Welcome to Freeland House: The Descendants Complete Collection, #1

By Landon Porter

The Descendants is styled after works from the Bronze Age of Comic Books,  a time before superhero comics were dominated by grim and gritty deconstructions; when comic books were fun. It is presented in a unique manner: as an all-prose comic book complete with issues, specials and annuals. Each tells a complete story that ties into the overall tale of the titular superheroes.

In the first exciting volume: Three friends discover the their old school, The Psionics Training and Application Academy is actually a front for a clandestine organization dedicated to exploiting young people with powers rather than helping them. They band together, managing to rescue a small group of such people, bringing them to Mayfield, VA for safekeeping.

Unfortunately, fate puts them in harm's way from new and dangerous sources beyond what they were already facing; from a resurrected sorceress, to the local crime boss, and a mad-woman with powered armor and a robot army! If our heroes want to live, they'll have to learn to come together as a super-team and as a family.

They are heroes. They are people. This is their story.

Collects the entire first volume of the webserial, including The Descendants #0-12, Descendants Special #1, and Descendants Annual #1. Bonus content includes the short story Who is... The Whitecoat?, and the Rise of Morganna miniseries.

Content in this collection was previously published in the ebooks We Could Be Heroes, Tome Attacks, and Rise of Morganna.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paradox-Omni Entertainment
• Release date: Oct 1, 2014
• ISBN: 9781502265937

Landon Porter

Landon Porter is a billionaire industrialist who fights crime with the aid of his magic sword and faithful companion, Distraction Lad whenever he's not dating supermodels or fighting evil robot bears from the future. On a completely unrelated note, he makes up fanciful stories for a living. An avid fan of superhero comics and roleplaying games, he blends tropes from both into his works along with themes of family, hope and redemption alongside a fervent rejection of cynicism and darkness.

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The Descendants: The Complete Volume 1

Welcome to Freeland House

by Landon Porter

The Descendants – The Complete Volume 1: Welcome to Freeland House (The Descendants Complete Collection, #1)

© 2014 Landon Porter

A compilation reprinting:

The Descendants #0-#12, Descendants Special #1, Descendants Annual #1, Rise of Morganna, and Who Is...The Whitecoat from www.descendantsserial.com

Copyright © 2006 by Landon Porter

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the Author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

All characters in this compilation are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Forward

I was born during the Bronze Age of Comics; a time when comic books were growing up; free of the Comics Code Authority and the almost enforced silliness of the Silver Age, but not yet mired in the cynicism and crass darkness of the Dark Age. It was a time when comics explored human relationships; from romance, to family (both biological and adoptive), to tolerance and every facet in between; when characters explored social issues and grew as human beings.

Though it was over by the time I was first introduced to the characters, I feel that it was this age that reflected what is best in comics: Heroes who, though extraordinarily empowered, are human at their core, and fallible. Despite these faults, they stood up, strove forward, and did what was right even at great personal risk. They were people we can relate to while still being something we can aspire to. I hope that The Descendants and the characters involved capture some of this feeling.

Once, there was a time that it wasn't uncommon for adults and children alike to openly read and discuss the comics of the day with one another. Unfortunately today, most people would be embarrassed to be seen reading a 22-page glossy on the bus, even if they are more than willing to pay twenty dollars to see their favorite heroes on the big screen every summer.

I feel that we want superheroes. We need them more than ever in the current world where all too often, we are made to feel alone and powerless. That is why The Descendants and the greater Descendants Universe exists; presenting the same kind of heroic and entertaining stories in a prose, but in the familiar comic book format of issues, volumes and miniseries for both regular comics fans and those who can't bear to be caught reading an old fashioned sequential art. Any allegations that it also exists in this form because I can't draw are patiently... true.

About This Book

As you read this book, please keep in mind that it is not a single, contiguous story. Rather, it is an anthology of stories set in the same universe and following the same characters. One issue will not necessarily follow up on the events in the last. In true comic book fashion, these stories form a story arc where events in Issue One may be revisited many issues down the road.

Preface

The past will always hold sway over the future. It was because of the actions and atrocities of the twentieth century that in the twenty-first century, mankind came to learn that it had birthed a new breed of homo sapiens. Erroneously dubbed psionics, these young men and women bore within them new genetic potentials imprinted upon their bloodlines generations before; potentials to achieve what had been relegated to fiction and fancy before their coming.

As all humans do, psionics soon found themselves in a position to make moral choices about their capabilities. Many, especially those with benign powers, chose the middling path; simply living normal, average lives with a minor perk or two. Those who chose to employ their abilities for the good of their community were dubbed ‘prelates’ by the media. Those who chose to seek personal gain at the expense of others were dubbed ‘rogues’ by the world’s governments.

In the United States, it was decided that the best way to prevent rogues from becoming a threat was to train and encourage the proper use of psionic powers. To this end, the privately controlled, but government funded Psionics Training and Application Academy was founded. The Academy provided general education, training and ultimately referred young psionics to jobs in the public service sector. To combat the rogues that would still inevitably arise, a private force of psionics called the Enforcer Corps was founded on the Academy grounds in Langley, VA and given special police powers from the office of the President himself.

For over two decades, the Academy and the Corps grew into well known institutions in the US, helping to stem the fears regular citizens harbored for psionics.

It would not last.

Not because of a flaw in the system, but because ultimately, both organizations had been founded with far less altruistic intentions for the young psionics within their walls.

