An incessant buzzing woke Casper, but it wasn’t sudden. It felt like his mind had been sitting idle, waiting for the moment when the alarm would go off, and as such there was no sense of drowsiness. He sat up, removing the tangled blanket from around him as he looked around the room. By instinct Casper activated his power, recalling the room he was in as it was last night. His past self looked about the room, confirming everything was in place, and now Casper double checked each item without standing.
The room was decorated quite sparsely, the most lavish thing being his laptop. It was a beefy laptop, obviously meant for gaming, and as such had three fans on the bottom, with a secondary hard drive attached via usb. Upon entering the room, you would see a bed on your right, tucked into the far corner, with the end right below a window straight in front of you. On the left side of the door, leaning against the wall, was a wooden dresser. It had an upper area for shirts, and four smaller drawers for pants, undergarments, socks, and seasonal attire. The desk was on the leftmost wall, running parallel to the wall, a cup for pencils and pens on top of it as well as a stack of paper.
Truth be told, Casper hadn’t used pen and paper in years, completing most of his school work digitally. His handwriting was atrocious, and he preferred his teachers not having to find that out the hard way. The center of the room had a small circular burgundy rug; it was a sharp contrast from the white carpet. Casper frowned when he noticed that the external hard drive for his laptop had been touched during the night, the port it was plugged into having changed from the closest on the left to the farthest. Besides a small change in the positioning of his pens and pencils, his room had stayed the same.
Mother will never learn He thought, frowning at the discovery. She always had to snoop, and when she had found out attempting to get into his laptop was impossible because of its password she hadn’t given up. She now inspected anything, and everything that wasn’t in a lockbox. It was kind of justified, though Casper hated to admit it. After his trigger he had become adept at handling social situations of all kinds. He knew how to get what he wanted, where before he didn’t know what he wanted. This was a sharp contrast, and it was only a couple of weeks before the change had been completed. This left his mother to wonder where the timid boy she had raised had gone.
Casper stood up, the cold air tickling his lungs when he tried to breath, and bringing about a coughing fit. He moved to the dresser, opening the two tall doors, behind which was his shirts. He quickly activated his power, going back to the memory of him talking to Tulpa last Thursday. He sped through the memory, not reliving it, but just waiting for a moment. It wasn’t there. He changed to the time before last, watching the memory unfold in fast motion, his attention fully on her eyes.
There.
She was speaking of some classwork when she glanced down momentarily at his shirt. The edges of her lips turned up the smallest bit as she did so, the corner of her eyes crinkling. Not a smile, but it was as telling as a flashing neon sign in Casper’s book. He deactivated his power, returning to the present once again. He blinked a couple times, before reaching out for the freshly washed purple edge of the shirt he had worn three days ago. It would be a fruitless effort if he didn’t see her, but he was hoping to convince their supervisor to put them together for tonight’s patrol.
He opened the closest drawer on the left, pulling out a pair of black pants. He precariously held it to his chest along with the shirt he had chosen, as he opened the drawer on the other side. He grabbed some boxers, and moved to the bathroom across the hall, setting down his clothing on the edge of the marble sink. The door closed noiselessly at a touch, and Casper removed the few articles of clothing he had worn to bed. He stepped into the shower, and turned it to a preset temperature setting at a touch.
The water poured over him, and he relished the warm sensation slowly. Casper smiled, putting his hand against the black granite wall, a small blue flicker flashing across it. The blue consolidated into a thin outline, spreading across the large portion of the wall of the shower. The image was pure black, but music started playing. He recalled the rest of the memory, and removed his hand, letting the musical visionless image stay.
“I can’t be your Superman, your Superman, your Superman.
I can’t be your Superman, but I can be your Alexandria,”
The female lead sang, with a pop instrumental behind it. The song was clearly written around the chorus, though Casper didn’t particularly mind the lack of depth. He quickly finished his shower, before the song had run its course, and turned off the memory displayed on the wall. He picked up his towel from off the rack, and quickly dried himself from head to toe, before putting on his clothes. Casper moved to the mirror, picking up a brush, and got to work making his hair manageable. He replayed a small, almost irrelevant memory to make sure his hair was styled correctly before putting on a reasonable amount of deodorant and spray. They, together, costed about two hundred dollars.
