15: USMHD

A shiver ran through Olivia. The cold metal of the wall of the van kept her on the edge of her bench opposite Nomad. The silence, save for the rumble of the engine, only made the piercing sourceless ringing in her ears all the more noticeable. Since the attack, nothing about her seemed to work. Moving hurt her bullet bruises, her joints ached with every jostle from the van, and her brain struggled to concentrate, buzzing between awful possibility to awful possibility. 

She snuck a glance at Nomad, the only other person she could see in the van. A dark blue bandana wrapped across his face, just below the eyes. He pulled off his grey camo cap, matching the rest of his combat fatigues, and ran a hand through sweaty blonde hair. She flinched at the sight of the short rifle on a strap across his chest. 

After a couple minutes of otherwise silent driving, one of the officers up front called out, “Everything alright back there?”

“We’re good,” called out Nomad in response. To Olivia he asked, “How are you holding up?”

Olivia hugged her arms tighter around herself. Bad. Does he care? The other officer seemed mad at him for not hurting me more. “I’m still here,” mumbled Olivia, staring at her feet. She was silent for another minute, gathering her thoughts, then asked, “Why are you doing this?”

“What do you mean?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

She took a deep breath. “Weren’t you looking for me too? Like the guys who attacked?”

His head rocked back a bit. “We were looking for you, yeah. But to help, not murder you.”

“Help? The same police that are with animal control, hunting me down?” asked Olivia. Why all the guns? Wait, because I’m a monster. 

Nomad focused on the hat in his hands for a moment. “Have you seen someone with animal control here?” he asked. Only the police. After she shook her head, he continued, “I won’t claim I’ve been exactly where you are right now, but I’ve been close. You aren’t the first person to get powers and panic.”

“Everyone is scared of me,” she mumbled. 

“People would be forgiving but you’re a feral,” said Nomad with a weary shrug. “I don’t know about you, but that seems wrong, dismissing someone out of hand like that.”

They shifted in their seats a bit as the van slowed. She could hear sirens everywhere, though there were no windows in the back of the van to see where they were.

“Here we are,” called out the driver.

Nomad put his hat back on and straightened up. “Alright, there’s going to be a lot of people. You’ll get out first. Just stay calm, and we’ll get this sorted out.”

Olivia nodded, fighting back the churning feeling in her stomach. I don’t have much of a choice, do I? The van came to a stop, and with a heavy metallic thunk the back doors opened. She found herself greeted by a good dozen MHU officers in the same grey camo as Nomad, watching her like hawks from a distance. Olivia ducked her head down to attract less attention. 

She found herself in a cavernous room with nearly a dozen vans, identical to the one that had brought her in, lined up down the center. A few people in rugged oil stained jumpsuits instead of the camo of the officers gawked from a wall covered in equipment on the far wall. A pair of officers broke off to coral them out of the room. Delta rejoined them as the other officers milled around in confusion. 

“This isn’t Processing. Why’d they drop us off here?” asked Delta.

“Something’s going on,” replied Nomad. He turned and called out to the van driver over the engine, “Why are we in the garage?”

The driver leaned out of the window and shrugged. “HQ told us to. Processing is still under renovation.” Olivia stiffened. They keep saying that. What is Processing?

From across the room, Olivia could hear Bob, barking into a phone, “What do you mean it’s still being worked on? They were supposed to finish that months ago!” She couldn’t hear the other cop’s response through the ringing in her ears, but Bob’s voice boomed out, “It’s already over budget, what are we paying for? Fine, we’ll put her in a normal room.”

“A normal room?” asked Olivia. 

Delta looked to her, then Bob, still arguing over the phone. “You could hear that?” she asked. Olivia nodded. I guess he was too far away for her. 

“He might be talking about a temporary room,” replied Nomad. To Olivia he said, “Processing is just slang for registering a new meta-human. We’ll give you a room while we file the MHD paperwork.” He noticed her confusion. “The USMHD is the United States Meta-Human Department. It’s mostly paperwork, like I said. There are a million laws you can run into with powers. We’re not throwing you into a pit or anything. It’s for your protection as much as ours.” 

Why is everyone being so vague? I’m stupid, there’s probably something I don’t know. Olivia nodded along. I guess Nomad knows. He’s OK. Bob gave a signal, and half of the officers with Nomad and Delta led her through a series of hallways. She ducked to keep her wings from smacking into the solid concrete walls and ceiling. The sheer weight and presence of the building pressed in on her, the usual noises of the city completely cut off. 

Finally, they came to an open door. Inside lay a clear, neat room, with a bed, desk, and TV built into the wall. Bob motioned for her to go in, saying, “You’ll wait here until we call you for questioning.”