What follows is an account of a handful of individuals who were among the first to uncover the truth behind the Academy. Forced into hiding by the deadly Enforcer Corps, they will come together, be torn apart, and transformed into more than just themselves. They will become family and through their actions, a chain of events will unfold that will change the world...

The Descendants #0 – From There To Here

From There To Here (Part 1)

Freeland House. The name was everywhere in the place; on the dry rotted welcome mats, the moldering towels, and on the once cheerful brass plates that named each of its rooms.

Once, it had been a comfortable bed and breakfast, nestled in a suburb of Mayfield, Virginia commonly called the Hills. For fifty years, it had passed from owner to owner, providing honeymooning couples with sweet memories to last a lifetime.

But it had been five years since it had seen any guests, let alone care or maintenance. Time, and the bipolar Virginia weather hadn't been kind to it.

They hadn't spared the room identified by a pair of those brass plates affixed to the thick, wooden double doors connecting it to the hall as the sun porch. Dust and mold had colonized, rendering the original padding on the two futons unsanitary. The wicker furniture was still serviceable, but frayed and worn all the same. A thick coat of grime on the bay windows made it almost impossible to see out of them.

What it had been in the past held no meaning to anyone there, for in the all too real present it was an infirmary.

On one futon lay a man in his mid twenties. His hair was matted with drying blood, his clothes soaked in the same. His wounds had been closed, but he had yet to regain consciousness from the beating he'd taken the previous night.

Across from him on the other futon, lay a young man of Iranian descent, between sixteen or seventeen. He was also unconscious, but his body showed no signs of violence. Whatever had befallen him had all but shut down his motor functions.

Between the two, a tall woman in her twenties with caramel skin sat hugging a weeping, redheaded teenaged girl tightly, cooing calming words to her while trying her hardest to keep from crying herself. Not all of the damage done was physical.

Alexis Keyes watched everything from the doorway, trying desperately to piece everything together, asking herself how they had come to be here and if things had to turn out this way. Most troubling in her mind was how everything happening to them was not because of something they had done, but something they were born with.

The government and general public called them ‘psionics’, though that name hardly described the variety and range of the powers that such people displayed. No one seemed to be able to agree on their origin, but the prevailing theory was that they were the descendants of test subjects in hundreds of different experiments conducted in the 1940’s and 50’s.

It took five generations for the first obvious effects of the experiments to be noticed and by then there were thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands of people across the globe displaying supernatural powers and genetic deformities.

As a teen, Alexis had attended a school for psionics; the Psionics Training and Application Academy, along with Laurel Brant; the woman currently comforting the young girl, and Ian Smythe, the wounded man on the futon. They became best friends there. In fact, Alexis looked back on her time at the Academy as some of the happiest years of her life.

She had been so happy there that she later took job teaching there to help the next generation.

An involuntary shudder ran through her body. That was where the trouble started.

It seemed a lifetime ago that she'd received a call from a man named George. In a short, cryptic conversation, he directed her to be in the right place at the right time to witness a student she'd been led to believe had left the school; locked in a stasis cell and being loaded into a truck.

A little digging revealed that the girl Alexis had seen was by far not the only one. Dozens, possibly hundreds were being taken and their disappearances hidden under labyrinthine policies, programs and red tape. Many families were somehow being duped into believing their child was being boarded at the Academy full time when they were really being, placed into stasis and shipped off.

Alexis allowed herself to slide down the door frame into a sitting position, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her straight, black hair fell in a curtain over her eyes. She'd believed in the Academy, in its promise to train gifted people like herself and help them use their abilities to make the world a better place. Now she just felt like a fool, taken in by honeyed words and grand promises.

She had been a student there – a teacher there. But what was she really? Bait, she realized, to lure in the next wave of applicants.

Fear had driven her to seek out her two friends in Washington State, where both were employed as researchers for Brant Industries, the company owned by Laurel’s billionaire father, after over two years of being incommunicado. Inadvertently, she also led an agent in the employ of the Academy's Enforcer Corps called Prometheus directly to Ian’s home.

As Alexis struggled to explain what she had discovered, Prometheus arrived to arrest her. When Ian resisted, Prometheus engaged him, his pyrokinetic powers burning Ian's home to the ground in the process.

Force to flee, the trio spent weeks in hiding before hatching a plan to rescue the students being held in stasis in the Academy.

Images of stasis cells flickered across Alexis’s memory. It made her dizzy with nausea. She knew stasis only as a medical term. Terminal patients and the gravely wounded were put into stasis as an emergency last measure. The process was traumatic and few were ever kept in stasis more than a day for fear of permanent physical damage to motor function. The Academy, had been putting people in stasis for its entire sixteen year history.

Alexis glanced up at the redhead in Laurel’s arms. Her name was Melissa Forrester and she was living proof of that. She had been Alexis’s roommate in freshman year. Now, over a decade later, Melissa was still physically and mentally sixteen. Recognizing Alexis, Laurel and Ian had shocked her badly and she hadn’t stopped crying since coming out of stasis.

Even worse off than Melissa, however was Kareem Utt, the teen lying on the futon opposite Ian. The documentation on his stasis cell said that he'd been in stasis for four years, but that time seemed to have serious detrimental effects on him. He was effectively in a coma, but his telepathic powers and ability to project himself onto the Astral Plane remained active, allowing him to speak mentally to others.

At the moment, he remained silent.

