J.J. balked at changing out of her own clothes into the athletic halter top and shorts that Cassandra provided, which were nested with various biometric sensors and accelerometers. She relented when Cassandra pointed out the possibility of her own clothes being damaged in the testing. Continue reading “A Gentle Fall of Cherry Blossoms”
J.J.—it was such an obnoxious nickname, but more fitting for the irreverent young pixie than Masterson—kept her appointment. Cassandra was standing outside the small employee entrance to the warehouse. She opened the door and stood aside for J.J. to enter. Continue reading “A Lady and a Scientist (2.8)”
It had taken Trumbull until near dawn before he really fell asleep, and then he slept so deeply that it was almost sundown when he awoke. Continue reading “Naked, Alone, and Human (2.7)”
Masterson had stayed put throughout the night. Cassandra sent the car past her house in the morning to get a better look than the publicly available street views. Continue reading “Not A Little Ominous (2.6)”
Lydia woke up with that shock of confusion that always came with waking up in a new place, which briefly distracted her from the confusion that came when she realized she was waking up alone.
She had been feeling that way more mornings than most for almost three years now. Continue reading “This Bitch Face Never Rests (2.5)”
Ron Trumbull spent an uneasy night in the cabin. The door, which no longer latched, kept banging open in the wind until he moved an end table in front of it to hold it shut. His subtly enlarged body was just too long for the bed, the mattress of which was too thin to shield his bulk from the metal frame. Continue reading “A Goddamn Animal (2.4)”
Gaining access to a hotel room was easy enough, in an age when all the locks were electronic and only the absolute top-tier of establishments even cared who roamed their halls. Continue reading “Very Quickly and Very Quietly (2.3)”
The alert had come in during the wee hours of the night before, when Cassandra was sitting behind a desk in a tiny, one-room office rented out of an old building in the least renovated, least fashionable part of midtown that still had office space for rent.
He did not remember how he had left the museum. It had been a blind panic… no, not panic. Instinct. Savage instinct. He had desired to leave, and he had. That was the essence of power: you want something, and it happens.
The Heights was not a neighborhood but a long, curving street in the Fort, a section of town full of streets with names like that. No one was quite sure why it was called the Fort. There had been a couple actual naval forts down by the harbor, but no fortification or military installation had ever sat in the hills. Continue reading “How Superpowers Work (1.12)”