She hesitantly moved forward, then stopped in the doorway. Half turning, she asked, “Excuse me?” 

“Hmm?” he grunted curiously.

“I’m not going to be sent to a lab or something, right?” she asked, stumbling over the words. 

Confusion briefly crossed Bob’s face, but he responded, “It’s not for me to say.” With that he motioned to the room again. 

Nomad leaned in and tapped a panel on the inside of the room. “Just give us a shout if you need anything. I’ll see if we can find a change of clothes that will fit you.”

The door slid closed behind her with a deep, metallic clunk. Now alone, Olivia let out a shaky breath, tension she didn’t realize was there releasing from her shoulders. The lack of dust in the new room caught her off guard. The bed, the desk, everything was clean and neat, like nothing she’d seen before. Despite that, she couldn’t help but notice the lack of windows, or the locked door behind her. On autopilot, Olivia headed in the direction of the walled off section to find a small bathroom with a shower. The smell of cleaning chemicals in a confined space made her eyes water, but the mirror above the sink gave her a good look at herself.

Bullet holes riddled her shirt, with the occasional splatter of dried reddish-brown blood. She poked at an isolated hole on her side, and flinched when she aggravated an ugly black and blue bruise on her rib. The shirt was originally plain green with some small company logo on it, but was now a mixture of green and blood, and her mouth… She dry heaved in the direction of the toilet, but managed to keep it down. She grabbed a towel, soaked it in the sink, and scrubbed with all her strength, not daring to look at the mirror again until finished.

I should get clean. Get everything clean. Olivia spat out a few strands of towel caught on her shark teeth, then stripped off her ruined clothes and stumbled into the shower. After poking at the unfamiliar controls and getting a blast of ice water to the chest for her troubles, she got the thing working and warm. Streaks of brown ran into the drain as weeks of grime washed off of her.

Now what? Something gnawed at the pit of her stomach, far worse than when she had stolen food and clothes. Who did I kill? Did they deserve it? How could I even do something like that? She leaned against the wall with her shoulder with her head hanging low, in part to get her hair wet, in part out of lack of energy. Why am I not crying? I should be crying, shouldn’t I? Is something else wrong with me?

It only dawned on Olivia to exit the shower once a tingling sensation spread under the scales on her hands and feet. After drying off, she lifted her bloodied rag of a shirt. I don’t want to wear this again. She wrapped the towel around herself as best she could and poked her head into the main room. A soft green light shone above a panel set into a wall near the door. Inside the panel she found a t-shirt and khaki pants, which after cutting managed to be both too wide and too short, but beat the towel.

According to the small digital clock on the stand next to the bed, she wound up waiting about an hour. At one point she tried to stretch her wings, only to smack against the walls halfway through. The soft clean bed did have appeal, but the strange chemical and oil smell of the cell kept her pacing and agitated. What are they going to do? What’s Ben doing? Am I going to a lab? Maybe that would be better for everyone. I wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone there. 

She jumped at the sound of a beep from over the door. It opened a few moments later to reveal three armored officers, including Nomad. He’d removed his bandana, revealing a square jaw that completed a blocky head. He gave her a nod and asked, “Feeling better?

What am I supposed to say? She nodded back. That’s what he does. I guess that seems right.

Once it became clear she had nothing to add, he asked, “Would you come with us? We’d like a record of your time in the city so far.”

She mutely complied. They led her through the maze once more. At some point, the concrete walls opened a bit, looming less and allowing her to walk without stooping over to accommodate her wings. They came to a stop in a well lit concrete room with a metal table in the center, with two chairs on either side. A black glass window took up the wall to the left. They indicated she should take the far seat, then two of the officers left, leaving Nomad standing at the door. 

Five minutes passed in awkward silence. Olivia fidgeted nervously on the edge of her seat. Stupid backrest. She could hear faint murmurs from outside the room, occasionally rising in volume, then falling again. Finally, the door opened and in walked a tan, middle aged man with a long dark beard. Her brow furrowed as something made her hackles rise. 

He introduced himself as he sat across from her, “Good afternoon. My name is Cyrus. I’m here to ask you some questions. For the record, please state your name.” He opened a folder on the table before them and pulled out a few sheets of paper.

“Olivia.” He seemed to be waiting for something else. She fixed her eyes on the desk in front of him. “That’s it.” It took her a moment to recognize what felt off about him. After the whirlwind of the last few hours, the calm he radiated struck her. His heart beat slowly, regularly, his breathing the same. Maybe I just haven’t met anyone who is calm. Everyone is always moving and shouting. Why is he so weird though? He smells normal.

