[b]SIC PARVIS MAGNA[/b]

{OOC: I've provided what I could save of my previous posts for those interested.}
[hider=Part V]It's just past noon on Sunday when University Avenue, the main drive leading into the heart of Lost Haven University, stretches out before me. In the distance, the domed administration building, Walsh Hall, is like a beacon calling me home. The weekend with the family was fun, but it also reminded me that my life is here in the city now. Ahead of me, men in yellow jumpsuits are still working tirelessly to put Central Quad back together again. These men work for a group called CREW, which stands for Collateral Repair Equipment & Workers. They're a privately-funded construction team tasked with the important job of cleaning up Lost Haven after superhuman throwdowns. Apparently, there was one such superpowered grudge match which broke out at the Carnival last week. Luckily, by that point Chris, Rebecca, Mary, and I had already called it a night. If I seem a little underwhelmed by the fact that there was a superhero fight on campus, you have to remember that superhumans are a dime a dozen around Lost Haven. Honestly, around here, people share stories of seeing superheroes in action like they're talking about the weather.

Making a right at Central Quad, I continue past the science and music buildings on my way to Emerson Hall. One swipe of my student ID later, and I'm headed up the stairs to the third floor. When I get to my room, I give a courtesy knock before entering. Chris, evidently, isn't home. He could be off doing any number of things, but I'm honestly thankful for the peace and quiet as I unpack. I'm sure Chris will have stories to share about what I missed when I was gone. For now, I'm just interested in getting a few hours of rest - maybe even a nap - before my double date tonight with Vince and Abby.

I drop my backpack at the foot of my bed as I shoot Mary a text to let her know that we're still on for tonight. She knows that Vince and Abby are two of my oldest friends, and she's excited to win their approval. It won't be hard, I'm sure. Mary could get along with anybody. Plopping down in my computer chair, I roll over to my backpack and unzip it. As I pull my history textbook out of my backpack, I find that the bottom is covered in some kind of green liquid with the consistency of dish soap.

What the heck?

My chemistry book is covered in the same liquid. As is my assignment book. Confused and curious, I reach into my backpack and start scraping the bottom. Suddenly, I feel a sharp sting, and I pull my hand back with a loud yelp. There's now a jugged gash across my palm, and the green liquid is smeared all across my hand. Blood begins to run down my wrist, and I quickly grab a nearby t-shirt. Not the best solution, but I don't have any tissues or gauze handy. I wrap the t-shirt around my hand. It begins to burn. I bite my lip as I reach my uninjured hand down into my backpack. Moving much more gingerly, my fingertips come across what feels like glass.

I slowly lift the object from the bottom of my backpack. Sure enough, it's shattered glass. Beyond that, I honestly couldn't tell you what it was. I've never seen it before in my life. It's a cylindrical tube about eight inches long and three inches in diameter. Whatever it is - or was - it must've been the container of this strange, green liquid. There's a white label around the base, but the liquid has stained it to the point where it can't be read. Setting the big piece aside, I reach into my backpack and begin pulling out the smaller pieces. Once all the broken glass has been removed, I take a look at it. Where did this come from, and why was it in my backpack? No one's touched my backpack. I packed it this morning, and--

Suddenly, the pieces fall into place. That strange man in the lab coat from Central Station. When we both fell to the ground, he must've dropped this vial of liquid into my backpack. God only knows why - or what this stuff is - but it's the only explanation that makes any sense. I take a look down at my wrapped hand. A thin red stain has permeated the fabric of the t-shirt. Unwrapping my hand, I dump the broken glass pieces into the opened shirt before folding it up again. Something tells me that I'm going to want to take a closer look at that vial later. In the meantime, I can't just leave it out and risk Chris finding it. I tuck the shirt under my bed. Better wash my hand before this wound gets infected.