There were two other teens rescued from stasis; Warrick Kaine and Cynthia McAllister. Neither seemed to be suffering any harm mentally or physically and were even now watching television down the hall from the makeshift infirmary.

The rescue had taken place only a few hours before. Ian had come face to face with Prometheus a second time, trying to stall and give Alexis and Laurel time to take the kids to safety. In the process, he took a brutal beating before Alexis could return for him.

After that, Laurel took over from the physically and emotionally drained Alexis and calmed Melissa down long enough to convince her to use her psionic ability of healing touch on Ian. Then she had driven everyone to this place: Freeland House. It belonged to her father, William Brant via a number of shell corporations and he directed her to it when he had learned of their plight.

Really, Alexis expected nothing less from Laurel. Though she was hyper-cognitive and thus capable of retaining any and all information she read or learned, making her one of the most intelligent people on the planet, she was also one of the most caring. Like her father, Laurel’s primary concern in life was that everyone around her was happy.

As if sensing Alexis was thinking about her, Laurel looked up from the now sleeping form of Melissa. Are you doing any better now, Alex? she asked like a concerned mother.

It’s just a lot to take in, L. She said dumbly, shaking her head. I mean… a few days ago, I was so happy to be working for the Academy and now… She choked back a sob.

Gently laying Melissa to the side, Laurel stood and walked over to kneel beside her friend. There’s no way you could have known. She said sympathetically. And look at it this way; now that we know about this, we can do something about it.

How? Alexis asked, holding back another sob. Are we going to lobby Congress? The Academy is government funded, Laurel. Even with your father’s connections, I’m not sure people that send pyrokinetics to hunt down anyone who knows too much are going to care about politics.

There are other ways of doing things, you know? Laurel moved to sit against the wall beside Alexis. These kids the only ones at the Academy campus. That means they’re holding others elsewhere. We can find and save more kids from stasis at least. I’d wager that at least one of those places has some concrete evidence we can use to put this plot to bed for good.

Blinking, Alexis looked over at Laurel. Fight them again? You saw what happened to Ian.

Laurel cut her off. Ian will be fine. Remember, he’s the one that came up with the rescue idea in the first place. She spared a glance toward where Ian lay. You know he’ll be all for doing it again no matter how many hits he takes. It’s just his way.

Even if we are willing, Alexis was seriously considering the notion now, Can we seriously deal with the likes of Enforcers like Prometheus? He nearly killed Ian.

With the help of a Brant Industries powered armor suit. Laurel pointed out. A version a lot older than the kind Ian and I were working on when you came to us. I’m not one to brag, but between you and Ian’s powers and some new technology, we could even the playing field.

Melissa made a sound in her sleep and drew both of their attention.

Alexis’s contemplation of Laurel’s plan stopped dead. We can’t. The kids… we can’t just send them back home for the Academy to recapture at their leisure. We need to keep them here to protect them. And we need to fix this place up so they can live here comfortably. There’s no way we could do that if we’re running around the country breaking into research facilities.

I can stay here to hold down the fort. Laurel said. You know; make sure you two have a home to come back to, watch the kids, that sort of thing.

But fighting was your idea. Why would you bow out to play den mother?

Because I wouldn’t be very useful fighting. Laurel shrugged. Ian can control the density of any fluid mass; even back in school, he was able to do real damage with that. You have your ‘black heat’. Until today, I never saw you use it offensively, but you can fuse steel with those little bolts of darkness you throw.

She shifted to a more comfortable position against the wall. Me? I’m smart. And that’s about it as far as powers go. What am I going to do in a fight, engage the enemy in intellectual discussion?

Alexis nodded. If Laurel said she wouldn’t be much use in a fight, she wouldn’t be. Still, the concept of using her powers offensively was a foreign concept to her. Back at the Academy, she only used her ability (generating a charged particle cloud her instructors called ‘black heat’) to fly, or render herself invisible.

Even then, using the particles to bend light around her left her blind and never seemed like much of a good idea. Of course, at the Academy, using one’s powers to do harm or property damage was a serious offense.

The Academy’s stated purpose was to groom gifted youths to use their powers in civil service capacities. It was generally assumed that those who entered the armed services received special training in offensive use of their powers.

There were, however, non-government affiliated individuals that acted as vigilantes; using their powers to fight for their own causes, usually breaking up criminal enterprises. These days, a few of these were widely known. Those most popular in the public eye had become known collectively as ‘prelates’ as, for some reason, the media wanted nothing to do with the idea of real life superheroes.

After a few moments of silent thought, Alexis put her head back against the wall. I’m not exactly ready to be a prelate, Laurel. For one thing, it’d draw a lot of unneeded attention; something these kids don’t need.

Laurel nodded, accepting her decision even if she didn’t agree.

But I’ll tell you what; once Ian’s back on his feet and this place is fixed up, then we’ll see what we can do about all of this, okay? Alexis managed to give her friend a small smile.

A long groan came from Ian. Both women looked up to see him starting to stir. Slowly, he swung his feet off the futon, and sat up. Coughing, he ran a hand through his blood encrusted hair.

Oh, man… what happened? He managed, looking at his now bloodied hand. He was still very unsteady and confused, both from blood loss and Melissa’s healing touch, were taking their toll. And why am I so dizzy? He wondered aloud as his friends rose and came to his side.

