after that when I met Dr. Carver and Dr. Michaels. They immediately informed me that I had suffered a febrile seizure, which runs in my family, and had contracted the Human Transmutation Virus, or HTV and commonly referred to as the ‘Girl Flu’ unceremoniously. To be honest, I didn’t know how to feel, initially. Though, now I am celebrating this turn of luck, as I see it. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of during the entirety of my young life. After twenty-five years of hardship, something was finally going my way and a birth defect would begin to right itself.

“Dr. Carver, Dr. Michaels, and the entire nursing staff here at Virginia Mason have worked tirelessly on my behalf to monitor my well being. Sometimes, they were a shoulder to cry on and offered a hug when I really needed it. At other times, a firm scolding was just the thing I needed. My body is helping itself, but they have been helping my mind mend itself. They are all very hard working individuals and I ask one simple request of every single member of the press: leave them alone. They have enough stress in their lives and do not need more piled on. If you have questions or comments, please field them through my representative, Mr. Dobbs. Thank you for your time.” He folded the piece of paper and placed it back in his pocket.

There was quite a long pause. Deep inside, I was really hoping for someone to raise their hand and ask a question. However, the silence alerted me to soft sobs and sniffles around the room. I glanced over at Janet and Heather. Both were crying. Then, I glanced over at the spectators. The men were stoically silent. Among the women, there wasn’t a dry eye between them. Suddenly, I felt a little guilty.

Thankfully, Nathan raised his head and pointed at one of the reporters. “You’re first.”

A woman in her forties stood. “Kelly O’Donnell, NBC. Is there a date when Miss Sterling will be released from the hospital?”

Nathan shrugged. “That, we can’t know. That decision falls to Agent Donovan from the CDC. We can’t get much information on that, sorry.” He pointed to the next person.

Another woman stood. “Abbie Boudreau, CNN…”

“Ah, well, be sure to thank your network for the live coverage, this morning.” Nathan winked.

“I will.” She took a breath. “Is Miss Sterling seeing any visitors?”

He nodded. “Yes, she is seeing some visitors, but very few. Any and all visitors need to be screened by the CDC representative at the hospital. Thus far, it has been Dr. Carver, Dr. Michaels, a few nurses, her primary care provider, and myself.”

“Who is her primary care provider?”

“David Halden, ARNP. Spelled H-A-L-D-E-N.”

“And two more visitors can be added to that list.” A male voice in the room stated.

I was so engrossed in the broadcast that I hadn’t expected it. Again, I jumped and screamed. It was just my doctor, Dave, so I quickly calmed back down. “You people have really got to stop giving me heart attacks. You come out of nowhere.”

Dave laughed. “I have found two visitors for you that I have been trying to reach since you were admitted in here. They’ve come a long way to see you. Are you willing to accept guests?” The spectating nurses began to disperse.

I shrugged. “I guess. Who is it?”

A man and a woman rounded the corner. The man was six feet tall, even, and was carrying a spare tire around his middle. His black hair was cut short and there were two “widow’s peaks” extending from his forehead on either side, but he wasn’t going bald as they were always there. He wore a full beard, under which a smile could be seen. His eyes seemed to light up as he saw me. He was dressed plainly in a T-shirt (his very hairy arms exposed), some kind of multi-pocketed vest, sweatpants, and tennis shoes. The woman was just shorter than him, standing five-feet-nine-inches. Her salt and pepper hair had curls to spare. Her gentle blue eyes also sparkled when they landed on me. Her smile was sweet and matronly. She was dressed in a blouse and skirt combination, probably because she’d just come from work.

This time I screeched, a happy screech. “Daddy! Mom!” They were my father and step-mother, the only truly supportive family I had.

My father bent over and winced. “Geezus, Melissa!” Twenty years in the Navy, many of them on an aircraft carrier flight deck, had taken a good deal of his hearing. He only had one good ear that was quite sensitive.

My hands shot to my mouth. “Sorry, Daddy!”

“See what I mean?” Dave chuckled.

My step-mother giggled. “Yes, I do. Our daughter has quite a set of pipes on her.”

Janet and Heather quietly excused themselves, shutting off the television. Janet closed the curtains as my parents entered the room and Dave excused himself, leaving us alone. My father was still recovering from my screech, so my step-mother approached and gripped me in a tight hug. I reciprocated, though a little harder. I was very glad to see them.

“When did you guys get here?” My mouth barely translated what my brain was telling it to say. I was way too excited to filter anything.

“Just before the press conference started, I think.” My step-mother answered as she took a seat on my bed. “That Agent Donovan is a real piece of work. He put us through the ringer down there.”

“Yes, and though I have a legal concealed carry permit, he relieved me of my weapon.” My father lamented as he, too, gripped me in a hug. Tears fell down my cheeks.

“Well, dear, it’s not like you’re really going to need it in a hospital.” She hated my father’s constant need to carry a gun, but he was a bullheaded Second Amendment believer.

He released me. “I gave it up without question didn’t I?”

She giggled and glanced at me again. “So, how are you feeling, darling dear?”

I let out a long sigh with tears still coming down my cheeks. “Better, now that you guys are here. It’s been pretty lonely around here.”

“I’ll bet. What, with nothing short of a government shutdown and media blackout?” He grunted.

“They can’t be too careful, Daddy. They still don’t know how HTV is transmitted.”

“Physically, sweetheart, how are you doing? They didn’t tell us much.” She really seemed to be quite worried.

“I’m fine, mostly. I’ve got joint aches all over the place. My chest hurts. I’m wearing a diaper because my body hasn’t recovered after seventeen hours without a urethra. It had to reroute itself. All of that, plus my body feels like Jell-O. I can’t move around too much.” I explained plainly.

“Wait, your urethra rerouted?” His puzzled expression was priceless.

A large smile found its way onto my face. “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, it’s a girl!”

Both their eyes widened. “You mean… ?”

I nodded. “Yep, it finished forming a couple days ago. Dr. Michaels, my gynecologist, will perform a full examination when everything’s over, but according the nurses it’s all there.”

My father plopped into the chair to my right, dumbstruck. “I don’t believe it.”

“Sometimes, neither do I, Daddy.”

My step-mother moved closer and placed both her hands on my face, feeling it. She also glanced at my neck. “Well, it looks like you’ll never have to shave again. And, your Adam’s Apple is gone, which would explain the voice changing a bit.”

I nodded. “The voice is a new development. The hair fell out about two weeks ago. I really need to shave my legs and armpits, though. They’re starting to itch and annoy me.”

“Would you like us to pick you up a razor and some blades?” She asked.

I shrugged. “I would appreciate it, but don’t feel obligated.”

Her smile had something of a mystery behind it. “We’ll see. What sizes do you wear?”

I didn’t even process the question before answering. “Well, the outward changes will start soon, but I’m inclined to stick with current sizes. Panties are a 5. Pants are a 5 or 6, depending on brand. Tops are almost always a medium. Dr. Carver said that I might be surprised that my shoe size changes, but I kind of doubt that. I get most of my stuff in the Juniors’ department.”

She ran fingers through my hair. “A young woman like you? Would you get them anywhere else?”

“No, I don’t want to look like I’m forty.”

We all shared a laugh.

Again, tears welled up in my eyes. “I’m really glad you guys came.”

“Well, we haven’t heard from you in a month. We actually called search and rescue looking for you.” My dad gave me a look from over the brim of his glasses, which told me he was serious in a slightly joking manner.

“You did?”

“Yes, honey, you had us worried sick. I mean, sleeping where you have and living like that? Any number of things could have happened!” Now, there were tears in my step-mother’s eyes.

My own tears rolled down my cheeks. “I’m sorry I worried you so much. They haven’t allowed me any contact besides my doctors and Nathan.”

“We know. Your doctor called us two weeks ago. Thank you for listing me as your emergency contact. That Agent Donovan wouldn’t allow us access until he heard about the press conference this morning and Dr. Carver drilled into his feeble, bureaucratic mind that you weren’t contagious.” My father reported.