Hours pass, and I get my hands on some gauze. Or rather, I get some gauze on my hands. I decided to ask around the dorm rather than heading down to the Student Health Center. On top of the fact that the nurses at the health center seem wildly incompetent, I also didn't want to answer a lot of questions about how I cut my hand. Until I know what's going on with this vial, I'm going to keep it a secret. The wound continues to burn off and on, sometimes becoming so painful that it leaves me wincing. Meanwhile, I take a wet rag to my books to try and salvage them. The bottoms of most of the pages are now stained green, but it's not as bad as it originally looked. I don't think there will be any saving my backpack, though. Too much of that liquid spilled out. I'm going to have to wait for it to air out naturally.

Chris eventually returns to the room, albeit briefly. He's off to play baseball with some of "the boys." In high school, Chris was a big baseball star. However, he was realistic about his chances of going pro. Rather than betting his whole future on being a future Lost Haven Knight, Chris decided to hang up his glove and pursue a college education. He still gets together with a bunch of jock types for intramural baseball, though. As he leaves, Chris promises me juicy stories from this weekend.

As the day grows longer, my condition begins to worsen. My hand becomes painfully sensitive to the touch. I begin to feel lightheaded, and I develop a fever. I spend the rest of the afternoon sitting on my futon, trying to stay awake while watching ESPN. Vince calls and cancels the double date, much to relief. Abby couldn't make it out to campus tonight. They want to reschedule for this coming Friday. I agree happily, knowing that I'm in no condition to go out tonight.

"Sean?"

Nevertheless, Mary comes knocking around seven o'clock. I had been texting her all day, so she knows that I'm not feeling well. When she enters my room, the look on her face says it all. It's a mixture between surprise, concern, and pity. "Oh, Sean," she says softly. "You look awful."

"Thanks. That was the confidence boost I needed," I laugh weakly.

Mary drops her bag at the door and comes over to the futon. As she sits down on her knees, she presses the back of her hand to my forehead. "You are burning up! Have you been drinking water?"

I hold up my empty water bottle.

"Let me get you a new one," Mary offers. She hops off the couch and goes over to the mini-fridge by the television. Procuring a cold water bottle, she returns to the futon to sit beside me. "Make sure to keep taking fluids," she tells me. After a moment of looking me over, she finally asks, "So, what happened?"

I take a good, long sip of the water bottle, nearly finishing half of it in one gulp. It does little to relieve the burning sensation I feel beneath my skin. "I don't know," I lie. If I wasn't so weak, I don't know that I could sell the line half as well. "I just came down with something. Some kind of bug? I don't know."

Mary frowns. "Have you had the fever all day?" she asks.

"Ever since I got back to my room," I answer.

Mary rests her head on my shoulder. I'm sure that my skin must be radiating heat. It certainly feels like it, anyway. As she puts her hand on my knee, Mary notices the gauze around my palm. "Sean, what happened? Did you hurt your hand?" Just like that, she's fully alert again.

"It's just a cut. Don't worry about it," I assure her. "I was washing the dishes at my house, and there was some broken glass. That's all."

"Sean! You might be infected! That would explain why you feel this way!" Grabbing my arm, Mary takes my bandaged hands in hers. "Let me see."

"I really don't think that's necessary. Honestly, my hand isn't bothering me anymore."

Despite my protests, Mary begins unwrapping the bandages. I close my eyes, not wanting to see how bad my wound's gotten. As I wait for the inevitable gasp, I'm surprised when it doesn't come. Finally, I work up the courage to look. To my surprise, the gash actually looks like it's already healing. It's more pink than red now, and the skin has started to close up. I stare in disbelief. Just a few hours ago, my palm was red and inflamed. This looks like a wound after a day or two of healing, not one less than twelve hours old.

"Okay, you were right," Mary admits. "It wasn't the cut." With a sigh, she looks up at me. "Why don't we just take it easy, tonight? We can try to find a movie to watch."