Melissa healed you. Laurel said, reaching him slightly ahead of Alexis. But all she really does is speed up your body’s natural healing process and your metabolism. You’re probably suffering from an abnormally low blood sugar... She paused, noting Ian’s confused expression. Her healing makes you hungry. She said plainly, albeit with a bit of a dissatisfied smirk.

Ian looked around. Where are the other two? He asked, referring to the kids.

Down the hall, watching television. Laurel pointed vaguely.

Uh-huh. And where exactly are we? Ian asked, shaking his head to clear it as Alexis sat down beside him.

Mayfield. Alexis said. Laurel bought us here. This place is her dad’s.

We’re safe here if that’s what you’re worried about. Laurel said gently. I’ve set up enough fake credit card uses to lead them to Atlanta.

Ian nodded, swaying slightly. He cast another glance in Melissa’s direction. Hey, is that girl really…

Alexis nodded. Melissa Forrester, my old roommate from the Academy.

How? Ian asked, starting to stand, but the fatigue caused his knees to buckle. She’s just a kid. Melissa would be our age now.

I’ll go get you something to eat. Laurel started toward the door. This isn’t going to be any easier to explain with your sugar low.

It’s just how stasis works. Alexis tried to explain. She doesn’t remember a thing after coming back to the school after spring break. A sympathetic look went to the sleeping girl. She’s going to need a lot of time to adjust to this. I don’t even know where to begin.

From Alexis's weary tone, Ian surmised that a subject change was in order and so gestured toward Kareem. Has he woken up at all yet?

In a way. He’s a telepath, so he can talk to us mentally when he wants to. But Laurel doesn’t know how much damage the stasis did to his body. He may not wake up at all, physically speaking. She trembled at the thought.

Hey, Ian looked over at Alexis. That doesn’t sound like you. Back in school, you were pretty much the leader of our little group. Laurel’s the smart one, but you always found a way to get things done. You, me, and Laurel? I don’t think there’s anything the three of us can’t do.

She couldn’t help but smile at him. That was years ago. I’m not used to telling people what to do anymore. Honestly, I always thought I was kind of a bitch to you and Laurel in school.

Ian nodded, most of his vertigo having receded. That’s why you didn’t come to Washington with us, isn’t it? And why you stayed away for months at a time?

That wasn't the whole truth, but it was enough. Alexis couldn’t stop a few tears from escaping her eyes and trickling down her face as she nodded. Her first few months of teaching at the Academy had been an eye opener for her; seeing teens acting in much the same way she had with her friends and not really liking what she saw.

Ian put a hand on her shoulder, trying not to tip over in the process. Look, we never did things we didn’t want to do and you never pushed us. You just happened to be really good at coming up with ideas. He looked around the tumbledown room and made a resolute face. How about we start small; how are we going to get this place fixed up without telling the world we’re here?

From There To Here (Part 2)

It was well past midnight, though Cynthia had no idea how late it was exactly. The adults; Alexis, Laurel and Ian had fallen asleep in the makeshift infirmary a few hours ago after several more hours of soft talking behind the closed doors of the former sun porch.

She remained in the upstairs commons; separated from the sun porch by a long hallway that led to four of the smaller guest rooms of the former inn. Not far from her seat on the floor, Warrick Kaine, a scrawny looking Italian, around her age, with scruffy, black hair, sat on the much patched couch.

Since their arrival at Freeland House, the they'd spent most of that time watching the old television that was the only piece of furniture in the upstairs commons aside from the couch. Very little had been said besides arguing over what to watch.

At this hour, the only programs on were infomercials, but neither was very eager to go to sleep after waking up to learn that they had been prisoners of the Academy, held in stasis for reasons not forthcoming.

Cynthia leaned her head back against the couch and looked over at Warrick. He sat cross-legged on the couch, staring at a demonstration of a new kind of vacuum cleaner on the television. After a few moments, he noticed her watching him in the dim light provided by the TV monitor.

So… he began, not really knowing what to say to the strange girl. In the half day he'd known her, the sum of the information he knew about her was limited to her name, her lack of appreciation for crime dramas, and the fact that when Laurel stopped at a fast food place to get everyone something to eat, she put away six cheeseburgers.

On top of it all, she looked like no one he’d ever met; five foot eight, with stark, white hair cut off a few inched above the shoulder. Her skin was nearly as white and almost featureless except for the freckles on her face. The weirdest thing about her were her eyes. Warrick knew lots of people with green eyes, but most people’s irises had flecks of other colors in them. Cynthia’s were pure, uniform green. In a word, she was odd; though in retrospect, Warrick had met far stranger people at the Academy.

So what? Cynthia asked after a short silence between the them.

Um… what are your powers? Warrick asked. For anyone who spent any time at the Academy, the question was every bit as hackneyed as asking ‘what’s your sign’, but it seemed a less ignorant question than ‘so what’s with your eyes’, which had been Warrick’s original question.

Cynthia rolled her eyes. The question was, after all, one she had answered dozens of times in her life. Still, discussing their powers was more interesting that watching a washed up actor babble about ‘new suction technology’. Tell me about yours, first.

Eh, okay. I control metal. I also have like a metal sense, but it's kind of complicated. Warrick started. His ‘metal sense’ was hard to explain; it allowed him to ‘sense’ the composition and condition of elemental metals and their compounds and alloys, but in a way that didn’t lend itself to accurate explanation.

