Zero Block General Hospital, Meritas City. September 23rd, 2014, 14:15PM

  I don’t remember much of what happened next. I was in and out, drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness.

  As I faded in and out, I heard sirens, voices, the crunching of tires on the road.

  Someone crying out my name, people dishing out orders.

  “Skye!”

  “How is this kid still breathing?!”

  “Pulse?”

  “Holy shit, that’s Slaughterhouse?!”

  I had no idea who was who or what was happening. It all just slipped past me.

  The one thing I could comprehend clearly was pain. Not the sharp pain of broken bones or the white-hot burning, full-body pain that Slaughterhouse had put me through, but a dull, constant pain that permeated my entire body; every inch of me was sore, bruised, or broken. At some point I probably tried to say something; couldn’t tell you what, nor if it was actually understandable.

  I remember the lights overhead, flickering by as I was rushed somewhere. The flashing reds and blues behind my eyelids. The sound of wheels under a gurney. A sharp pain in my arm; someone putting in a needle, maybe? Then a cold sensation crawling up my veins.

  But eventually, I slowly stirred. Not like I was waking up from a dream, more like I was slowly and agonisingly pulling myself free from mud.

  The first thing I noticed was the rhythmic, repetitive beeping. Then, a faint hiss; oxygen? Then, something cold and smooth pressing against the back of my hand, like tape or plastic.

  I opened my eyes, slowly and agonisingly. A sliver of light flickered through my vision. Immediately my eyes ached.

  Everything doubled, then refocused. I was lying flat, tucked under stiff bedsheets, with an IV line taped to my arm and wires running out from beneath my hospital gown.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Beep.

  Slow, but steady. A heart monitor.

  My mouth was dry.

  I tried to move, but the slightest twitch sent that dull pain shooting through my limbs in a wave.

  Something in my chest pinched; guess I still wasn’t fully healed yet. Deep cracks in my body that my regeneration hadn’t tended to yet.

  My helmet was gone, along with the rest of my makeshift costume. All that was in this bed was me in a hospital gown. I felt exposed, weak, like I’d dropped off of a building.

  Oh, right. I thought to myself, dazed.

  I blinked again, turned my head. There was a plastic bag of clear fluid hanging beside me. The wall was pale grey. A clipboard was hanging near the bed.

  A small window, the blinds drawn halfway shut. I could see sunlight streaming into the room, shadows cast across me.

  A hospital. Real, clean, and worryingly quiet. I felt safe, actually safe.

  I closed my eyes again, just for a moment. And breathed.

  Everything hurt. But less than it had before.

  I jumped slightly as the door opened. So much for my anxiety being gone.

  The nurse that walked in was a shorter woman, maybe in her mid-forties. Dark skin, black hair tied in a neat bun. As she entered, she looked at me, then clearly realised that I was awake, as a look of surprise came across her face.

  “Well I’ll be,” she said, her voice warm and steady, but also remarkably soft. “You’re awake already?”

  I tried to speak, but no words came out, just a bit of a pathetic groaning sound. She just smiled back.

  “Take it easy, Skye.” She said, coming to my side. “You got the living hell knocked out of you, didn’t think we’d be seeing those eyes open for a good while.”

  I just smiled as best as I could, before she quickly left; to grab a doctor, I assumed, I didn’t hear.

  As she left, I was alone again. I put my head back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Slowly, images and sounds from before began echoing in my mind.

  Stopping the robbery.

  The alarm.

  Slaughterhouse.

  Glory.

  Fighting Slaughterhouse. Getting beaten half to death.

  Fighting her again.

  The pain.

  The fall.

  As I lay there, a realisation washed over me.

  First night out as a vigilante and I fought Slaughterhouse.

  No. I beat Slaughterhouse…

  I couldn’t believe myself.

  Something about that sat in my chest, letting me stew on it. I’d fought one of the most dangerous people in America, and I’d won. I got the absolute shit beaten out of me, but I still won.

  A feeling sparked in my chest. An unfamiliar one, but one that felt welcome: pride.

  I let a small, genuine smile crawl across my face.