I'm only half-listening. My attention is still firmly focused on my hand. As I flex my fingers individually, I respond, "Yeah. That sounds pretty good to me."[/hider]
[hider=Part VI]I wake up Monday morning feeling surprisingly refreshed. I had gone to sleep last night drenched in cold sweat. My damp pillow can attest to that. But right now, I feel almost normal. A little bit of lightheadedness, but nothing too concerning. As I swing my legs over the side of the bed, I take a look at my hand. The gash from the broken glass has been reduced to nothing more than a thin, pinkish line across my palm. If I didn't know it was there, I'm not sure I'd even notice it. I'm still amazed at how quickly this wound is healing. If it had been an inch or two deeper, I would've been rushing to the hospital to get stitches. Now, less than twenty four hours later, it's almost completely healed. Taking a glance at the clock, I see that I don't have time to ponder this little oddity if I still want to have time to get a shower before class.

Shuffling across the room, I pull a dry towel off the hook on the back of the bedroom door. I throw the towel over my shoulder as I grab my shower caddy from beside the sink. At this hour, there'll be a shower stall open for me. I grab the doorknob and pull, but the door doesn't budge. You see, Emerson Hall is one of the older dormitories at Lost Haven University, and it hasn't been maintained terribly well. My bedroom door sticks, and it can take a little bit of leverage to get it open sometimes. Chris claims he didn't know about it when we each picked our room, but I'm not sure I believe him. After all, he was the first one into the room on moving day. Anyway, the door's being particularly resistant today, so I really put my back into it. Just when it seems I can't pull any harder, the doorknob crumples like a ball of tin foil in my hand.

"Huh?"

I release the doorknob. The imprint of each one of my fingers is trenched into the metal, leaving the knob looking more like a ball of dough than a brass sphere. See, this is exactly what I mean! The housing administration is so cheap that they buy these weak little doorknobs for the dorms. I sigh. I guess I better replace the knob later if I ever want to see my security deposit again. Turning the doorknob more gingerly this time, I finally get the door to open as I step out into our common area. Chris' bedroom door is open. He must've gone out for an early morning run. I continue out into the hall, shambling towards the bathroom.

As I predicted, the bathroom is totally vacant. Very few people - besides myself and my health-conscious roommate - are awake this early, even on a Monday. Hell, I would still be asleep if it weren't for my 8 AM class. Not that I mind the privacy, however. It's nice to shower alone for once, a simple luxury that's hard to come by in dormitory living. Picking the shower stall farthest from the door, I hang my towel on the hook and drop my shorts. The shower takes a second to warm up, but it isn't long before I'm standing under the refreshing, steamy water.

It feels good to wash the sweat out of my hair. As I lather up my shampoo, I feel an itching sensation in the center of my back. I ignore it at first, hoping that it'll go away. As it persists, I try to reach behind myself and scratch, but the itching is right on my spine where my arms cannot reach. I give up and try to focus on my shower, but the itching keeps increasing in intensity. Finally, I arch my back, and something indescribable happens. It feels like fingernails stretching across my back. To my horror and confusion, a brown substance rolls up and over my shoulders, cascading across my chest. The substance hardens as it stretches, forming segmented plates across my entire body.

"What the Hell?!" I shout, probably loud enough to wake up the poor saps who live next to the bathroom.

I stumble backwards, using my hands to brace myself against the shower wall. The brown plates now cover the length of my body. They're heavy, adding no less than fifteen pounds to the weight of my body. My mind is racing at a mile a minute, trying to make sense of all this. As I try to stave off a panic attack, the strangeness continues. The brown plates begin to shift in color, beginning with my hands and moving up the arms and across the body. They morph from their natural dark brown until they match the faded blue of the shower tiles. Even the white grout lines appear on the plates, though they're blurred and distorted.

I slam my eyes shut. Please let this be a dream, I repeat in my head, Please let this be a dream.