The door opened, steam rushing out as Casper moved out of the shower, and back to his room. He picked up the smartphone from his desk, along with the PRT communicator. He had gotten one that was slightly smaller than the standard so he could wear it inconspicuously in public, though it was regularly tuned to the frequency exclusively used for direct communications with the Wards. He moved outside of his room, and down the stairs with a practiced ease, his hand lightly gripping the mahogany hand rail. He had learned, soon after getting his power, that his mother seemed less anxious as long as he kept his hand on the rail when heading down, and Casper had forced it into a habit.
The small gesture was meaningless as his mother had headed to work early. Case files were spread across the table, and that made Casper frown. His mother didn’t normally head to work on Sundays, much less leave her work on the table. Again Casper activated his power, replaying the conversation he had had with her last night. His memory showed him pausing before walking away from where she was working on the table. Casper focused on the paper she was writing on, trying her best to read the letters upside down. A breath escaped his lips as he finally deciphered the words, though they made no sense. Just a bunch of legal nonsense, composed mostly of jargon.
Casper went back further listening to his mother complain about her “incompetent shit of a secretary”. He had met the young intern before, and he seemed to be okay, not particularly bright, but he really didn’t need the smarts as a secretary; though Casper’s mother might disagree. His mother had also talked about the pressure the merger was putting on her, and the disproportionate amount of work put on her as opposed to her coworkers.
The act of recalling was becoming too time consuming for Casper to continue, so he capitulated his efforts, and decided a better use of his time would be eggs. He quickly made himself scrambled eggs, interrupting the process partway through to toast some bread, and grab some cold ham out of the fridge. After finishing the eggs he scraped the residue into the trash, put a small amount of oil back on the pan, and cooked the ham for long enough to make it a reasonable ubiquitous temperature.
Casper finished making his breakfast with a patient ease, and finished by pouring himself a glass of orange juice. He sat down at the table, devouring the food quickly, and guzzling down his drink impatiently. He sighed pleasurably, and moved his dishes to the dishwasher before heading out the door, and towards the PRT headquarters. It was a good three quarters of a mile walk from his house, and made him go through some lower class neighborhoods then he usually attended; then again he was used to a gated community.
A glance at the time alerted Casper that it was currently noon, and that his earlier meal had been a late brunch. He frowned, noting that he’d have to fix that habit. His body shape had been improving ever since acquiring his power, and he regularly ‘remembered’ working out to stimulate his muscles. His height was also not unreasonable for his age, and he was currently standing at six foot. If only his power was less subtle, than it might be more useful in combat. He had been given multiple kinds of combat training, as well as practicing at a gun range twice a week, and he still wouldn’t be any help when it came to fighting a brute, or blaster, or any shit like that.
Regardless, it was useless to dwell on things like this. If he didn’t focus on it he found he would have less anxiety, which was obviously a goal. There were many great long term health benefits associated with lower anxiety, if he recalled correctly; then again Casper always did.
A glance at the sky alerted Casper, too late, that he should have brought a jacket, scarf, and umbrella with him. He frowned, glancing down at his attire, before putting a bit more purpose into his strides. Within thirty minutes he reached the PRT headquarters, arriving just after it began to rain. He didn’t get very wet, as he was only faced with the beginning of the storm, though the rain did quickly intensify once he did arrive.
The first order of business he was obligated to take care of was giving a report to his superiors about a recent incident during his patrol. That report consisted of him displaying two hours and thirty minutes of patrolling, followed by him helping to arrest a man guilty of public intoxication. Luckily that seemed sufficient for the group he presented to, and he was released early because of a developing situation.