  But as quickly as that pride sparked in my chest, it dimmed as my mind started racing. Now that it was quiet, my anxiety started burning in my head as I properly thought through what had happened.

  I’d gone out as a vigilante with someone I barely knew.

  I’d gotten myself mauled, and that was before Slaughterhouse had appeared.

  I’d saved Glory, Elena, and stopped Slaughterhouse dead in her tracks but one single truth echoed in my mind:

  I’d nearly died.

  How could I feel proud of what I’d done when it’d nearly gotten me and Elena killed? What did she think of me? Anxious and barely able to speak one minute, apparently ready to kill myself fighting a monster the next?

  She must have thought I was insane.

  My train of thought derailed as the door opened again. The same nurse walked in, accompanied by someone who I assumed was a doctor; shorter than the nurse was, an older man probably in his fifties or sixties, bald with a drooping grey mustache.

  “So, Miss Williams,” he said, a slight accent to his voice. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

  I tried to adjust myself into a seated position, but my limbs felt like they were made of lead; that, and the pain in my body made it just to move even a little bit.

  I winced, looking at him. “Hurts…” I managed to whisper out.

  He nodded. “I’m not surprised, Miss Williams. Frankly I’m surprised you’re up so early, the injuries you’d sustained were fairly significant. But I suppose with powers like yours, recovery would be less arduous of a process.”

  He took a step towards me, looking at his clipboard.

  “As far as I can see,” he continued, “Your body appears to be healing well on its own, much of the muscular and tissue damage seems to have lessened significantly. And I can see your arm is much better too.”

  I glanced down at my left arm. Last I remembered, it had been mangled at the robbery before we’d even seen Slaughterhouse, then had become that weird white gauntlet before the carnage happened.

  But now? It was back to normal. Well, mostly; I could see a few long, thin white scars running from my elbow down the length of my forearm.

  “We’re going to keep you for observation for now, Miss Williams, and will assess you later to see if you are fit to be discharged.”

  “In the meantime,” the nurse spoke up. “You do have people here to see you, family and friends."

  Wait, ‘family’? I thought, before I felt ice shoot through my veins.

  Dad.

  He had no idea what I’d been doing with Elena. This was going to be how he found out? Seeing me lying in a hospital bed after I nearly died?

  A small, helpless panic bubbled up in my throat.

  I tried to sit up again, but pain flared my ribs and I slipped back down. I heard the nurse take a quick step towards me.

  My brain did what it always did: cycle through every worst-case scenario all at once. I could picture Dad’s face: furious, terrified, disappointed. Was he going to yell? Cry? Demand to know what the hell I’d been thinking?

  Was I going to be grounded for life? Pulled out of school? Did I even have a life anymore?

  And then Elena; was she here? Did she know I was awake?

  The thoughts spun.

  I have to leave, I need to run. I can’t let Dad see me, I can’t- But I couldn’t. I could barely even shift in place, let alone run. But mentally, I knew I had to face it; the last thing I’d want to do was worry Dad more by trying to run.

  Besides, I could take down a monster like Slaughterhouse but not talk to my own Dad?

  I had to face him. I took a slow, long breath, trying desperately to calm myself.

  “…c-can I see them n-now?” I asked quietly, my voice still hoarse but steadying.

  The nurse smiled. “Of course. I’ll let them know you’re awake.”

  She stepped outside along with the doctor, leaving me alone again.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, letting myself breathe. Whatever happened next, I could handle it.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Couldn’t I?

  A few minutes passed before the door swung open. Sure enough, dad and Elena stood in the doorway.

  Elena had changed back to a more casual orange hoodie and black leggings. She looked like she’d been crying; no, she looked like she was still crying, but trying (and failing; I could see that her eyes were red) to hold it back.

  When our eyes met, she cleared her throat and stood up straighter, wiping her sleeve quickly across her cheek, as if she was trying to hide the fact that she’d probably been crying in a hospital hallway.

  “Hey.” she said too quickly, trying for nonchalance. Her voice cracked immediately.

  I looked up at Dad, terrified. He didn’t look mad, at least not the way I’d pictured. He looked tired. Upset. Scared. But under all of it, unmistakably relieved.