When I open my eyes, the camouflaged plates haven't disappeared. What the Hell is happening to me?! No sooner have I thought this than the segmented plates begin to retract. As the plates retreat from my body, they return to their normal color. In just a matter of seconds, they're gone, and I'm left wondering what the Hell just happened. I lean forward, trying to steady myself onto my feet, but my hands remained pressed flat against the shower wall. I pull as hard as my arms will allow, and my hands come free of the wall - though not before bringing some of the tile with them! I look down at the cracked shards of tile that are still stuck to my palms. More and more, I begin to wish for this all to be some bad dream.

After a moment of pulling, the tiles finally release from my palm. As they clatter to the floor, I turn off the shower and hurriedly grab my towel. I barely wrap the towel around my waist as I rush down the hall towards my room. Slamming the door shut behind me, I take another look at my hands. They seem normal enough. No segmented plates, nothing on my palms. So what just happened back there?

I'm shaking my head as I walk into my bedroom. This is all too weird. I can't even begin to wrap my head around it. I try to focus on getting dressed when my alarm clock begins to beep. I must've forgotten to shut off the alarm before I went into the shower. I reach out to slam the snooze button when I feel a strange tingling sensation running down my arm. The hairs begin to stand on end. There's a flash of yellow light coming from my palm, and suddenly my alarm clock is on the floor, its glass face cracked and shattered. "This can't be happening," I assure myself aloud, but my tone is less than convincing.

Once I'm dressed, I grab a zip-up sweatshirt from a pile on my floor. Throwing it on quickly, I sling my backpack over my shoulder and head out the door. I just need to take a walk. Get some fresh air, that's all. This day is off to a very weird start, but I'm sure there's an explanation for all of it. Hands in my pockets, I step outside into the brisk morning air. It's waking me up, that's for sure. After class, I'll go back to the room and figure out what happened. I'm sure my half-awake brain exaggerated most of it, anyway. Maybe my fever hasn't fully passed, and I'm just hallucinating. There's an explanation. There has to be.

I pass very few students on my way to class. As I said, no one's really awake at this hour. The CREW members are, though. They're still working to repair the damage done by that metahuman brawl at the Fall Carnival last week. My route to class takes me right past the construction site that once was Central Quad. Progress is coming along quickly, considering the amount of damage done. The dormitory that was hit by the falling Ferris wheel - Oberlin Hall - is almost completely repaired. Other buildings are getting there. The men in the yellow jumpsuits with black striped shoulders are hard at work. Right now, the crane operator is trying to delicately navigate an I-beam into the sky without hitting any of the buildings. He's having a bit of trouble, from the looks of it.

"Woah! Woah, Russell!" the foreman yells from the ground below. "Careful. Careful!"

Suddenly, the crane swings wildly. The chain holding the I-beam breaks, and I'm alarmed to see that it's heading straight for me. With no time to react, I go with my first instinct and try to leap out of the way. To my amazement, I suddenly find myself on the roof of the science building. That's at least a fifty foot vertical jump, not including the gap I would have had to have crossed to get there! Meanwhile, the I-beam is speared into the ground where I once stood. Had I not jumped, I would've been crushed. I take a quick look around. No one seems to have seen my acrobatic feat, not even the CREW members or the crane operator. I back away from the ledge and begin running.

I don't know what's happening to me, but I know there's definitely no way I can go to class right now. I need to get somewhere private and try to figure all this madness out...[/hider]
[hider=Part VII]After spending the majority of the afternoon in an empty construction site north of LHU, I'm beginning to learn the extent of these strange new "abilities" of mine. First of all, I'm way faster and stronger than I've ever been. My new-found agility is almost instinctual, allowing me to perform acrobatic maneuvers without any real training. I can leap incredibly high, by my count about a five story vertical jump. Somehow, I'm able to adhere to surfaces, allowing me to literally climb straight up a wall. Those weird segmented plates can cover my entire body or select parts, and I spent most of the afternoon learning how to control that. Also, I seem to able to generate some kind of yellowish energy blast from the palm of my hand. I accidentally clipped myself with one of them. It feels like licking a battery and getting a static shock put together, magnified ten or so times.