“Your father has been here several times roughing it out with that man. He told me that he was yelling he didn’t care if he started turning into a woman, he had a right to see his child. On top of that, he called Governor Gregoire, Representative Rick Larsen, Senator Patty Murray, and Senator Maria Cantwell to give them a piece of his mind.” A tear rolled down her cheek.

More tears rolled down my cheeks. “You did that for me?”

His nonchalant demeanor was comical and sweet. “You’re my kid, aren’t you? I’d take on the Devil, himself, if it meant I could keep you safe.”

“I love you, too, Daddy.” My gaze returned to my step-mother. “You, too, Mom.”

“We know, honey.” She smiled back. “Love you, too.”

My father stood. “Much as we’d like to stay, that Agent Donovan has us on a time limit. Besides, we’ll be in town. There are a few errands to run and I’m going to call your mother to let her know you’re okay.”

Again, we were sharing hugs. Both of them kissed my forehead after the hug.

“Get well soon, honey.” My step-mother requested.

“Hang in there, kiddo. You’ll be out of the woods soon enough.” Dad grinned.

Tears rolling down my cheeks, I waved as they slowly and reluctantly left the room.

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

The next three weeks really were the worst of the whole ordeal.

On the positive side, Mom and Dad stopped in two days later to shower me with a few gifts. They had bought several pairs of panties from Victoria Secret, a top-and-bottom pajama set in lavender with little hearts and stars on them, a sleek silk nightie in plum with pink lace along the neckline and hem, a pair of sweatpants in navy with two pink stripes down the outside of the leg, one purple and one powder blue tank top with a shelf bra built in, and a hoodie that matched the sweatpants with two pink stripes running down the outside of the sleeve. Not having many options for shoes, they simply got me a purple pair of slippers and called it good. On top of all that, they bought me a Schick Quattro for Women with enough blades for a month and a little shaving cream for good measure. After signing a Power of Attorney form, Nathan was able to procure me a new Android smart phone, so we could keep in touch.

On the negative side, there isn’t much of that time that I remember because I was kept so drugged up. There were a lot of pain medications flowing through my blood stream. Truly, the last thing I remember was slipping into the nightie, turning out the light, and waking up in some pretty nasty pain the next morning. After Janet administered the pain medication, the rest is a blur. It’s just a bunch of flashes of incoherence when I managed some consciousness, which usually meant I was in pain. They’d put some more medication into my IV and I’d pass out again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

When I woke up, I thought I was still dreaming. As I tried to breathe, though, I gagged something fierce. There was something inserted into my throat that was incredibly uncomfortable. Though, as much as I heaved, I couldn’t so much as cough. Suddenly, about a hundred alarms started going off. I heard somebody shout out ‘Code Blue’ and, like a trained army of ants, four nurses and Dr. Michaels burst through the curtains. Immediately, they set to checking the devices and manually checking my vitals. I think I punched somebody as my stomach continued to heave. My eyes still refused to fully open themselves.

“Geezus, she’s awake!” Dr. Michaels sounded panicked. “Melissa, are you in pain?”

The most I could muster was to shake my head and touch some sort of machinery in my mouth, repeatedly.

“Janet! Help me get this tube out! Heather! Shut off those damn alarms and call off the Code Blue! Courtney! Richard! Hold her down!” Dr. Michaels responded pretty well under pressure. When she turned back to me, she wasn’t barking orders anymore. She sounded kind and maternal. “Melissa, honey, this is going to feel really weird but you’ll feel a lot better once we get this feeding tube out of you.”

‘Feeding tube?! What the fuck is going on?!’ All I could do was ask myself that question. Two tubes stood in the way of my vocal cords operating as well as stifling any regurgitation.

In seconds, two nurses were holding me down while I felt some sort of pulling. Now, I knew what it was like to feel the entire length of my esophagus. It seemed to take forever for that tube to come out of my body. Every other second, my stomach was protesting and I’d heave again. All the alarms were suddenly silenced, thankfully. In the next moment, I felt the tube finally emerge from my mouth. There was no time to celebrate. Now, there was coughing and dry heaving. I was immediately lifted to a sitting position by I don’t know who. Thankfully, my eyes finally opened and were tearing up as I heaved. Someone was reassuringly rubbing my back. My breathing was labored, but I was fine for the most part.

“What… the hell…” I managed through breaths. My voice was horse, but still recognizable as a female voice.

“You were in a lot of pain, honey. We had to induce a coma so you wouldn’t feel any of it and inserted a ventilator with feeding tube. I’m sorry, but you’re out of the woods, now.” Dr. Michaels explained.

“How long?” My breath was coming under control, now.

“Three weeks, honey.”

“Jesus Christ! What the fuck?!”

“Language, young lady!” Janet chided me.

“Janet, I love you, but can it! You sleep for three weeks and we’ll see how you react!”

She brushed off my verbal assault. “So, you’re really not in pain, now?”

Quickly, I performed a mental checklist and relayed my findings. “My whole body’s heavy, but there’s something tugging on my chest. Besides that, my hips are a little sore, but no more than a mild headache.”

“That’s good to hear.” Dr. Michaels replied. “You’ll be pleasantly surprised about that extra weight on your chest, I think.”

There was one small problem. “I hate to say this, but I think I really have to pee.”

“Just let it loose, honey. We were almost ready to change you, anyway.” Janet requested.

“I’m going to pass. Could you guys please help me to the toilet? I’ve got to learn how to use the new equipment sometime.”

Janet scoffed. “Okay, I’m in. Kaitlyn?”

“I suppose we ought to. I mean, we kept her in a coma for three weeks. It’s the least we could do to make up for it.” Dr. Michaels agreed with me.

The helped me lay back down while Janet went about removing the diaper. In moments, I was being lifted again and helped off the gurney. I did the best I could to stand on my own and wasn’t doing too bad, really. Moments later, they helped lift my nightie and I sat on the toilet for the very first time. In half a second, the dam burst, startling me. My back straightened and my eyes widened as I heard a sound I’d only heard from the next stall in the ladies’ room. Now, it was me making that sound. The sensations bordered on sensory overload, but I wasn’t complaining. The flow steadily slowed until it was just drips.

“Front to back, honey.” Janet instructed, handing me some sheets of toilet paper.

“I get the concept. I’m fine.” Came my retort as I stuck my tongue out at her.

After wiping and satisfied I was dry, I simply dropped the wad into the toilet and flushed. Then, steadying myself on the handicap rails, I lifted myself to my feet. Janet and Dr. Michaels remained close, should I show the slightest sign of falling over. It felt strange but exhilarating to walk and feel my thighs rub together with an empty crotch between them. However, my center of gravity had definitely changed and would take some getting used to. Not to mention, there was some jiggling on my chest that was mildly annoying but more exciting.

I stopped at the sink to wash my hands and glanced up the mirror. I lost all concentration to wash my hands. My eyes would have liked to bulge out of my sockets. There was no doubt that the person in the mirror was a young woman. Her features were soft and smooth. Her eyes were stunningly blue. Her nightie prettily accentuated her supple figure and kept her modesty in check by concealing a pair of ample, perky breasts. Gone was the prominent brow bone. The nose was smaller and flowed harmoniously with her forehead, coming to a slight point at the end. The cheeks were full and youthful. Gone was the angular jaw, replaced by a sloping, curvaceous one. There was no more “Jay Leno” chin, either. It came to a soft, almost pointed finish.

I had seen pictures of my mother when she was younger, about the time she’d given birth to my brother and I. If this girl in the mirror didn’t look an awful lot like that woman, no amount of convincing would make me believe that the girl in the mirror was really me. She even mimed my movements as I brought my hands to my face and gave my cheeks a little stroke. Only, they weren’t really my hands, either. They were smaller, more dainty. Then, my eyes fell to my chest. Gawd, they looked huge! A pair of smaller hands gripped them simultaneously and gave a little squeeze. Why did that feel so good? Still, there was no denying that these were my breasts, alright.