The developing situation turned out to be a dinner planned by Nolan, and communicated through official PRT channels. Casper chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief as he accepted the invitation, before frowning as he glanced outside. A phone slipped out from Casper’s pocket, and he dialed a cab quickly while standing near the exit.
Their pace wasn’t uncomfortable, though it was hard to match Adumbrate’s ever changing pace. The woman answered Spindle’s question readily, telling her their destination was a safehouse. She continued, speaking of a safe place to stay, and about Spindle being her partner. It was strange though, the way the woman talked. She switched between speaking of present and future as if they were both just as. . . Current? Maybe it was just Spindle’s imagination.
The complement elicited a smile from Spindle, and she nodded in response. Adumbrate ran her hand over the alley wall after they crossed an empty road, tapping intermittently. She then asked if Spindle had settled on a name, and she answered verbally this time.
"Spindle, I’ve decided on the name Spindle."Adumbrate once again changed her pace, and Spindle took notice but didn’t comment. The inconvenience would be forgotten quickly, as one tended to do. Spindle decided to see if anyone was following them, but only saw a large amount of foot traffic behind them. That was odd, the footpath had been clear a little bit ago, without a soul to spot them. Spindle glanced forward at Adumbrate, and then further ahead. Someone walked past in the alley ahead, but a door closed and the person was gone once they were close enough to be seen.
It was a little unnerving, and Spindle would seem stiff for the rest of their walk. She almost laughed out of stress, as they were getting inhumanly lucky. It was another ten minutes before they reached the apparent destination, and they entered just as police sirens raced by outside. Adumbrate closed the door, and left momentarily only to return with towels; two towels for each of them.
Spindle thanked the woman quietly before beginning the laborious process of drying herself. She started with her hair, using her wire to position it when it would normally be inaccessible. She went from top to bottom, and, for some reason, it did seem effective. She kept her hair away from her body as she dried that next, and again was mildly surprised about how fortunate she was. In retrospect it would only seem that she hadn’t gotten as wet from the rain as she had expected, even if that wasn’t the case.
Truth be told Spindle did not take note of Adumbrate’s apparent bone-dry-ness, as the woman didn’t draw attention to it. Adumbrate departed again, and this time Spindle interpreted the way she left as a bid to follow. Spindle obliged. The room they entered was reminiscent of a living room, but only if one ignored the safe in the corner. Adumbrate sat down on the couch, and motioned for Spindle to do the same, and she waited a moment too long before doing so. As the woman spoke Spindle listened, taking care to smooth her dress and remain decent. She set the plastic bag full of various bills on the floor carelessly.
Adumbrate offered her a safehouse, with seemingly no strings attached, and Spindle seemed uncomfortable with the proposition. Though she definitely appreciated the offer and wanted to say yes, it just seemed like it was going too fast. She barely knew this woman, and she was already offering her a place to hide out from the cops. Could it be a trap? No, no that just didn’t seem right, but then. . . Something seemed strange about the situation, especially considering she seriously considering accepting the offer.
At the offer of food Spindle smiling underneath the wire mask, mostly in appreciation, before considering for a second.
"I'm not particularly hungry, but if you have a coffee machine, I'd like to brew myself a pot." She said, and glanced about quickly. Her wire mask began to remove itself from her face. It was wrapped from the bottom up, all laid horizontally across her face with no gaps except the space for her eyes.
It seemed to remove itself, and she willed it in front of her with the rest of her wire supply. She released the wire holding the man at the gas station, before making more of the stuff with simple movements. She grabbed one of the wires, and seemed to pull more of it out of itself. She was nowhere near her limit right now, but it was also cumbersome to have that much wire. Lisa forced the wire to form into bracelets, totaling about twenty per arm. They were simple things, without any stylish designs or flare, though they didn't move particularly often.
The entire process took about forty seconds, the routine methodical, almost mechanical in nature. Once she finished she stood, smoothing out her dress absently-mindedly, before speaking again.
"Alright, I'm ready." The smoothing of Lisa's dress, though it may have seemed like a pretty routine activity, was a nervous habit that almost everyone noticed, excluding herself.