As you can imagine, I spent a lot of time asking myself how the Hell this could happen. Invariably, there was only one obvious answer. The mysterious man in the lab coat and his broken vial of green goop. Ever since I cut myself on the glass and got some of that stuff in the wound, I haven't been myself. At first, I thought I was just infected and running a fever. I would've gone to the hospital, except that my fever broke and my wound healed. Certainly strange, but I could have shrugged it off. If not for this. Whatever was in that vial, it's something big. I should've known from the second I saw the look on that scientist's face. He understood the gravity of it as well. If I want answers, I need to figure out what entered my body.

And for that, I turn to Google.

I enter the search terms "metahuman expert," and I'm greeted by page after page dedicated to one man: Doctor Milton Reed. He's a biologist who became fascinated with the rise of metahumans. I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone realized they could make a career out of studying these kinds of people. My kind of people, I guess. I click on a YouTube link of Dr. Reed giving a speech at Columbia University.

He's an older man, mid-to-late fifties, with graying hair, a full beard, and glasses. In short, he looks like a scientist. He pulls a series of index cards from his breast pocket as he adjusts the microphone. After clearing his throat, he begins, "Sic Parvis Magna. These are the words inscribed on Sir Francis Drake's coat of arms. Sic Parvis Magna. It means, 'Greatness from small beginnings.' In a way, I feel that phrase adequately captures the reality of most metahumans." He pauses for a moment, making eye contact with the crowd. "You'll note I call them metahumans. I shy away from using phrases like, 'superhuman,' as I feel that - in certain contexts - it invokes a sense of superiority. It is my opinion that the existence of these individuals enriches humankind, rather than diminishes it. In all respects but one, these individuals are just like you and me. They could be your neighbor, or your best friend, or the store owner down the street. They have jobs and hobbies and favorite restaurants. You could look at them and never know the truth."

At this point, I stop the video. As fascinating as I'm sure it is, I don't have thirty minutes to spend listening to the rest of it. It looks like this is my guy, and a little more Googling brings good news. He's living in Lost Haven, just south of Sherman Square. I think it's high time I paid the good doctor a visit. Grabbing my backpack, I dig out the broken vial from under my bed. All the pieces are still here, albeit broken as they are. Maybe Dr. Reed can identify what this stuff was.

One higher-than-anticipated cab fare later, I find myself at Dr. Reed's high-rise. His apartment is on the sixteenth floor. I buzz for him, but there's no response. Looks like I'm going to have to resort to the oldest trick in the book. I press my palms against all the intercom buttons, like a kid in an elevator. Eventually, some annoyed tenant buzzes me in just to shut me up. I'd worry about what that might say for personal safety, but I'm far too concerned with getting upstairs to see Dr. Reed. I step into the elevator and push the button marked "16."

I need a moment to collect myself when I get to Dr. Reed's door. After all, it's not every day that you drop in on a scientist, unannounced, and say, "Hey, I think I'm now a metahuman. Can you help me?" But I've come this far, and there's no turning back. I hold my breath as I knock on the door. Moments later, Dr. Reed answers in a robe. He looks just as confused as I feel. "Hello. Can I help you?"

Man, that question is a can of worms. "Uh... I certainly hope so." To illustrate my point, I concentrate until the segmented plates close around my body. I quickly retract them, not wanting a random passerby in the hallway to notice me.

Dr. Reed seems intrigued without being surprised. I guess working with metahumans for a living prepares you for just about anything. With a simple nod, he offers, "Come inside."

The apartment is about what I expected. Half living space, half workstation. Opened books and loose papers cover every surface, even as the bookshelves are packed to the brim. In the far corner of the living room, there's a workbench outfitted with all kinds of scientific equipment that I can't even identify. "Sorry to drop by like this," I say politely.

"You'd be surprised at how often it happens," Dr. Reed replies. "So, you seem to know who I am. Who might you be?"