“Talk about your dreams coming true!” I thought out loud, again my melodious mezzo soprano voice echoing through the room.

Dr. Michaels stood behind me. “To you, it’s a dream. For us, we’ve watched that pretty little body of yours change on an almost daily basis. I think Janet or Heather started recording a time lapse video for you to see when you’re ready.”

“That was Heather.” Janet admitted. “She knew Melissa would be dumbfounded when she woke up, so we caught the whole thing on video.”

I smiled at Janet, by way of the mirror. “Thanks, you guys.” I gave myself another look over. It was hard to really gauge all the changes when all I could see was my torso.

“There’s a full-length mirror in your room. Also Heather’s idea.” Janet smiled back.

I slowly made my way back into the room while Janet guided me over to the mirror. At first, there was some reluctance to look into it, but once I was there it was all over. There was that girl again. She turned to the side. Boob to ass ratio looked proportionate. The silhouette was stunning. Then, she turned facing the mirror. Her shoulders were the same width as mine, but her neck had thinned out. Her ribs had much less volume than mine ever did and her waist was well defined. Then, there were the hips. Slowly, the torso sloped into them, but they were an inch wider than her shoulders. Yep, those were my mother’s hips. Though hairy, she had really gorgeous legs. Then, she turned around, craning her head to see the whole thing from the rear. The nightie dipped a little past her shoulder blades, showing off the soft smoothness of her back. Everything formed a “V” into her waist, then flared out again to the hips. Her butt was full, round, and youthfully pert. I’d always thought my ass was my best feature, but now it seemed to be one of many very nice assets I now possessed.

On impulse, I ripped off the nightie and stood there, naked. She followed my lead. This prompted Janet to jump over and close the curtain. Everything was where it should be, though. Pretty face, lovely skin, perky bosom, little waist, flaring hips, shapely thighs, and an ass you could bounce a quarter off of. I’d always been a fan of my rear end, but I loved it even more, now! Most importantly, the cleft of my new vulva was clearly visible, even with the 1970’s porn bush surrounding it. I squealed and jumped with glee, “I’m fucking hot!” I instantly knew that I was going to look amazing in a bikini.

“A lot of energy for somebody who just emerged from a coma.” Janet almost grunted. “Now, Miss Pretty Little Thing, would you stop streaking the hospital and put some clothes on? You’re making me jealous.”

Stopping, I turned my blushing face to her. “Sorry about that.”

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

“There’s some good news to deliver this afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.” Nathan was doing his thing with the podium again. “After three long weeks in a drug-induced coma for her own safety and comfort, we were hoping and praying for the best. Early this morning, the breathing tube and ventilator were removed from Miss Sterling and I am pleased to inform you that she is doing perfectly fine. In fact, better than that. She’s positively bursting with happiness. All the doctors are giving her a clean bill of health. She will undergo a complete physical this afternoon.” Secretly, I was dreading that. “But, we’re confident that she will come through with flying colors and the CDC will be satisfied that she is not a threat to anyone. Thank you very much for your words of encouragement during this trying time.”

He waved at the crowd, turned, and reentered the hospital.

Sitting up on the gurney with one leg bent Indian-style and my arm resting on my other knee, I was clad in a simple outfit. Wearing one of the pairs of panties my parents had bought (No, I’m not telling which one.), I had covered myself in the sweatpants, hoodie, and the purple tank top. There was a grin on my face about how much cleavage I was showing off with that top. Heather had leant me a scrunchie for my hair, too. Having it hanging to the middle of my back was becoming cumbersome.

Shutting the TV off, I wanted to slam back down onto the gurney and take a nap. With Dr. Michaels in the room, there were other plans. Dave was there, too, but mostly for moral support and medical history reasons. What was about to happen was largely out of his hands.

“Are you ready to begin?” She asked, holding her computer pad against her chest.

“No.” I moaned. There was still the marvel of how pretty my voice had become. The time to get used to it hadn’t existed before I was induced into the coma. “But, it’s a necessary evil, right?”

She nodded. “Unfortunately, yes.”

I swung my legs off the gurney and slipped my now smaller feet into my purple slippers. Purple is my favorite color, if you hadn’t already guessed. Over the course of the day, the drugs had worn off and moving around was a lot easier, now. Grudgingly, I followed behind Dr. Michaels with Dave pulling up the rear. There was no preparing for what came next.

Dr. Michaels pulled back the curtain and stepped out. When I emerged into the corridor, the whole ward erupted into applause. All the nurses were standing. I hadn’t received a standing ovation since high school, so it was a little daunting. My cheeks became warm as I blushed and I smiled back at the applause.

“Thanks everybody. I owe you a lot.” I greeted through choking back tears.

The applause continued as Dr. Michaels led me away and slowly died out. As we walked through the hospital, all of the staff applauded me. Blushing more, I simply waved to them. Once we reached Dr. Michaels’ offices (which took forever), the novelty was over. It was now down to business. Dave opted to wait in the front area. First, she set me up in an examination room. Then, she set about checking my vitals, my ears, my eyes, and my throat. Typical doctor’s check up. Then, we went out into the hallway to check my height and weight.

“Well, well… you’ve shrunk, my dear.” She smiled.

“I have?” A frightened expression crossed my face.

“Oh, don’t worry. It’s only an inch. Though, amazingly, you’ve gone from one-forty-five all the way down to one-twenty-four. Some of that can be attributed to three weeks of coma, but also to the decrease in bone mass.”

“So, I’m five-six, now?”

She nodded and led me back into the exam room. Next, she was breaking out a tape measure. “Okay, off with the hoodie.” She measured my chest, over top of my breasts, my waist, my hips, and (for some odd reason) my wrist. Again, she was smiling. “Well, missy. It seems you’re now a thirty-four C, you have slightly under a medium frame, and you shouldn’t worry about your dress size changing. I’d say that was about the same. Now, sit up on the table.” I acquiesced as she picked up one foot, slid the slipper off, and measured my feet. “Well, I’ll be…”

“Is that a good indication?”

She nodded, putting my slipper back on. “We can share shoes, now. You’re an eight.” She winked.

“My feet really shrank?”

“Honey, with your ribs and your hips, are you really that surprised?”

“I guess not.”

“Okay, let’s get you initiated. Strip the lower half, including your panties.” She started setting up something I barely recognized. Stirrups.

I gulped and nervously began to slip off the sweatpants, then slid out of my panties. As wonderful as it would be to never have to tuck ever again, what was coming up didn’t delight me. She turned and slipped on a pair of gloves. Once my lower half was fully exposed, she motioned for me to put my feet up in the stirrups. Reluctantly, I complied. Next, she grabbed… a mirror.

“Janet was right. You want to see?”

“See what?”

She let out a sigh. “Your vagina, pussy, clam, flesh taco, twat…” She cringed. “…cunt.”

“Hey, I’ve never used that last one and never plan to.”

“Good. Still, want to have a look.”

“Before you violate me with all those contraptions? Sure, why not?”

She turned the mirror around and zoomed in on my crotch. My eyes shot open. There it was, the one thing I never thought I’d ever own. The mons pubis was nice and puffy, the labia majora seemed to be framing things nicely, the labia minora were small and taut. Then, she opened up the labia to reveal the pink bliss inside. Methodically, she pointed out the separate parts: my clitoris, my new urethral opening, and my vaginal cavity itself. For good measure, she stuck one finger barely inside, which caused me to try to leap back in retreat.

“Hey! You’ve got to do the warm-ups before the spelunking can begin! You know that!” I protested.

She giggled. “Sorry, no time and I’m straight. Besides, you‘ll get my equipment messy if I get you going.”

I glared at her. “Very funny. She is very pretty, though. I‘ll give you and Janet that much. I still think I need to trim the hedges a little.” She turned and grabbed some kind of device that looked like a lobster claw. “Hey! Where are you going to put that?!”

Another giggle. “Don’t worry, silly. This is a caliper to gauge the size of your clitoris, nothing more. Now, lie back.”