He nodded and said, “We would like your account of the events this morning.” 

I killed people. “Um, OK,” she said, thinking of what to say. She mumbled out what she could remember, as best she could. Cyrus listened without reaction, interrupting only to ask short clarifying questions. 

“What were you doing in that building in the first place?” he asked, once she stammered to a halt. 

“I lived there.”

He pulled out a piece of paper from the back of his folder and started at it for a moment. As the silence stretched on, Olivia glanced at Nomad, who let a brief look of confusion cross his face at Cyrus. Finally, he asked, “Are you familiar with the experiments of the Italian?” She blinked. What? “I can’t seem to remember his name, never mind. Of all places in the city, why live there?”

Once Olivia recovered from the whiplash from the first nonsense question, she replied, “It was there.” He paused, eyes narrowing. Did I say something wrong? “I mean, when I woke up,” she added. 

He nodded, accepting her explanation. Olivia flinched slightly, eyes still firmly planted on the desk. After a quick glance at his papers, he asked, “You woke up there. How long ago do you remember? We know some strange things happen to feral minds.”

He ran through a battery of questions with her, most the same as the ones Skulker had done a few days ago. No, I don’t remember anything. No, not even names and faces or anything else. Yes, I got my name from a newspaper. Sorry.

“No. I kind of… learned everything from scratch. Or relearned, I guess,” she said. I know, I’m weird. 

“Why hide, instead of trying to find help?” 

Because look at me. She managed to mumble, “I…I don’t know. I didn’t…didn’t know what…was going on.” Why am I stammering so much? “I don’t want…to be dissected or anything.” Shut up, I should just shut up.

“Have you ever been to the Balkans?”

Previous thoughts cast aside, she looked up and asked, “What?”

He nodded, as if the question and her answer made an ounce of sense. “That’s right, no. Good. You weren’t completely by yourself though. I’m given to understand that you had an accomplice, correct? Someone else with you?”

“Oh. Be-” she cut herself off. I shouldn’t tell them his name, right? “I mean, Skulker was there, sometimes.”

“Would you mind explaining who that is.”

“Um, a vigilante?” That’s the word he used, right? 

“What were you doing with him?”

“He said… said that there was a bad guy, and I could help him, Skulker, stop him, the bad guy.”

“And you just did?”

“I don’t… don’t know. I thought it was, you know, the right thing to do.” They were trying to hurt people. 

“Are you aware that your attackers from this morning were part of that gang?”

“No.” I guess that makes sense though. They got angry.

“Did any of your attackers have any powers?” he asked. “Any abilities out of the ordinary?” Why is he talking weird and formal?

“Yes.”

“Could you describe them?”

“I told someone this already. Right?”

“We already have Nomad’s testimony. We need a record from you, though.”

Record? It’s the same thing. He probably said it better, too. “OK. Um…the Tod guy. He hit me a couple times. He moved really fast when he did. I think I hit him back though.” And he screamed and, no, no.

“Solid Tod hit you?” asked Cyrus, bringing her back to reality.

“A couple of times,” she replied. “Um…three or four times, I think. It hurt.”

“Could you describe him? If you saw a picture of him could you identify him?” 

“I don’t… I don’t remember it too well.”

Cyrus remained silent for a moment. I messed up something didn’t I? Olivia looked around, but found nothing helpful in the featureless walls of the interrogation room. Nomad shifted around since Cyrus’ nonsense questions, though he’d remained completely silent the whole time. Does he want to say something?

Olivia took a deep breath, readying herself. “Um, excuse me, um, Cyrus?”

She waited until he said, “Yes?”

“What… exactly, is going to happen now?”

Cyrus seemed to consider his words. “I will advise that you receive no charges, you fall under current USMHD guidance despite the nature of your power. You will need to register in their system, but I’ll confess I have no idea what forms will be applicable to you.” 

OK, that’s not so bad. 

He continued, “You will be sent to the feral institute in Houston.” Nononononono. “There you can receive medical care, safety, and education.” Institute? Isn’t that a fancy lab?

It took Olivia a moment to find her voice. “I don’t…” What if they get angry? “I don’t think that… I would like that.”

“The Department helps new meta-humans test their powers. Additionally, you would be well cared for. No squatting in an abandoned old apartment. We might be able to figure out your past and real name.”

But it doesn’t sound like he’s giving me a choice. She glanced at the door. I don’t want to get shot again. “OK,” she whispered.

“Good. I believe we are done here, if you have no more questions for me.” She shook her head. “Nomad will see you back to your room.” With that, Cyrus rose and exited the room.