I hold my tongue. I know he's a renowned scientist and all, but I still don't think I should just be throwing my name around.

As if reading my mind, Dr. Reed nods. "I understand. Can I have a first name, at least?"

I don't suppose it could hurt. "Sean."

"Sean," he repeats, "Nice to meet you." He pulls out a stool and sits down in front of me. "Okay, tell me what happened."

"Well, I'll spare you some of the details, but somehow I ended up in possession of this." I pull out the shattered vial. "I was hoping you could help me figure out what it is."

He takes the glass from my hand, manipulating it to get a look from every angle. When he gets to the metal bottom, he stops. "I can do more than that, Sean. I can tell you exactly what this is." He turns the vial to face me again. "See that logo?" As I squint, I notice a logo laser-cut into the bottom of the vial. "It belongs to a company called Gene.Co. Ever heard of them?"

I shake my head.

"As their name suggests, they dabble in genetic engineering," Dr. Reed explains. "About a year ago, they announced a new project called the 'DNA Recombinant' series. The plan was to develop a series of serums that could, theoretically, give people superpowers. Nothing groundbreaking, mind you. For as long as metahumans have existed, scientists have tried to create their own. But this was the first legitimate, publicly-announced attempt." He laughs to himself. "I wondered if they could pull it off, but evidently..."

"Is it permanent?" I ask.

"I honestly don't know until I run some tests."

And thus the next hour is filled with me showing off my new abilities and Dr. Reed performing his tests. At the end of it, I'm exhausted both physically and mentally.

"Fascinating," Dr. Reed says, in what has quickly become his catchphrase of the night. "The outer layer of your exoskeleton secretes a special pigment which changes color to match your surroundings, giving you partial camouflage." I really wish he wouldn't keep calling it my "exoskeleton." It gives me the skeevies. "And your adhesion comes from the Van der Waals effect, made possible by thousands of microscopic hairs on the palms of your hands and soles of your feet."

"Ew," I say aloud. Thousands of hairs on my hands and feet? I glance at my palms uncertainly.

"What's really amazing is that you don't seem to stick to everything you touch, suggesting that there's some underlying subconscious trigger that tells your body when you don't want to adhere to a surface."

"Stay with me, Doc. You've got visions of case studies dancing in your head."

At this, Dr. Reed smirks. "Yes, of course. I do seem to be getting carried away a bit." He sets down his pen. "To answer your original question: yes. The change to your DNA does appear to be permanent."

"Is there any way you can undo it?"

Shrugging, Dr. Reed says, "In theory? I could analyze your blood sample, isolate the foreign strains of the serum located in your DNA, and engineer an antibody that could root them out and restore your DNA to its original state." He pauses, looking me in the eye. "Is that what you want?"

I rub the back of my neck. It's something I've been thinking about since I first discovered these abilities. "Well, I mean... yeah. I didn't ask for this, y'know?"

"Few do."

"I know you've seen this a lot more than I have, Doc, but try to see it from my point-of-view," I say. "How am I supposed to go back to a normal life after this? How do I tell my friends and family that I'm now part insect?"

I expect Dr. Reed to offer something profound, but instead he stays speechless.

"And what if it gets worse? What if I end up like Jeff Goldblum from The Fly? What if it kills me? You said it yourself. Gene.Co hasn't tested these serums yet."

"I'm not saying that any of your points are wrong, Sean," Dr. Reed agrees. "But I plead you to think of the opportunity you have in front of you."

I shake my head. "I have thought about it, and I've made my decision. How long would it take to develop that antidote?"

Visibly disappointed, Dr. Reed answers, "A week, maybe?"