  There was a pause, a silence hung in the air for just a touch too long.

  Then, a loud, wet sob burst out from Elena. That was enough to break the tension. Her attempt at being cool and nonchalant shattered in an instant, and she took one stumbling step forward before immediately bolting across the room to the side of my bed, tears freely pouring down her cheeks. Dad followed closely behind her, to the other side.

  Elena didn’t say anything; I think she tried to, but was crying too much to get any words out.

  I turned my head to look up at dad.

  “D-dad I’m-” I croaked out. “I’m s-sorry…”

  He ran a hand through my hair. “We’ll…” he took a breath. “We’ll talk later, I’m just glad that you’re ok.”

  The words weren’t forgiveness exactly. But they weren’t anger either. And for the first time since waking up, I felt a little of the weight lift from my chest.

  Elena finally managed to choke something out between sobs.

  “I-I thought you were dead!” She stammered, her voice shaking as she clutched at my hand. “When you dropped down you just collapsed and- you weren’t moving and-” Her voice cracked, breaking into another quiet sob as she pressed her forehead against my arm.

  I swallowed hard, feeling my throat tighten.

  “I-I’m here, aren’t I?” I rasped, smiling.

  Elena let out a wet, breathless laugh. “You idiot. You absolute, insane idiot. You could’ve died. You scared the shit out of me…” She whispered, gripping my hand.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Sorry I scared you.”

  “You’re not allowed to scare me like that again,” she sniffed, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. “Ever. You hear me?”

  I nodded softly, painfully.

  “Elena…” I started, then stopped. Because I had no idea what to say. I had no idea how I felt. Gratitude? Sure. Relief? Obviously. But something about her being here just felt…nice.

  It felt weird, feeling like this over someone who I’d only met a few days ago, but also her being this torn up over what had happened to me.

  From the corner of my eye, I could see Dad standing at the corner of the bed, glancing between us. I could see he was trying to keep his face steady. Was he about to give me a lecture? Burst into tears? Start yelling?

  Then he let out a short, soft chuckle, a grin spreading across his face. Dread sunk in; knowing Dad, somehow this was worse.

  “She seems like a keeper.” He said quietly.

  I felt blood immediately rush to my face.

  “Dad!” I croaked, spluttering. “She’s- it’s not-”

  Elena’s face blushed bright red, and she let out a snort like she was trying not to choke.

  “Hey, I’m just saying, she stuck by you.” He said, holding up his hands in mock innocence, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. “She held your hand in the ambulance, stayed with me ‘til you woke up. Very dedicated.”

  Elena groaned and buried her face in the mattress beside me, though I could hear her faintly laughing.

  I groaned too. “Dad, n-not the t-time.”

  He chuckled, pulling a chair in the corner towards the side of the bed. He was clearly enjoying this way more than he should have been. Maybe that was my punishment for nearly getting myself killed.

  But he looked at me, knowingly. I just turned, looking at Elena, who laughed as she looked away from me; it was a genuine laugh, almost like the whole thing was a joke. She was still holding onto my hand though, like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

  I didn’t want her to let go.

  The thought dashed from my head as there was a knocking at the door to the room. The same nurse from before.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” She said with a smile, “but there’s someone out here who wants to speak to you all.”

  I turned to look at Dad. He slowly turned to look at the nurse.

  “We’re not expecting anyone else.” Dad said. Then his voice turned sharp. “Is he with the police?”

  “No,” the nurse responded. “Says he’s from The Union.”

  The Union?

  I turned to look at Dad. His face dropped, he looked angry? Scared? Confused? Some mix of them all?

  “I…” Dad paused, before sighing. “Sure.”

  The nurse nodded, waving someone over, before letting them in.

  The man who walked in was someone we’d never met. He was tall, looked like he was in his early forties, slicked-back black hair with slightly greying temples, wearing a sharp black suit under a beige coat. He looked official, and walked in with a smile on his face.

  I felt Dad tense up next to me, standing up.

  “Excuse me, can we help you?” He said, his voice firm. Dad was a laid-back guy most of the time but he was like a guard dog when he got in a mood.