Olivia followed Nomad out with heavy footsteps. What am I doing? The two other officers from before followed after them. I’m going to a lab.

“Nomad, you stay here,” called out a curt voice from around the corner. 

Nomad grunted softly. “I’ll talk to you when I get that over with. It’s not as bad as it sounds.” He hurried off, leaving Olivia with her two guards. She trudged after them. I’m going to a lab. The hallways twisted and turned, leading her deeper into the tomb. They returned to her room, a cell for all intents and purposes.

“Here you go,” said one of the officers.

A thud shook Olivia and her guards, the solid walls of the building vibrating from some impact. The air tugged at her wings, half outstretched from surprise. A dull roar built up in her ears, growing closer and closer. She dug in and covered her face just in time for a wall of air to slam into them. The guards were thrown off their feet and sent tumbling ten feet down the hallway. Olivia found herself forced to take a step to keep her balance. 

One of the guards groaned and rolled over. What was that? Olivia looked at them and the open cell door. I don’t want to go to a lab. The other struggled to get back to his feet. What do I do? What if they get mad? The one on the ground coughed out some of the dust that the air had kicked up. I need to do something. 

“No, don’t!” The guards noticed her line of sight as they got their bearings. “Fuck! Stop!” they yelled out as she took off. She thundered through the halls, heedless of her wings smacking into walls and an unfortunate fire extinguisher. A gunshot went off right as she rounded a corner, sending a bullet ricocheting off the walls and away. They’re mad. 

She sniffed the air once she got some distance from the guards, following the smell of fresh air. Shouts and alarms filled the air. Another rumble filled the building, though this time not accompanied by a shockwave. She backtracked as best she could from where they’d brought her in from, though she took more than one turn into a dead end. At one point, she found a shattered window with a set of bars she couldn’t budge. Finally, she burst through a door and found herself in the vehicle bay where the van had brought her in. 

The bay was nearly abandoned, save for a van idling near the one open garage door. The sirens shrieked louder here. On the other end of the room, the double doors burst open. Olivia and Nomad stared at each other, the panic on his face mirroring her own. 

“Get in!” yelled Delta, leaning out of the open window of the idling van and waving to Nomad. She’s here too? Why is she here? What’s going on?

Nomad didn’t hesitate, sprinting for the back of the van. Olivia followed a moment later. They piled in, Nomad slamming the door shut behind them. He scrambled up to the front of the van and rammed his fist on the panel in the front. It slid down to reveal Delta in the driver’s seat. “Go!” yelled Nomad.

Delta jumped at the sight of Olivia. “Is she going to try to kill us?”

No! Nomad glanced at Olivia. “No.”

Delta shrugged and gunned the engine, pulling out of the garage doors. Nomad groaned as he leaned back in his seat, running a hand through his hair. “Marcus shot Cyrus in the head. He was coming for me next.” Oh god.

“Holy shit,” said Delta. 

Nomad stared at the back of her head, jaw slack and eyes distant. “You don’t understand. He got back up.”

“Cyrus?” asked Delta.

“Yes!”

“You just said he got shot in the head,” she replied, bewildered. Olivia tucked in her tail and wings as best she could, head whipping back and forth between the two cops as they spoke.

“I know. He did. He got back up.”

Delta took her eyes off the road to face Nomad. “He just controls air. He doesn’t have a freaky resurrection power.” Air? Did he do that to the building? He didn’t seem worried about me.

“That’s what I thought. Jeremiah yelled out something about resisting. I didn’t get a good look, they were putting me in cuffs too. I turned around and saw Cyrus get up with half his skull missing. He told everyone to run and I didn’t argue.”

“He said something was going to go down when we came back, and that I should keep a van ready. I didn’t think he’d be shot. He didn’t say anything about Marcus going off the deep end.”

Delta nodded. “He said that would happen. Marcus freaking out, I mean.”

“They were yelling about you,” said Nomad.

“I bet,” replied Delta. Instead of elaborating further, she said, “I’ve got a place we can go.”

“Did you do it?” Nomad asked, voice dead serious. Olivia felt her hands open, revealing claws. What is going on? With everything? Why is the crazy guy dead? And not dead? And Delta is here? Why was he crazy? He seemed important, how does someone crazy get important?

“What?”

“They said you were leaking info. That you were messing with HQ computers.”

“No and yes. I wiped my workstation when Cyrus tipped me off and-”

A bright flash struck the front of the van, leaving it a molten crater. Someone screamed, or perhaps all of them, as Delta lost control of the van and it flipped.