"Okay." I pick up my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. "Then I'll come see you in a week. Thanks for everything, Doc."[/hider]
[hider=Part VIII]The next few days proceed rather uneventfully. Or, at least, as uneventfully as things can go when you're walking around with insect powers. Admittedly, it had been a little hard to focus in class. My mind kept wandering back to that first day. Stumbling through my morning routine as my powers first manifested, nearly getting squashed by a falling I-beam, spending the entire afternoon practicing my powers so that they wouldn't act up again, and finally consulting Dr. Milton Reed on my condition. He had informed me that, yes, the changes were permanent, but he had also reluctantly agreed to develop a formula to reverse the original's effects. As you can imagine, it was all I could think about. In just a few short days, I would be free of this nightmare. That serum was never meant for me, anyway. Better to just be done with it and get back to my normal life.

"Sean? Sean?"

I look up and see my manager, Al, giving me a strange look.

"You know your shift ended five minutes ago, right?" he asks me.

I look up at the clock. Sure enough, it's 3:05. Huh. I knew that I had been a little distracted, but those two hours really seemed to fly by. I guess it's easy to get lost in thought when you have a lot on your mind. Laughing softly, I say, "Yeah. Sorry about that, Al. I guess I was just lost in my own head." I pick up the rag that I was using to wipe down tables, and I toss it over my shoulder.

"Girl trouble?" he asks.

"I wish it was that easy," I reply. "I'll see you Friday, okay?"

After washing my hands and clocking out, I'm on my way back to Emerson Hall. Autumn is in full bloom now. There's a slight bite to the air that lets you know that the bitterness of winter is just around the corner. On the bright side, the trees are turning all manner of lovely colors. I simply pull my sweatshirt tighter and endure the brisk air as I make my way across campus. The CREW team is nearly finished with their work on Central Quad. They've begun to pack up their equipment. I look at the fresh patch of dirt where they replaced the divot made by the I-beam. At least these powers saved me from serious injury.

When I get back to the room, Chris is already planted on the couch, watching TV. I dump my backpack unceremoniously at the door. I think I could use a little TV right now. It would help me get out of my own head for a little bit. "Hey, man." I plop down on the couch, more exhausted than I realized. "What are we watching?"

"Some show on the impact of metahumans," Chris answers before taking a sip of water from a bottle.

So much for getting out of my head. Still, it could be interesting. I decide to give it a shot.

The host is a lanky man in a sweater vest and glasses. He sits with his legs folded on a stool. On his lap, he has a small stack of papers. "So," he begins, "tell us about the night you encountered a metahuman."

The camera shifts to a woman sitting across from the host. She's fairly young, maybe late twenties, with wavy red hair. "Well, I had gone out for drinks to celebrate a friend's promotion," the woman explained. "And at the end of the night, we all said our goodbyes. My friends were taking a cab, but I only lived two blocks over. I was walking down the streets when I got this feeling that someone was watching me. I started walking a little faster, and that's when I heard footsteps."

"Someone was following you?" the host asks.

The woman nods. "I was about to break out into a run when he caught up to me. He grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me into an alleyway. It was dark, and he was wearing a baseball cap, so I couldn't get a good look at his face. I tried to scream, and he covered my mouth with his hand." As she relives the story, the woman becomes visibly shaken. "That's when I saw that he had a knife." She pauses to gather herself.

"Then what happened?" the host prods.

"Well, he ripped my purse from my hands and started rifling through it. I wanted to scream, but every time I moved he pointed the knife at me." The woman brushes away a single tear as she continues, "I was just so afraid of what he might do to me. And then, I heard this noise. It was like... the sound of a passing train. There was a blur of blue and silver, and suddenly Icon was standing there." The woman's tears begin to dry for a moment as she recounts this part of the story. "He took the knife from the man's hand and bent it in half. The man turned to run, but Icon tripped him, knocking him out. Then, he looked at me and asked, 'Are you alright?'"

The host nods. "Is that all he said?"

The woman nods back. "As soon as he saw I was alright, he returned my purse, wished me a safe night, and then flew off." Suddenly, the tears begin running again. "If he hadn't been there that night, I don't know what might've happened to me."

This time, the host's voice comes in a voiceover. "This is just one of countless stories of ordinary people saved by the metahumans who prowl Lost Haven's streets. When we return, we'll talk to a student of Lost Haven University who witnessed the attack on the Fall Carnival."