  The man held up a badge. From what I could see where I was lying, it was the logo of the Union: a golden U over an image of America.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt, forgive me.” He said, taking a step forward before holding a hand out to shake. “Angelo DiMaggio, representative of The Union.”

  Dad paused, then gingerly shook his hand.

  “Again, apologies for the intrusion,” Angelo said. “But I think I need to have a word with you and your daughter, if that would be alright?”

  “About what, exactly? Can’t you see that Skye’s barely in a state to talk?” Dad shouted, looking him up and down, his jaw clenched

  “About the events of last night, sir. And I think this is of the utmost importance to both yourself, and Skye.”

  As they talked, I turned to Elena.

  “Your dad’s scary when he’s angry.” She said.

  “He’s not angry often.” I whispered back.

  Angelo looked at Dad, then to me.

  “D-dad it’s… it’s ok.” I rasped out.

  Dad sighed, before nodding and backing off. Angelo then took a step forward.

  “Hi Skye, Elena. Sorry for the rude introduction on my part. How’re you feeling, I’m guessing not great?”

  “Y-yeah.” I replied, my voice low. Of course I didn’t feel great.

  “Right, so just to give you a quick primer on who I am, I’m a public representative of The Union. I mostly deal with assessing potential up-and-coming superhumans.”

  “Like a talent scout?” Elena asked from next to me.

  “I suppose so, yeah.”

  “And you, what, come here to scout my daughter after The Union rejected her, after she nearly died at the hands of a monster?!” Dad snapped.

  He was getting angry. Genuinely angry. I could see his face turning red; I’d almost never seen him like this before.

  “Sorry, I understand how that came across.” Angelo said, rubbing his temple. “Why don’t I just cut to the chase.”

  He straightened up, clearing his throat. “First of all, on behalf of The Union I’d like to express our deepest admiration for what you did last night against Slaughterhouse. The girl you fought alongside, Glory, has spoken rather highly of you. Both of you.”

  Glory spoke highly of us? I thought. She didn’t seem the type.

  “To be blunt, Skye,” he continued. “We think you show incredible potential as a superhero. So much so, that on behalf of The Union I’d like to extend an offer to you: to join our Special Case program.”

  My eyes widened. To join the Union officially, after being rejected?

  “The Special what?” Elena said from next to me, gasping.

  “Special Case program.” Angelo responded, “We run it parallel to the Young Defenders program. For burgeoning superhumans who show particular signs of potential greatness above and beyond normal superhumans, and who need a bit of assistance that the normal Young Defenders program can’t always provide. You’ll be with a team of other young heroes with similar-”

  “Absolutely not.” Dad cut him off. I turned to look at him; he was just staring at Angelo, looking like he was about to physically attack him.

  “Mister Williams I really-”

  “No!” Dad said, his voice much sharper, taking a hard step towards him. I felt Elena jump next to me.

  Oh no. I thought. I’ve never heard him like this.

  “My daughter almost died last night, you understand? She was this close to getting killed by Slaughterhouse and I-” He stopped, the words catching. “She shouldn’t have been there in the first place. She’s just a kid! She nearly died because she was there, because nobody else, nobody from the Union aside from this Glory girl was there! Where even is she?!”

  Dad was breathing heavily. He sounded like he was about to explode.

  Angelo took a breath, before continuing. “Glory is being debriefed on the events of last night, Mister Williams, so unfortunately she could not be here. But, I can assure you she sends her best wishes.”

  That…didn’t sound true. Nothing from what I’d seen about Glory struck me as someone who would’ve given much of a shit about us.

  “But you’re right, Mister Williams.” Angelo continued, “This shouldn’t have happened. Slaughterhouse shouldn’t have been anywhere near this city, and Skye shouldn’t have been involved. But, unfortunately, she was. And equally unfortunately, the exact circumstances of last night leave Skye in a very difficult situation.”

  I tried to speak up, my voice still strained. “W-what do you mean, ‘difficult’?”

  Angelo took a breath before he continued, his face darker.