There’s a lot to it involving ions and all sorts of other stuff. They said they were going to put me in advanced chemistry classes to teach me, but I woke up in a creepy glass coffin before that happened. There was a pause while he thought of how to explain the more enigmatic side of his powers.

There’s something else I can do… but it’d be a lot easier to just summon them and show you. Did you see any spare metal around here when we came in?

Summon? Cynthia raised an eyebrow. She'd been worried that she was going to sound strange, especially to someone with general elemental powers. Aside from minor telepathy, controlling certain types of matter was the most common power people heard of. Summoning was a new one in her book.

Warrick got up and wandered down the short hall that connected the commons to the open space separating the rooms in the west wing of the house from each other. The area was populated by a now defunct ice machine, a wooden table, placed there long ago for some unknown purpose, and a wire wastebasket.

Like I said, they’re a lot easier to show than explain. He picked up the wastebasket and padded back out to the commons.

They? Again, Cynthia’s vocabulary was reduced to repeating singular words.

Yeah, ‘they’. Warrick shrugged as if Cynthia knew exactly what he was talking about. With no further commentary, he focused his power on the wastebasket, melting it to slag in his hands. Defying all physics, the liquid blob remained in Warrick’s hands instead of running through his fingers as he continued dictating its form. It divided into two roughly equal amounts and slithered up Warrick’s arms, forming into intricate bands around his biceps.

Neat trick, Cynthia sighed as the metal solidified once more. But that’s not exactly summoning anything. That’s just your power working on the metal. She couldn’t believe that she'd gotten her hopes up that his powers would be interesting.

Warrick held up a finger. That wasn’t the trick. I just need to have some metal around my arms to do it. He cracked his neck for effect, then extended his arms out to the sides. This is the trick!

From the moment he wrapped the former wastebasket around his arms, he felt the nascent potential for ‘them’ to come into being in the back of his head. Bringing them into reality was more a matter of allowing the power to work than actively triggering it.

The bands around his arms pulsed, tightening slightly before changing shape once more. Part of them remained wrapped firmly around his upper arms, but the remainder snaked out into a pair of liquid metal tentacles.

Cynthia goggled. The things certainly weren’t acting under the influence of Warrick’s power any longer. He wasn’t concentrating at all and yet, the tentacles still writhed, seeming to sense their environment.

Well, here they are. On the left is Isp, and on the right is Osp. Warrick said. You don’t need to be freaked out or anything, they’re well behaved.

Well behaved… tentacles? Cynthia muttered. How are you doing that?

Warrick shrugged, resuming his seat on the couch while the tentacles continued surveying their new surroundings. I have no idea. Once I summon them, I don’t have to do anything unless I want to tell them to do something. They get by pretty well without me telling them what to do.

A tiny part of Cynthia was impressed. A slightly larger part was relieved that his powers were as strange as her own. The majority of her, however, was busy recoiling in confusion as one of the tentacles made its way over to her and began to, for lack of a better word, look her over.

I don’t think she likes that, guys. Warrick said, apparently to the tentacles. He was able to mentally direct them; but he generally felt better speaking to them aloud.

The tentacle backed away from Cynthia and went off to investigate the underside of the couch.

Okay, Warrick said after a few moments of watching a bewildered Cynthia keeping a wary eye on the tentacles Now it’s your turn.

Forcing herself to ignore the tentacles as they explored the room, Cynthia looked up at Warrick. From how they explained my powers when I entered the Academy, I’m a ‘consummate shapeshifter’. She paused to wait for the inevitable question.

What’s the ‘consummate’ part about? Warrick asked on cue.

It means ‘perfect’. Cynthia said, settling back against the couch. Most shapeshifters have limits; they can only turn into forms they’ve seen, they can only assume humanoid forms... the more limited ones can just grow claws or change their skin color. Me, on the other hand, my body’s basically like clay. I can change shape in any way I want/ Even my immune system changes instantly to adapt to things.

Sweet. Warrick grinned. You’ve got like fifty super powers rolled into one.

There is a downside, though. She moved to sit on the opposite end of the couch from him. As soon as she was sure she had his attention, she made a few, quick alterations. Her eyes flashed red and she opened her mouth to reveal a pair of sharp fangs and a forked tongue.

The tentacles reacted before Warrick did, lashing into position to defend him even before he could let out a yelp of fear. Cynthia herself jumped back at the sight of the tentacles. After a moment of tense silence, both teens realized what had happened and started laughing.

Cynthia recovered first and reverted to her normal self. Wow, they’re certainly protective of you, aren’t they?

The tentacles slowly calmed and slithered away to continue their exploration. Yeah, I know it sounds weird, but they’re actually really good friends to me. Warrick said, feeling a bit embarrassed. So what was with the ‘bride of Dracula’ bit?

Sorry, but I did owe you for springing the twins on me. Cynthia grinned mischievously. Anyway, do you have any idea how much energy it took to make even that tiny little change and go back again?

I’m going to guess ‘a lot’. Warrick admitted.

Bingo, Sherlock. Cynthia snorted. Plus, half of the times I use my powers, its unconscious. Even for little things like minor scrapes, or a cold? My body uses my shapeshifting to deal with it instead of doing things the normal way. To make up for that, my metabolism is insane.

That explains eating more than the rest of us combined at the takeout place. He noted.

Cynthia nodded. Pretty much. And that does it for my powers. She glanced over to the TV again. A new program selling exercise equipment was starting. I still don’t feel like going to bed. How about asking another stupid question?