Again, reluctantly, I acquiesced. I winced and almost sensed as if I was about to loose my new little friend, but she was done before I knew it. Now was the tricky part. She put a healthy amount of gel on some metal device and I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see. Then, I felt something cold insert into me and then spread me apart. It was all so surreal. After that, there was nothing from her for a few minutes. I began to wonder what she was doing, but she spoke before I could.

“This is amazing. Melissa, not only do you have a fully-functional vagina, but there’s also a hymen in there. Honey, you’re effectively a virgin, again.” She announced. “I wouldn’t recommend any sexual activity for a while, yet, but when you do be prepared for a little pain down here.”

“Great. Just what I need. More pain.” I groaned.

“Welcome to womanhood. Just wait until you have your period.”

A smile creased my lips. “I can’t wait. It’ll hurt, but it’ll be confirmation, y’know?”

“Before today, I never thought I’d meet anyone that was glad when they started their period. Though, given the circumstances, I can see your point of view.” I couldn’t see her smile. “Now, get ready, you’re going to feel a little scratch inside, but I’m going to do a Pap Smear, okay?”

“Mother of All Q-Tips, time?”

She giggled. “Yes, something like that.”

She was right. The sensation startled me, but it was gone as soon as it came. A moment later, the spreading feeling was taken away and I could feel her cleaning me up a little. Good, that part was over. How humiliating, though. And, to think that I’ll have to go through this once a year for the rest of my life. Oh, joy.

“Okay, Miss Pretty Pussy. Get dressed. It’s time to get acquainted with the twins.”

Slipping my panties back on, I shot her a puzzled look. “How so?”

She merely grinned. “Mammogram.”

~`~`~`~`~`~`~`~

After being poked, prodded, and thoroughly explored down below and then getting the twins squished into pancakes, I wasn’t in much of a mood for visitors. Regardless, there they were when I got back to my room. Dave was there with my parents. Both of them looked exhausted.

“How long have you guys been here? No offense, but you look terrible.” I pointed out.

“Started off from the house when we found out that you had woken up.” Dad stated rather grumpily. “You look great, by the way. Are you really my kid? You look a lot like Bridget Fonda, to be honest.”

I giggled.

“Yes, Melissa. You look absolutely lovely.” Mom smiled. “So, how was the exam?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “A yearly, plus a mammogram.”

She winced. “Not quite the introduction to womanhood you were looking forward to?”

“Absolutely not. I’ve got a hymen, though. That little bug was really thorough!”

“Whoa! Whoa! Do women talk when I’m not here, would you?” Dad protested.

“How did everything turn out, then?” Dave finally inquired.

I plopped down onto the gurney, making my breasts pleasurably bounce. “Well, let’s see… I shrunk an inch. I’m now five-six. I’m down to one-twenty-four, though I don’t recommend the weight loss plan. My boobs are a C cup. Oh! And I’m a size eight shoe!”

“Wonderful! Should make shoe shopping a lot easier.” Mom knowingly nodded. We’d discussed how utterly difficult it was to find cute shoes to fit my Size 10 clown feet.

“Definitely! I’ll finally be able to fit the adorable shoes!” I squealed with glee.

“Melissa, what did I say about the women talk?”

I threw a pillow at my father. “Oh, hush, Daddy!”

A man nearby cleared his throat. “I… hope I’m not interrupting.”

My eyes darted to the sound of the familiar voice. Nathan was smiling and leaning against the far wall. Was it the lighting or did he look like an angel? That warm and tingly feeling was back.

My father stood and crossed over to him. “Well, this is the man of the hour? What was your name again?”

Nathan stood straight and presented a hand to my father. “Oh, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Nathaniel Dobbs. Call me Nathan. I’m your daughter’s publicist.”

A few muscles in my body tensed until my father took Nathan’s hand and shook it. “So I’ve been told.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Sterling.”

Dad chuckled. “Please. My father was Mr. Sterling. Call me Daniel.”

“Very well, Daniel.” He released my father’s hand, crossed the room, and took my step-mother’s hand. “You must be Melissa’s sister?”

It was corny, but she and I both giggled. “Heavens no. I wish I could claim that, just look at the gorgeous little thing. No, Nathan. I’m her step-mother, Ella -- short for Marcella.”

I was blushing again. “Mo-om!” I groaned.

Nathan chuckled. “Well, it seems as though you have succeeded in the motherly pastime of thoroughly embarrassing your daughter. Well done.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Enchente, Mrs. Sterling.”

“Pleasure to meet you, too, young man.”

“So, what’s the plan from here on out, Nathan?” My father interjected.

“Ah, directly to the point. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He turned, winked at me, then turned back to my father. “Well, as you can tell, the press is clamoring for this story. They all want to be the first to break it. Because of the CDC blockade, no one’s been able to get a picture of our golden girl. You really wouldn’t believe the offers I’ve gotten for a piece of her.”

“What are we talking? Thousands?”

“Daniel, this is the 21st Century. That doesn’t cut it, anymore. Try millions.”

My breath had left me. “Mi… millions?”

“Yes, eleven of them. That’s the top bid, dear. And, you’d know that if you checked your messages once in a while.” He scolded me.

“Who’s paying?” Dad was grilling him, now.

“Well, CBS and Viacom have been battling since the written statement. Viacom won’t surpass ten, but CBS offered eleven for her to do 60 Minutes. On top of that, Ellie Girl is offering six million just to get you in a photo spread and do a tiny interview, without even seeing how lovely you are.” He smirked.

“That’s… seventeen… million combined!” Mom was effectively flabbergasted.

“Yes. The current record is nine million, held by an Australian HTV recipient. Not that I’m looking to set a record, mind you. However, when you’re the first, people are lining up at the door to get a piece of you. Daniel… Ella… I told your daughter that I wanted to make sure that she never had to worry about being homeless ever again. I meant every word. That’s why, I’ll have you know, I’m in her employ strictly pro bono.”

“You’re doing all this for free? What do you get out of it?” My father, forever the cynic.

“The satisfaction of helping someone less fortunate. Also, I had a very dear friend of mine who was transgender and homeless when my career was just taking off in San Francisco. I put her up for a while, but the streets kept calling to her. She was a regular on Polk Street and a frequent consumer of methamphetamines.” He breathed a deep sigh. “She took her own life before AIDS had a chance to. I swore I’d never let that happen again, if I could help it.”

Finally, Dad smiled. “Perfect. I approve.”

With a straight face, I looked up at Nathan. Hopefully, he couldn’t tell I was on the verge of tears. “I’ll do it. Both of them.”

“Wonderful.” He grinned. “Now, there’s Agent Donovan to deal with, but I may have a way around that. Today, you’ve been through enough. Tomorrow, though, we’re going up to the Medi Spa on the ninth floor. You’ll be getting the works: manicure, pedicure, facial, massage, and whatever else you’d like. The day after that, 60 Minutes is willing to send someone to the hospital for the interview. Before that, it’s back up to the Medi Spa for hair and makeup. Ella, would you do me the honor of helping shop for a suitable wardrobe for Melissa?”

A bright smile gleamed on her face. “Would I!”

“Excellent. Then, tomorrow, the fun begins. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got it all in hand. I will leave you to get back to your lovely evening. See you tomorrow, Melissa.” Again with the wink. Was he trying to get me in the sack?

Blushing, I simply waved to him.

[ - To Be Concluded - ]
Photo Credit: Haley Ramm

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Author's Note :: As far as I know, this tale is totally original. I had been sitting in front of the computer, waiting for more of Marked Target to come to me with no success. Then, I had a dream. A pretty crazy dream, at that. So, this is the product of that dream. There is more to come from this, too. Not a whole lot is explained here, but it should pick up soon. My readers know I have a tendency to drag little morsels of information on a string and lead you on a ride. Thanks to EnemyofFun and Drakira for beta reading for me. The insight was great, guys. Pic credit? I'm not really sure. I'll just say "Wabash College" for now.