  “I’ll be honest with you: as the both of you were operating as vigilantes, you don’t have any of the legal support provided to you that you would have had as licensed heroes or heroes-in-training. While I personally will be the first to say that what you did during the robbery and the against Slaughterhouse is commendable, truly, the legal system won’t see it that way.”

  “What would they see it as?” Elena asked, sounding increasingly worried.

  Angelo sighed. “From a legal standpoint, what you did would normally fall under self-defense; you were trying to stop a supervillain, and any court would agree on that.”

  He looked at me, then Elena.

  “The issue is that you’re unlicensed. Vigilantism is a serious offense, even if your actions were ultimately justified. You acted outside the jurisdiction of any sanctioned agency or law enforcement, and intervened in a criminal incident without any proper authority. That is where things get messy.”

  I felt my heart sink.

  He continued, his voice grim but steady. “The self-defense angle might help reduce the charges, but it won’t get rid of them. Vigilantism unfortunately carries major penalties, especially when you were involved in something on the scale of what happened last night. In short, Skye, what you did to Slaughterhouse normally wouldn’t be an issue if you were licensed, but being a vigilante makes it much more complicated; otherwise, people could call themselves vigilantes and go around beating people within an inch of their life and claim self-defense.”

  Angelo’s words hung in the air. It was a lot to take in, and I felt my brain reeling as I tried to process it. Neither I, Elena, or my dad said much of anything. Both of them looked equal parts worried and terrified.

  “If you were to join the Special Case program, you would be treated as having been a hero-in-training rather than a vigilante. This would entitle you to the legal protections afforded to you by being a licensed superhero; you would still be given a legal warning, and a probation that would be served during your tenure as a Special Case until you became officially licensed, where you would only be able to act under The Union’s jurisdiction. But, you wouldn’t run the risk of jail time, so long as you didn’t try anything like that again, and your civilian identities would be kept private; as far as the rest of the country would know, that was just a random vigilante.”

  “And what if the answer is no?” Dad asked.

  Angelo grimaced. “Then Skye and Elena are tried as vigilantes. At best, you get a reduced sentence because of the service you did in neutralising Slaughterhouse. You’re looking at a minimum three-year sentence, assuming you're found guilty. At worst? Longer, close to fifteen.”

  I felt my chest tighten and my stomach drop. Fifteen years? My first night out as a superhero, I nearly died against Slaughterhouse while trying to save people, and I could get imprisoned for fifteen years?

  “W-what about Elena?” I asked, my voice quavering. “Y-you said the offer’s for me, right? What about her?”

  Angelo’s head turned to Elena.

  “Of course, the same offer and conditions are for you, Elena. You’re not forced to do it together; if one wants to and the other doesn’t, that’s your decision. You just need to be made aware of the consequences.”

  I didn’t know how to react. I don’t think any of us did. I found myself just staring forward, running through every potential scenario that I could think of.

  But fundamentally, it sounded like I didn’t have much of a choice.

  Join the program and keep my freedom, or don’t and risk a jail sentence. I thought. Doesn’t feel like a choice at all, it feels like a threat.

  Angelo had said something to Dad - no idea what, frankly I wasn’t listening at all - before giving him a card.

  “Give me a call when you make a decision.” I heard him say. “As it stands, you have about two or three days before they press charges.” He gave me and Elena a look, a genuinely sorrowful look. “Sorry to put you both in a bind.”

  And just like that, he was gone.

  I turned to look at Dad. He was staring at this card Angelo had given him, before he turned to look at me.

  I leaned back, resting my head against my pillow and staring up at the ceiling, the weight of the decision pressing down like yet another broken bone.

  I couldn’t believe it. I tried my damnedest to prove myself to the Young Defenders and they rejected me. But now that I’d nearly killed myself fighting for my life, they finally gave me a second glance.

  But the worst thing was: I wanted it. Despite how I felt, both physically and emotionally, I wanted more than anything to be a superhero. To save people, to help people. To do Mom proud.

  Being a vigilante had, somehow, ended up being the first step towards that dream becoming real.

  And in a strange way, I had Slaughterhouse to thank for that.