It wasn’t that stupid a question. Warrick defended himself. People may ask it a lot, but it’s not stupid.

Fine, I’ll ask one then. Cynthia huffed, refusing to deny that Warrick’s question was stupid. Where’re you from?

Brooklyn. Warrick beamed, as if his accent didn't place him as being from there already. To tell the truth, I can’t wait to get back. I was getting ready to go home for Christmas break before all this happened.

I think both of us missed Christmas; it’s May now. said Cynthia. I also missed Christmas of ’72 in that damn glass box. After a second’s thought, she shrugged, Not that I care. I wasn’t going home for break anyhow.

How come?

Let’s just say that at home, all my powers amounted to was being about four more mouths to feed. Cynthia grimaced. Either that, or a humanoid scratching post. I don’t’ give much of a damn if I ever go back to North Carolina again.

Jeez, I’m sorry, Cyn. Warrick’s expression was serious now. I didn’t mean to bring up a sore topic. Even the tentacles seemed to be feeling sorry for her. Suddenly realizing something, Warrick added. Er… can I call you Cyn?

Actually, I made everyone at the Academy call me Cyn. The white haired girl replied. And don’t feel bad for me; I asked in the first place.

But –

Look, I don’t much care for my family, but it’s not something I dwell on, okay? I was doing pretty well at the Academy. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Until they turned out to be evil with the intent to dissect me that is.

Neither teen said anything for some time after that. Finally, Warrick piped up. Hey, Cyn? What do you think is going to happen now? I mean, they’re not going to send us home with the Academy still wanting to do whatever the hell it was they were doing.

Cynthia was very close to falling asleep when Warrick’s question roused her. I don’t know. They’ll probably think of some way to let our parents know we’re okay. Aside from that… I’ve got no idea. Apparently that Laurel woman’s a super genius or something, so I’m sure they’ll figure something out.

A few more moments of silence followed.

Hey, Cyn? Warrick asked.

Yeah? Cynthia asked, pulled once more from the brink of sleep.

If you don’t want to go back to your family once this is all over, you can come to Brooklyn. My family’s pretty cool. My mom’s in advertising, my dad’s a voice actor and they’re both really laid back. Plus, my sister’s a good kid all in all.

Heh. The white haired girl gave a small laugh. Thanks Warrick. As she fell asleep, she wondered if the other people in the house were as decent as the metal controller from New York.

From There To Here (Part 3)

Ten Years Earlier...

Melissa closed the door to her dorm room behind her and dropped her suitcase on the floor. It was far too cold outside for spring as far as she was concerned. Being back in her warm dorm room was a treat in and of itself.

The light was already on. Her roommate, Alexis must have already gotten back from holiday. Removing her jacket and tossing it on the back of her computer chair, Melissa walked over to the bathroom door.

Alexis? It’s me. Just letting you know I’m back too, in case you heard the door open. She said to the closed door.

There was no answer.

It was a little odd that Alexis would leave the lights on if she wasn't around. She probably just went down the hall for something. Melissa dismissed her missing roommate quickly as she went over and sat on her bed to take off her shoes. As she did so, the faintest flicker of movement caught her eye.

She looked up and saw only her own reflection in the mirror on the closet door. Something wasn’t quite right about the reflection though. It seemed distorted, as if she was looking at the mirror through water. Something in Melissa’s head told her to run. Dropping the shoe she'd just taken off, she stood.

Shit. A voice came from the vicinity of the mirror. There was a click and pain blossomed in Melissa’s chest. She looked down to see a dart with a three inch needle protruding from it. The edges of her vision dimmed.

The redhead managed to run a few more steps to the door before her muscles betrayed her and she collapsed. Her last sensation before losing consciousness was of cold metal clamping her arms to her sides.

***

The Present...

Melissa sat up in the wicker chair she had been sleeping in, her eyes bursting open and a gasp escaping her. Instinctively, her hand went to pull out the dart, but found nothing. It was just a dream, she realized. Sighing with relief, she looked at her surroundings.

She remembered the room now, as well as the events leading up to being there. Goose pimples ran up her arms as she recalled waking up in a stasis cell. They only got worse when she recalled who it was that had awakened her.

Her former roommate, Alexis was sprawled over the arm of one of the futons, snoring lightly. Alexis’s best friend, the excessively cheerful and smart black girl she even now mistakenly identified as Laura was curled up on the other side of the futon, an innocent smile on her face. The third of the trio that spend most of their spare time in Melissa and Alexis’s dorm room; Ian, had situated himself on the floor, head lolling back against the futon. He too was asleep.

People don’t change as much as they tend to think. Even in the span of a decade, the trio was instantly recognizable by the redhead.

Melissa shook her head. This wasn’t right. She had just seen them… a week ago? She suddenly remembered the date on a bank sign they passed earlier in the day; May 5, 2074. Somehow, over ten years had passed without her noticing.

Tears began to well up in her eyes. She hadn’t even lost those years, she'd simply not lived them; lying frozen in time while her friends grew up and life passed her by. She actually surprised herself in calling them her friends. Alexis and company certainly tried to include her, but Melissa less than politely turned them down each time.

She was just getting used to repressing her power (apart from her healing touch), and was having a hard time getting used to people being in genuine high spirits without the stimulating effect she impressed on people with her presence.

She was considering actually taking them up on their offers of friendship when… She began to cry again.