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Chapter One:

Do I really have to elaborate how screwed up my life is? Is it not enough for whatever force controls the universe that my parents had already forced me into making life decisions? Now, I have to endure this life-altering change? I had a good life, you know. I liked my life just as it was, thank you very much.

Instead of whining, maybe I should start from the beginning.

My name is Brandon Lange. Well, at least it was. I’ll get into that, later. Growing up in a suburban neighborhood just outside of Eugene, Oregon, had its advantages and disadvantages. The second largest city in Oregon–I don’t care what the people of Salem think!–had a really good vibe to it. Nike started there, so it can’t be all bad. As with most college towns, it had some pretty liberal and artistic people around. There wasn’t really that much pull to be involved in sports. I messed around with a few when I was a kid, but it never really went anywhere. So, my six-foot-even stature was rarely used for the typical activities of basketball or football. In fact, I couldn’t stand either of them, really. My parents were okay with it. Their main focus was that my sisters and I get a decent education. Yea, I’m the only guy in my family besides my dad. That used to be the cool part about our relationship.

Some women may think that I grew up in an ideal situation. I’m the second-born child in the family among five kids. The other four? All girls. I was surrounded by femininity in all its forms with my sisters and my mom around. My big sister, Jessica, was the eldest of the bunch. She’s almost a full two years older than me and going to college in Berkeley, California. She’s a pre-law student. She was the super geek in high school, getting heavily involved in her drama and computer classes. My kid sister, Sara, was the jock of our family and about a year younger than me. You name a sport and she was probably on the team somewhere between kindergarten and graduation. In high school, it was mostly softball and soccer. She wanted to join the wrestling team, but the misogynists wouldn’t let her. The girl can sing, though. Her mezzo-soprano voice would give Christina Aguilera a run for her money. She started at Syracuse University, this year. My other kid sister, Britney, is the girliest of them all. Her name definitely fits her whole worship of shopping, the color pink, and her passion for fashion design. She’s still in high school, but is looking at NYU for college. Finally, there’s my baby sister, Ashley, who just started her sophomore year. She’s the musician of the bunch. Starting off with the flute, she’s learned to play every saxophone invented, the guitar, bass guitar, and the drums. Her only traditionally girlish pursuit is her love of dance. She’s not big on musical theatre, but she’s a huge drama geek and sings in the audition-only advanced choir at Willamette High School. When she plays riffs on her Stratocaster and belts out a few melodies with her lovely soprano voice, I’m reminded of that lead singer from Flyleaf, Lacey Sturm.

My parents are a pretty eccentric couple. My father is none other than Oregon State Senator Robert “Bob” Lange, Jr. I get my height, he’s six-one, and hair color, chocolate brown, from him. Of course, like most men in their mid-forties, he’s got those two streaks of gray hair on his temples that make him look distinguished. He looks great in a double-breasted suit and loves people. He’s got a laid back attitude, but he’s not afraid of a fight. Being a Democrat, he has to deal with a lot of it in the state congress. He co-sponsored the medical marijuana bill the moment it hit his desk back in the day, if that says anything about his ideology. My mom, Rebecca Lange, is very similar. Though, her auburn hair signals most people about her fiery attitude. She’s pretty sassy and has a passion for life that I really admire. I get my deep blue eyes from her and probably my cunning wit, too. She’s not short, but average height at five-foot-six. My sisters all fall within one to three inches of her height. Two are taller, one is the same height, and Ashley is three inches shorter but still growing. My mom really thought ahead when she was in school. She’s an Advanced Registered Nurse Practitioner, ARNP, and second-in-command down at the local Planned Parenthood clinic. She really gets into her work and has participated in several protests across the country whenever there’s a new legislation going in at the state level to limit women’s reproductive rights. She can get crazy about it, sometimes, but that’s what I really love about her.

Personally, I don’t really think I’m all that special. I can talk up my family until the cows come home, but talking about myself isn’t my strong point. In the depths of my soul, there is a deep-seated hatred of the job interview question: “So, tell us about yourself.” I suck at it.

What’s there to tell, really? My life was kind of average while growing up. Like I said before, I played a few sports, but I never really caught on to the need for masculine bravado and that sense of competition. Being raised around a bunch of girls, some would say that’s probably par for the course. I dabbled in everything during high school. I took some computer classes, got on stage a few times for acting or singing, dove into academic courses, and learned two foreign languages. Sara used to tell me that I had a voice like Josh Groban when I actually sang, but I could never see it. If you can believe it, you’re looking at someone who can speak the colorful “Language of Love”, French, one minute and then switch to the guttural musings of German the next. It really is hilarious to watch people’s reactions to that. The sad fact of being so eclectic through high school is that I don’t really know what I want to do with my life. Sure, I’m now a sophomore at Wabash College in Indiana, majoring in Political Science and minoring in Performance Arts. The college was my dad’s idea, so was my major. The good thing I found when I got here was that the campus has a radio station and the Performing Arts students pretty much run the place.

Now, there’s the bad part. Wabash is one of less than a handful of remaining all-male colleges in the United States. While I was in high school, I had a 4.0 GPA until I hit my junior year. My grades dropped a little. I still graduated with a 3.85 and became our class Salutatorian, but that wasn’t enough for my parents. My dad was under the impression that it was caused by the girlfriend I had back then. Sure, she took a lot of my attention, but my parents refused to accept my explanation of why the grades suffered. I was actually afraid to graduate because, unlike my sisters, I had no plan for college. I still don’t know what I want to do. The radio station helps and it’s a lot of fun, but I’m still on the fence about that. Chalking up to my lax in academic performance, my dad laid down the law: I go to an all-male college or my parents don’t pay for college at all. Given college tuition rates in this day and age, not even joining the military and getting access to the G.I. Bill pays for post-secondary education, anymore. So, here I am attending college without the distraction of a single female my own age on campus. Sure, there are women on the faculty, but they’re all older than my mother. That’s just gross.

Okay, so it isn’t really as terrible as I make it out to be, but there’s a reason I resent the decision to send me here. I’ll get into that, later.

Freshman year was no big thing. My parents had to set me up in an apartment off campus because they were doing some heavy renovations to the freshman dorms all year. The building hadn’t really been touched since the 1940’s, so they may have been getting pressure from the local authorities to bring the archaic structure up to code. Plus, I think all the insulation was asbestos, so it was an environmental hazard on top of everything else. I never knew how precious peace and quiet could actually be until I moved into that apartment. With all my sisters, there really wasn’t much sense of personal space. There was a rather strong matriarchal system in place. I’m not saying it was bad, but my sisters often felt entitled to just barge into my room whenever they pleased. They did it among themselves, so why should I be any different just because I was the only boy child? Now, I had a one-bedroom apartment all to myself. It was pretty nice.

The downside was that I didn’t really participate in that much of campus life. For that first year, my focus was on my studies. It was a preferable situation because I was getting all my required courses out of the way in that first year. The math, English, history, and basic science courses are always the most boring. I’ll spare you the details on that. As for extracurricular activities, I wasn’t involved in any of note. Aside from being a paid janitor at the radio station and the required intramural sports activities, there wasn’t much that occupied my time away from my apartment. Though, the job did bring some spending money with it. So, I bought myself a really good TV and an Xbox. Spending most of my time at home, anyway, it seemed like the best way to go. Besides, sending a barrage of fake bullets downfield in a fake three-dimensional space to collide with three-dimensional representations of human beings with animated blood spatter was somehow satisfying and relaxing. As a stress reliever, Call of Duty, Battlefield, and Halo have their uses.

As probably anticipated, that first year flew by like I was standing still and the whole world was on “fast forward”. The course work was challenging, but nothing I couldn’t handle. A week after the Spring Term let out and the commencement ceremony took place for the graduates, my parents arrived to pack up the apartment. In the fall, I’d have to check into the sophomore dorms, anyway. Still, I had a present for them: my transcripts from my first year with a 4.0 GPA. That made them forget their objections to me owning a gaming console and “obscenely violent video games”.

We arrived back in Eugene just in time to see Sara graduate high school. She wasn’t exactly thrilled with having to wear a dress. She had the egalitarian feminist views similar to my mother. Jessica had made it back for the ceremony, too. It was good to reconnect with my family. We even took a month-long cruise that my parents had set up for us to do as a family. The summer passed far too quickly for my liking. Before I knew it, August had arrived and it was time to register for courses before settling into the dorms. This year, my parents had bought me one of those Honda Civic hybrids as reward for the previous year’s achievement and the fact I would need one to transport my things. They would be focusing on Sara’s move to Syracuse, so we were a caravan as far as Crawfordsville, Indiana, but they continued on toward New York.

So, I was really on my own, now. Thankfully, not a whole lot of people started showing up this early, so there were plenty of parking spaces near the dorms. Grabbing some paperwork and my bag with bedding, I climbed out of the car and headed into my new home: Martindale Hall. The thing looked colonial with its brick and white-painted windows. Well, about as colonial as a building from Georgia would look. After getting inside and talking to the Resident Advisor, it was off to my room assignment. The college had one-man, two-man, and three-man rooms. Mine was just a two-man, so I’d only have the one roommate. I remember thinking to myself, ‘He’d better be cool or I’ll turn around and just drive home.’ Well, I wouldn’t find out today. I was the first one in the dorm. Picking the bed next to the window, I set about making the bed before I fell onto it and drifted into dreamland. The trip from Oregon had been an exhausting one.

For the next week, I set about decorating the room. Well, at least my side of it. There really wasn’t much in the way of decoration, though. There were really just a few photographs of my family, my TV, and my Xbox to set up. After that, I mostly mulled around campus, stopped to see if anyone had gotten to the radio station (WNDY) or not, and gallivanted around Albion in Fable III. Role-playing games fill so much more time than first-person shooters, so it was worth the investment and I forgot I was alone for a while. Man, I was bored.

It’s always annoying when you get interrupted in the middle of an action sequence in a video game. At the moment, I was hacking on a small band of Balverines, the werewolves of Albion, when the door swung open. It caused me to jump and my reflexes hit the pause button pretty quickly. Through the door strode a strapping young man about my age, maybe a little older. He was built like a football player. There was sweat in his black hair from carrying his big, green seabag and giant, black, wooden footlocker. Glancing over, his light blue eyes met mine and we both carried confusion. The guy reminded me of Guardsman Donnic from Dragon Age II, but with black hair.

“Uh… hey… sorry about that. I didn’t think anyone would be here, yet. I’m usually the first one in.” He explained between breaths. The seabag landed and bounced on the bed while the footlocker was released, falling to the floor with a light “thud”. He strode over and held out his hand. “I’m Kyle. Kyle McHenry.”

Keeping the controller in one hand, I reached out and shook his hand. “Brandon Lange. Don’t worry about the noise or barging in. Ma maison est votre maison, as they say.”

He blinked. “What the heck did you just say?”

I shrugged. “Mi casa es su casa, except I said it in French.”

“So, why not just say it like that?”

“I don’t speak Spanish. I speak French.”

He nodded slowly, not completely committed to his words. “Okay, that’s cool.” He glanced over at the screen. “Fable, huh? Not my favorite, but it’s pretty cool.”

“It’s all right. I was just looking for something to pass the time, really. I’ve been here for about a week.” I shrugged. “There’s Modern Warfare, Modern Warfare 2, Black Ops, Halo 3, and Halo: Reach in my pack, though. I’ve been meaning to add Gears of War to the collection, but can’t do anything without having a paycheck from the radio station. No one, other than me, has shown up, yet.”

His turn to shrug. “Well, the FPS games are all right, I guess. I’m a Madden fan, myself.” He paused and his eyebrow raised. “Wait, you work at WNDY? How come I haven’t heard you?”

“I’m not a DJ. I’m just the janitor. Being a freshman, I was the low guy on the totem pole.”

“Bum deal, but that makes sense. So, you’re a sophomore?”

“Yea, I finally get to take some fun courses.”

“That’s a blessing and a half. I’m a junior, but I’ve got a long way to go. I’m pre-med.”

My head nodded in acknowledgment. He’d be in school for another few years if he was going to be a doctor. “I hear you on that. I’m Poli-Sci, though.”

He chuckled. “Am I looking at the future President of the United States?”

I shook my head. “Nah. My dad kinda strong-armed me into it. He’s a state senator, back home.”

“Oh, the old ‘family legacy’ schtick? Sucks to be you.”

My eyes rolled. “Tell me about it. I’m the only male child in my family.”

“Really? That had to be weird, huh?” After my shrug, he moved back toward his bed. “Hey, I’m gonna go ahead and start putting this stuff away. You cool with that?”

“Yea, it’s fine. This is my third or fourth playthrough in the game, so I won’t miss any dialogue if you make some noise. It’s no big.”

“Great. I’ll get this shit squared away, take my nasty self into the shower, and then I’ll probably crash. It’s been a long day.”

A chuckle escaped my lips. “Not much different from my first day.”

We had a good laugh and I was back to slaying Balverines in the next minute. That’s pretty much how our relationship went. He was an all right guy, even if he was a little heavy into the sports. He played football in high school, but couldn’t “lower” himself to playing for a team called the “Little Giants”. Yes, that was really our team–the Wabash Little Giants. It was pretty lame. Thus, he just engaged in the intramural sports like most students at our school, including me. It was a requirement, after all.

Over the next few days, the school started coming to life. Finally, the radio station opened when the new Dean arrived to supervise the thing. The Program Manager still hadn’t shown up, so I just took it upon myself to take the place out of the moth balls. Some dust had collected over the summer and there had been a few garbage bins left unemptied, but there wasn’t really all that much to do. Two days before the start of classes, the new Program Manager finally showed up. He was an actor and his heart just wasn’t in the job, but the Dean had recruited him because he’d had a successful show for the past couple years. Apparently, there was a spot open for a new DJ. The Dean and PM asked if I wanted it and I told them I’d think about it. I hadn’t considered being one. Though, as long as there was at least a meager paycheck, I wouldn’t complain too much.

Academically, I can’t really say anything bad about Wabash. The classes were a tiny, more intimate setting where the professors talk to you, rather than at you. The classes are more about discussion, rather than lecture and it was amazing how much you can learn that way. The problem is that the professors know how to make things a bit more challenging when they know what you’re capable of. It made things so you started really getting to know your professors, as well as the other students. I wouldn’t call them “friends”, per say, but they might be cool to hang out with, once in a while. The one gripe I had was the same one all sophomores seem to have: the Cultures & Traditions course. There’s something really jarring about studying every major philosopher from the beginning of time to the present day.

What can I say? For the first while that year, I did a lot of studying, taking tests, going to class, eating the crappy food at the Sparks Student Center, and playing games in my dorm. You don’t really want to hear about all that, do you?

My life on campus started to pick up a little. This year, I was mildly determined to get involved in the campus social scene. Of course, that was fueled by accepting the Dean and Program Manager’s offer to become the new DJ at WNDY. To encourage the idea that the faculty wanted us to be learning as much outside the classroom as we were inside it, the Dean proposed the idea that my show would be a political talk program. Most of the other programs were just playing music and talking for a few minutes. Given that I was a political science major, it seemed a perfect fit in the Dean’s eyes. In no time at all, many more students than normal were noticing me on campus. For the sake of fair debate, I’d often invite members of the political student groups on campus–the College Democrats, the College Republicans, the Progressive Students Movement, and the Wabash Conservative Union. It made for an interesting show and I got to know many of them more personally. Being a small school, we’re pretty tight-knit anyway, but I was making friends that I never would have imagined in high school and got invited to a few parties.