I don’t mean to intrude… a voice said, but why are you crying?

Melissa froze and looked around. No one in the room had stirred. Where had that voice come from?

You were crying earlier as well. The voice continued. Discovery of our situation was stressful, I will admit, but even as I am, I am not taking things as hard as you are.

Who are you? Melissa said in almost a whisper. Where are you?

My name is Kareem ibn Raimi al-Utt. I am currently standing in front of you, but I am currently projected onto the Astral Plane. My body is lying on the couch to your right.

Slowly, Melissa turned and looked at the person lying there. If he had been awake and standing, he would have been tall, dark and handsome in her opinion. As it stood, he was just richly tanned and pleasing to look at.

That’s you? She asked. Then how are you talking to me?

That is my body. Kareem said telepathically. He'd already been over his situation with Laurel and Alexis and feared that he would have to repeat that conversations verbatim to everyone at Freeland House. But I, like you, am gifted. My powers allow me to travel outside of my body, on the Astral Plane and communicate with people’s minds.

Melissa’s eyes widened. You can read my mind?

I can actually read much more than that—though I do my best not to intrude on people’s privacy, I can sense emotions, read memories and hear subconscious thoughts that you yourself are not aware of. Inexplicably, Melissa felt a hint of embarrassment from Kareem.

However, my abilities seem to be heightened now that my body is in a coma. I have been having trouble not delving very deeply when I speak to others telepathically.

What have you gotten from me then? Melissa asked.

You do not have to speak out loud. I can hear surface thoughts quite clearly.

Melissa frowned, and then concentrated. What have you gotten from me?, she asked again.

As I said, I do try not to delve to deeply… Kareem replied nervously; Please do not think that I am some kind of astral side voyeur because I am not.

Then tell me. Melissa demanded.

There was a sensation of shame from Kareem. I sensed your feeling of loss because of your time in stasis. I also sensed your disdain for your power. If you do not mind my asking; why is it that you disliked making people happy?

Melissa frowned. There was no way that the telepath could understand how it felt to never get an appropriate response to her problems. Her stimulant power had caused nothing but heartache since it had manifested.

I do believe I can understand, Miss Forrester. Kareem said; being able to hear exactly what everyone thinks of oneself is disconcerting to say the least.

I didn’t think that to you. Melissa replied suspiciously.

Oh my. I am sorry, Miss Forrester. You just thought it so strongly, I assumed…

I see what you mean about the problems telepathy can cause. Melissa said, trying to soften her mental tone. But really, its nothing compared to having your parents overcome with joy when you bring home all D’s, or having your first date break down into a laughing fit in the middle of a kiss. My power is definitely more trouble than it’s worth.

I can see how it can feel like a curse, but I can also see the silver linings. Kareem answered. And you do have your healing touch.

Melissa shrugged. Don’t remind me. I’m the only healer on record that can use my powers on other people without a blood transfusion. I’ve been poked, prodded and studied since I was ten because of it.

Miss Forrester, you make my usual optimism very difficult.

Alexis used to say the same thing to me. Melissa allowed herself a chuckle. I’ve always been more of a realist than an optimist.

The opposite of optimism is pessimism, not realism. Kareem pointed out.

Alexis said that too. I still say realism is close enough to being the opposite. She glanced over at Alexis and sighed. We may not have been friends, exactly, but we used to talk about everything.

Why can you not talk about everything now?

Look at us! Melissa shouted mentally. She’s lived a whole other life now. I bet she and Ian are married at this point. She’s not going to want to talk until two in the morning with a kid half her age.

Silence followed the next few moments and Melissa began to wonder if she’d chased Kareem away.

There are other people here our age. He eventually returned.

Melissa nodded. She tried her best to ignore them on the trip to Freeland House. The other girl referred to her as ‘crazy girl’ the entire time, despite repeated admonishments from Laurel, Alexis and the other boy. She had taken an immediate dislike for her.

If you do not like Miss McAllister, you could at least speak to Warrick. Kareem offered.

Why is it, Melissa asked, that you call him by his first name, but me and that other girl as ‘Miss’.

Kareem gave a mental shrug. It is just how I was raised. How would you like me to refer to you?

The thought brought a frown to Melissa’s face. For most of her life, she had been called ‘Missy’ by her aunts and grandparents. She certainly didn’t like that. Alexis and Ian called her ‘lissa almost exclusively. That had been only marginally more tolerable than Missy. For once, she wanted to be just ‘Melissa’.

Melissa it is, then. Kareem said before she had even fully completed the thought. Suddenly realizing his faux pas, Kareem sputtered. I am sorry. I did not mean…

It’s fine. I just have to get used to thinking about what I think in your direction, I guess.

Thank you for your understanding, Melissa. Kareem said.

Don’t mention it. She sent back. Looking over at the sleeping trio and then back to the spot she'd decided to focus on when ‘speaking’ to Kareem. I think I’m going to try going back to sleep now. It was nice meeting you.

You as well. Kareem said. On the astral plane, he moved away from her as she lay back down in the wicker chair.

***

On his side, the world was rose colored and vaguely translucent. People and other higher organisms were the only things that could be seen in true color and those colors didn’t directly correlate to their real world counterparts.

Kareem moved without taking steps, simply gliding through the room and eventually, passing through the doors themselves.

Just outside them was a hallway connecting the sun porch to the upstairs common room. There were doors on either side of it, each leading into one of the inn rooms. Kareem gave them a cursory glance as he floated past, but continued on to the commons.