Things really started declining sometime in November. I remember, specifically, that it was shortly after Monon Bell. That’s the time when our football team engages in a week-long celebration of the game against our long-time rivals, DePauw University. It’s the local state school that was founded about the time our school was. The difference: it’s a co-ed school. Every year, people make this big deal out of the rivalry and it’s about the only time you would ever see half the guys at school drunk on campus. Most of the time, we’re a pretty chill group of guys. Throw a century-old rivalry football game aimed at keeping or reclaiming “ownership” of a 300-pound locomotive bell into the mix and people lose their minds. Apparently, it’s one of the most talked about rivalries in all of college football. Add to that an invitation to have women on campus and some of the guys get downright crazy; although, they are definitely in the minority.

Yes, there is a dance that usually comes with the Monon Bell game. As always, the DePauw students were cordially invited to the event. We found out that the majority of the students at DePauw were girls, which was an interesting factoid to learn. So, many of them might be single. Think what you like about an all-male college, but we were gentlemen to the end. You might believe that we’re a bunch of beer-guzzling, knuckle-dragging Neanderthals, but you’d be wrong. Also, the guys at school really clean up well. I went to the dance in a suit my father had gotten for me, accompanied by Kyle since neither of us had dates at the time. I met this really pretty girl from DePauw, Amanda, and got her number. Of course, a lot of the guys hazed me about finally meeting a girl. All in all, it was a pretty nice night. Several of us got pretty drunk, though, including me.

The next morning, I was introduced to the wonderful world of hangovers. Thankfully, it was the weekend because I don’t think I’d be going to class. I had the splitting headache, the light sensitivity, and the general lack of muscle coordination. Never again.

The problem really started a day or two later. I still had the overall muscle fatigue, but you can add a bit of a fever to that. Generally, I felt like death warmed over. There was no joy when I called to cancel two shows at the radio station because I could barely get out of bed to use the bathroom. Kyle was worried enough that he grabbed one of the nurses from the campus medical center and brought him to the dorm to check me over. Strangely, there wasn’t really anything wrong, besides maybe I caught a cold. After two days, I was back in classes, but I still felt sluggish for about two weeks. Strangely enough, that feverish feeling never went away.

Around the middle of December is when the weird things started happening. As the days progressed, I noticed that I wasn’t having to shave as much. My family comes from Germany and we’re usually some fairly stout, hairy folk. Thankfully, I got my mother’s genes in that department. I wasn’t really stout or all that hairy. I had the typical furry legs, arms, armpits, and nether regions. My face hadn’t reached the “Five o’clock Shadow” stage, but I still had to shave every other day to remain presentable. By mid-December, I was only shaving once a week. It hadn’t been that way since I was fifteen. Top that off with the fact that the hair seemed to disappear off my arms and really thinned out on my legs. Despite feeling under the weather, I was eating like I’d never eaten before. Usually, two or three meals a day does it for me. However, I was snacking all the time and eating five or six meals a day. It was dipping pretty heavily into my cash reserves, too. To some, that would probably be some pretty obvious red flags. Honestly, they struck me as weird but they weren’t concerning enough to go talk to a doctor about. Besides, I had finals to worry about.

On the Thursday just before Christmas Recess, things changed. Having just finished the semester final for Culture & Traditions, my brain wanted to do something that didn’t require too much work. So, I picked up the Xbox controller and assumed the role of Ezio Auditore da Firenze to liberate Rome from the Borgia and their Templar cronies. I was deep into my own little world when Kyle came into the room.

“Assassin’s Creed, again?” He grumbled.

Not averting my attention from the television screen, I nodded. “Yep. I had the C-and-T final, this morning.”

“I figured that. You always play this game when you have that class.” Something stopped him and made the air in the room a little heavy. “Hey, Brandon… are you okay?”

That was a weird question. Pausing the game, I turned to give him a puzzled look. “Besides the obvious things we’ve talked about before, I’m fine. Why?”

He furrowed his brow and kinda wrinkled his nose. “I dunno. Something seems a little off. There’s snow on the ground outside, but even I don’t get that pale in winter. Not only that, but you’re stuffing your face like one of the linebackers, yet you almost look like you’re loosing weight. Have you noticed that you’re kinda sweating?”

On impulse, I brought my hand to my forehead and wiped some salty wetness off of it. That was new. “Whoa, that’s weird. I haven’t done anything to make me sweat, dude. I’ve been here ever since I got back from finishing that final.”

“It’s not just that, though. When we first met, you kinda reminded me of Adam Levine. Y’know, that singer guy from The Voice? Now, you kinda remind me of my little brother, which is a little freakish because he’s only fourteen.”

“That’s a little harsh, man.”

He shrugged. “What do you want? I’m being honest.” His eyes scanned every inch of me. “Maybe we should take you down to the clinic, or something.”

“I’m not sick, dude. I feel fine. The sweating is a little weird and I’m creeped out that you compared me to your little brother, but there’s nothing telling me that I’m sick.”

“Well, how about the fact that you have pretty much had some kind of fever thing going on since Monon Bell? Not only that, but when’s the last time you shaved, bud? I’d classify that under ‘weird shit you should talk to your doctor about’.”

I let out a grumble. “I can’t really afford to pay to see the doctor every time I get the sniffles, man. Sure, my dad’s a state senator, but the insurance doesn’t cover out of state care.”

“Hey, didn’t you tell me that shit was fixed under that ‘Obamacare’ thing?”

I rolled my eyes. “Please don’t call it ‘Obamacare’. The name of the legislation is the ‘Affordable Care Act of 2009’. Only the idiots in the Tea Party call it that.”

“Whatever! I’m not gonna sit here and argue political rhetoric with you. We need to get you in to see the doc, end of story.”

“You’re not gonna chill-lax on this, are you?”

He intimidatingly crossed his arms over his chest. “Not on your life. I’d be in denial if I didn’t say I was worried about you. I’m not a doctor, yet, but something just doesn’t seem right, here. Put your shoes on. Let’s go.”

End of discussion. That’s usually how it went when Kyle got his way. That guy knew how to put his foot down and not budge. I had taken my shoes off in the hopes of not moving from the dorm, but he’d convinced me to put them back on. Winter weather in Crawfordsville was about the same as it was in Eugene. So, I had my thermal underwear underneath sweats. Grabbing my coat, we headed out of the dorm room, then headed out of the building. It was only about a quarter of a mile from Martindale Hall across campus to the Allen Athletics & Recreation Center where the Student Health Center was located, but it felt like ten miles. By the time we arrived, my whole body felt like jelly. I’d had similar episodes like this in the past. This time was probably the worst of them, though.

Once we got into the Student Health Center, Kyle got me to sit down in the waiting room and he brought all the forms to me. Thanking him, I set to work filling out the forms. Being a small campus with a small student body does have certain perks. For instance, the wait to see somebody wasn’t very long at all. I didn’t even finish filling out the forms before I was called back into the exam room. Kyle was earning his “good friend” stripes by helping me to my feet. We moved toward the door with the waiting nurse.

The first red flags went up before I even got into the examination room. As per typical procedure, the nurse stood me on the scales, weighing me and measuring my height at the same time. When I saw the height measurement stop at seventy inches and the scale stop at one hundred forty-eight pounds, my eyes bulged out of my face.

“That can’t be right.” I breathed.

“The scales are regularly calibrated, so they are correct. However, you have a point, there.” The nurse nodded. “Let’s get you in the exam room and I’ll grab my tablet to pull up your records.”

“You’re not slouching because you’re a little weak, are you?” Kyle wondered.

“Nope, standing as straight as possible.”

The nurse took my arm. “Settle down, boys. We’ll get this sorted out. For now, you’re in Exam Room 3. Dr. Lensherr will be with you in a minute.”

She led me into the exam room and had me sit on the table. I was pretty much numb all over. How could I have shrunk two inches and lost twenty pounds in a single month? The implications were starting to really freak me out. It was only adding to the anxiety with each moment that passed and the doctor hadn’t entered the room, yet. A breath of relief escaped when he finally opened the door. Thankfully, this was the same doctor who had examined me back in November. He offered a paternal smile.

“Hello, there, Brandon. Feeling a bit under the weather, are we?” He glanced over at Kyle and gave him a nod.

“That’s a bit of an oversimplification, Dr. Lensherr.” I grumbled.

He glanced at the screen of the computer pad in his hands. “Well, I’ll admit that it is somewhat strange for a healthy young man to go from six-feet tall and one hundred sixty eight pounds, then become five-feet-ten and approaching one-fifty. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, though. First, I’ll record your vitals and then you can tell me about what symptoms you’re suffering from.”

I relented to his insistence. While he went about checking my blood pressure, heart rate, breathing, and temperature, my nerves were still on edge. My mind was pleading with him to stop dragging things out and just tell me if I was going to die or not.

“Well, that’s odd.” He stated, glancing at the thermometer after removing it from my mouth. “Everything seems fine, overall. Your blood pressure and heart rate suggest a certain level of stress, which is to be expected. Though, you seem to be running a rather high temperature. How long has this been going on?”

I shrugged. “Ever since a nurse from here checked me out last time.”

“You’ve been running a high temperature for a month? Why haven’t you come in before now?”

“I can answer that.” Kyle scoffed. “He’s afraid his insurance won’t cover it. I almost had to drag him in here, kicking and screaming.”

The doctor shook his head. “Lack of payment should never be a deterrent to seeking medical attention when you need it.” He turned back to me. “Well, we’re going to have to start a few tests to find out why you are experiencing hyperthermia. We won’t have any results before the start of Christmas Recess, however. They should be in by the time you return from the break. I would suggest seeing your PCP back home while you’re away. They can call our offices to see if the results are in. There will be a few students staying through the holiday and we’ll be open.”

My eyes rolled in a hyperbolic fashion. My primary care provider back in Oregon was none other than my very own mother. I don’t know how she got that to work out without some kind of ethics violation.

“Right, just keep in touch with my mom.” I groaned.

“Why would I defer medical correspondence to your mother?”

“Two words, Doc: Nurse Practitioner.”

He nodded rather quickly. “Oh, yes. I’m sorry that I forgot that detail.” He took a quick breath. “Right. Shall we get started?”

Over the next hour or so, I had gone through the wringer. I was poked, prodded, scrutinized, and violated. The only detail I’ll really divulge was that they took a few vials of blood and scraped a cotton swap inside my mouth. I couldn’t tell you what they were looking for, though. When that was all over with, Dr. Lensherr recommended that I not drive back to Oregon like I had planned to. Instead, he recommended flying. It was his professional opinion that I might be a little too distracted with my medical issues to pay attention to the road and what I was doing on it. He probably had a point.

When all the poking and prodding was over, Kyle led me back to our dorm. There was an appreciation bouncing between the two of us. I may not have been very thrilled to become a pincushion for a phlebotomist’s needle, but I was glad to know that he cared. That day, he had earned the title of “friend”, which I’ve never thrown around lightly.

As soon as we were back, I glanced over at my phone with trepidation. Kyle probably got the hint if he saw me standing there and staring at it for half a second. There was some hesitation to call my parents and let them know the bad news. After all, plane tickets are expensive. It’s not wise to get them at the last possible second. I let out a heavy sigh.

I felt a strong hand pat my shoulder. “It’ll be okay, dude. Just pick it up, give them a call, and let them know you’re going through some things. It’s not that big of a deal, really.”

The guy was pretty convincing when he was trying to be reassuring. Deep down, there was a hope that he never lost that ability. Too many doctors don’t have it, these days.

“Thanks, Kyle. Um…” I began.

He cut me off. “Say no more, Brandon. I’ll go take a shower and run down to get a bite to eat while you call your parents.”

I gave him a nod. “Thanks, again.”

He winked. “No prob. It’s embarrassing enough talking to your parents, sometimes. It’s worse if there’s an audience. I’ll get out of your hair.”

With that, he grabbed his gym duffel bag and exited stage left. My attention returned to the cell phone sitting on my bed. It was one of those really cool smartphones that everybody and their brother has, these days. Still, it had never looked so foreboding as it did that moment. Reluctantly, I picked it up and plopped down onto the bed. In moments, the touch screen menus were navigated, my mom’s cell phone number was selected, and I was listening to it ringing. Anxiety built up with each ring. She picked up after just two.

“Well, hello there, sweetheart. What’s the occasion?” My mother’s voice mused on the other end.

“Hey, mom.” My reply wasn’t as spirited as I’d like. I loved my mom, but I wasn’t feeling my best.

“Are you all right, sweetie? You don’t sound so good.”

“I’m fine, I guess.”

“You guess? Is everything going okay? Your finals working out like you planned?”

“No, no… that stuff’s fine. There’s just two more and then I’m done for the semester. That’s not what I called you about. I’ve got some bad news.” I let out a sigh. It would be best to just let it all out. “I went to see Dr. Lensherr this morning and he doesn’t think I should drive back for Christmas vacation.”

“What do you mean Dr. Lensherr doesn’t think you should drive? Brandon, what’s going on?” It seemed like she was shuffling on the other end. Likely, she had stood up and was now pacing. She does that when she’s really worried about something. This time, I had caused that. I felt worse.

Another weighted sigh escaped. “It’s really not that big a deal, Mom. He said there’s some kind of hyperthermia going on and my body has felt like jelly, recently. He sent some stuff off to the lab for testing that should be back by the time the spring semester starts up, but he can’t really say anything at this point. I don’t really feel too sick, though. Kyle nudged me into going into the office. Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have gone.”

“I’m glad he did, honey. You’ve always maintained an average temperature. Having it elevated would be cause for concern. It could be a hundred different things, but we’ll have to see what the lab results say.” That’s my mom. She’ll be worried, but her medical training has really taught her to avert her panic until more can be learned. She let out a quick breath. “Okay, sweetheart. I’ll see what I can do to get you a plane ticket out of Indianapolis on Saturday afternoon. You get some rest and take it easy. We’ll see you soon.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you, too, Mom.” Both ends of the line went dead simultaneously.

The next couple of days took an eternity to get over with. Perception is the damnedest thing. When you really want something to happen, it takes an eternity to happen. The last three finals that I needed to take for the semester were over and done with by the weekend. Friday night, my luggage was packed to take back to Oregon. By Saturday morning, my body felt as though I might need a forklift just to get off the bed. So, maybe Dr. Lensherr’s insistence that I not drive had been right on the money? Kyle wasn’t leaving for home in Wisconsin until Monday, so he offered his services for the hour-long drive to the airport.

After dressing in simple sweatpants, hooded sweatshirt, plain T-shirt, and basic shoes, Kyle and I piled into his car. Once my luggage was tossed into the back seat, we left Wabash and Crawfordsville behind. We switched on NPR and talked about a wide range of subjects. You know, the usual stuff. When we got into Indianapolis, we stopped off at an IHOP for breakfast. We were both practically starving. As per my usual lately, I took advantage of the “all you can eat” pancakes and had five plates of them. This appetite thing was actually starting to worry me a little.

In no time at all, we said our “good-bye” at the terminal entrance. I thanked him for the ride and he took off. Since the whole 9/11 thing, security at the airport has really gotten asinine. Maybe I was only ten when it happened, but my family has taken a lot of plane trips. It never used to be this crazy. Having to show up for a flight two hours ahead of time, there was a lot of dead air between checking in with security and actually boarding the friggin’ plane. I used some of the time to call my parents and let them know that I was waiting for the plane and when they should expect me. The rest of the time I killed by playing Angry Birds. It really helped vent some frustration.

Finally, my flight started boarding and all the passengers shuffled through the line. Thankfully, I did the smart thing and only packed a carry-on. Others were not so fortunate. Everybody piled into the sardine can called “an airplane” and shuffled to find their seat. Thankfully, my mom landed me a window seat. Regrettably, some fat and smelly guy got the aisle seat. He wanted to chat me up about college and I just wanted a barf bag. Yea, this vacation was starting off swell. In just under two and a half hours, I’d be back in Eugene. It couldn’t come fast enough.