There he found Warrick and Cynthia passed out on either end of the sofa with the TV still on. He gave them a smile as he floated up and out; onto the roof of Freeland House.

On the astral plane, neither clouds nor pollution marred the night sky, affording the young man an unfettered view of it. The starry panorama never failed to awe and inspire him. Even now, as his body lay useless below him, Kareem felt new hope. Unlike the others, he'd heard Alexis and Laurel discussing the future for the kids they rescued from the Academy.

This, he knew, would be home, at least for a while. And after touching the hearts and emotions of those who lived there, he felt that perhaps there was no better place for them in the world. He floated upwards a bit, to the extent he felt was safe for him to travel from his body and looked back at Freeland House.

In the real world, where time had stripped away decades of work by generations of previous owners as well as countless more years of memories it had played a part in creating, Freeland House was run down and looked barely livable.

But on the astral side, where belief is power and potential is made manifest; Freeland House was glorious.

From There To Here (Part 4)

Laurel woke up at seven the next morning, groaning slightly from the aches in her back from sleeping on the futon. Having proper mattresses and, if need be, beds brought in had climbed quickly to the top of her list of priorities.

Indeed, she already had quite a list in her head. Hypercognition was not an ability one could turn on and off and, as a result, she already began figuring out what needed to be done at Freeland House.

Beds were number one now; actually number two, second only to medical devices to treat Kareem’s condition. On top of the futons being uncomfortable, she and Alexis already discovered that most of the mattresses in the place had either been removed by the previous owners or had totally dry rotted. The futons themselves had needed to be covered in trash bags to protect Ian and Kareem from possible mold in the cushions.

Appliances were next on the list. A quick survey of the place revealed that only the lights, televisions in the upstairs and downstairs commons, and heating/air-conditioning unit were operational. Most of the rest had either been left to fall into disrepair or taken by the previous owner.

General repairs to the house itself would be trickier…

It occurred to Laurel that she should be recording this all in her notebook computer. It wasn’t that she needed it to remember it all; she just felt surer of her ideas once she saw them written out on a screen.

With a yawn and a stretch, she listened to the satisfying cracking sound her back made before reaching for her bag. It wasn’t there. A hazy recollection of leaving the bag in the car while Alexis and Warrick were trying to carry Kareem out of the back seat came to her. With one last stretch, she got up and left the sun porch.

The wooden floorboards squeaked slightly under her feet as she walked up the short hall to the upstairs commons. They too would need to be replaced. Laurel had a sinking feeling that everything but the structure would need renovation before everything was said and done. But the floorboards wear merely loose, not rotten, so they fell near the bottom of Laurel’s mental list.

Warrick and Cynthia were still asleep on the couch in the commons. Laurel spared them a smile as she switched the television off.

The commons had a staircase on either side leading to the downstairs commons as well as a sliding glass door that led out to the deck overlooking to swimming pool outside. Laurel took the stairs, coming out on the east end of the downstairs commons.

The furniture here had fared better than their upstairs counterparts. Three couches; two upholstered and one made of leather sat in the middle of the room, all facing a coffee table. On the western wall sat an oak dinette set complete with sturdy wooden chairs. A plasma television dominated the northern wall between the staircases.

At least this room needed very little work, Laurel thought. Apart from that, most of the guest rooms needed only new carpeting and beds. The other furniture, if not the fixtures were intact.

Still trying to shake off sleep as well as mentally populating the rooms she passed through for her list, Laurel contemplated checking the rooms in the east wing’s first floor as well as the ones on the hallway running behind the stairs. She decided just to get her computer first.

She cut through the kitchen on her way outside. The room had been gutted of everything but the built in cabinets, table and the broken refrigerator. That room was going to cost most of all. Adding everything needed to make the kitchen usable again kept her occupied as she unlocked the side door and stepped out into what was once the garden.

At one time, Freeland House's garden might have rivaled any in the state. Now, all but the hedgerow had died; leaving weed filled plots flanking an overgrown, cobblestone path. A stone bench and dried up pond were the only proof the place of what had been.

Beautification of the property would have to wait until the necessities were taken care of, Laurel’s pragmatic side pointed out. Nonetheless, her softer side placed landscaping somewhat ahead of the squeaky floorboards.

The parking lot for Freeland House was just beyond the garden. It was large enough to hold a dozen cars, but only Laurel’s sport utility vehicle sat there, parked across four spaces in her haste to get Ian and Kareem inside.

She opened the back door of the huge, silver vehicle and retrieved the wayward messenger bag and headed back into the house. Before she even closed the door, she heard someone coming down the stairs.

Hello? Cyn asked, looking around the downstairs commons.

Good morning, Cynthia. Did you sleep well? Laurel asked, emerging from the kitchen.

Cyn shrugged.

Laurel smiled. Don’t worry; by the end of the day, you’ll have your own bed. No more couches, I promise.

So then we were right. the girl said. You guys do plan on keeping us here?

Laurel sighed. Don’t make it sound as bad as all that. If you really want to take your chances with the Academy, you’re free to go. She crossed over to the leather couch. But I’ll be honest with you; I think this place is the best place for the four of you at the moment. You parents simply don’t have the ability to deal with people like Prometheus if he should find you. And there’s less of a chance that he’ll find you here.

I never said anything about going back to my family. Cyn took a seat