"Pretty uplifting stuff, huh?" Chris laughs.

My eyes remain fixed on screen. Dr. Reed's voice echoes in my head. Think of the opportunity, he had said. I shake my head slightly, as if to dislodge the thoughts inside. No, this is ridiculous. I'm no hero. I'm just a college kid who stumbled into powers by being at the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn't ask for any of this. The plan hasn't changed. Come next week, I'm taking Dr. Reed's antidote, and I'm leaving this insane chapter of my life behind.

"Hey, weren't you supposed to meet with Colleen Frank to work on your Chemistry project tonight?" Chris asks.

"Yes!" I respond emphatically, half-grateful because he reminded me and half because he broke my train of thought. "We're supposed to meet at the Duncan Commons in twenty minutes, actually. Thank you for reminding me." I hop off the couch and grab my backpack. Quickly shoving my Chemistry book inside, I sling the backpack over my shoulders and head for the door.

"Anything I can do to help," Chris says with a half-hearted wave of his arm.

In the end, though, I end up waiting at the Duncan Commons for over an hour. Four texts and a phone call later, I finally decide that Colleen isn't coming. Whether she forgot or got tied up with something else, I don't know. I've never known her to flake - especially when there are grades on the line - but I know that she wouldn't leave me hanging on purpose. On the bright side, I got my other homework done while I was waiting. I give Colleen one last call, and it goes to voicemail. I hang up and drop my phone back into my pocket. I'm starving, but I don't feel like spending money here, so maybe I'll see if Mary's been to the dining hall yet tonight.

* * *

The next morning, I'm perplexed to see that Colleen isn't here. Missing our project meeting is one thing, but Colleen Frank would never skip class unless it was an absolute emergency. As I'm left pondering what might've happened, one of the other girls in the class - Renee? Rebecca? It's something with an 'R' - approaches me. She thrusts a greeting card in front of me, saying, "Did you want to sign the card for Colleen?"

It's a "Get Well Soon" card. I furrow my brow. "What happened to her? We were supposed to meet last night, and she bailed."

R-something frowns. "Oh, you didn't hear?" she asks in a pitiful tone. "Colleen was admitted to the hospital last night."

"What?"

"Yeah. She was jumped on her way to campus," the girl explains. "They stole her purse and beat her up."

I nearly jump out of my chair. "Is she okay?" I ask with a sense of urgency.

"She's fine," R-something assures me calmly. "Some bruising and a fractured cheekbone, that's all."

Still in disbelief, I pick an empty spot on the card to write out a personalized note. I hand the card back to R-something and watch her walk off. Colleen got jumped? Who would do that to a sweet, innocent girl like her? I feel a strange sense of sadness, anger, and shock all boiling into one. Almost immediately, my thoughts drift back to the show that Chris was watching last night. I remember the look on that woman's face as she described the horror of being cornered in the alleyway. I bet that's how Colleen felt. If only Icon could be everywhere at once. If I had been there, with these new powers...

No, Sean. Don't start thinking like that. There was nothing you could have done.

Maybe not for Colleen, specifically, but how many other people out there need someone to protect them? Maybe Dr. Reed was right. Maybe I'm not looking at the big picture. I've been so selfish about this whole situation, only thinking about how these powers affect my life. Maybe it's time I started thinking about how these powers can affect the lives of others. Maybe I should start worrying less about the burden these powers can be and start thinking about the gift they could be. Lord knows there are enough people out there who need help, and with these powers I could be in a position to give it.

I spend the entirety of chemistry class picturing Colleen and that woman from TV. I start to wonder if I'm making the right choice, after all...[/hider]
[hider=Part IX]Two days after hearing the news about what happened to Colleen, I head over to Mary's dorm room for a movie date. After a half hour of deliberating, we finally decide upon Scott Pilgrim vs. the World as our viewing pleasure of choice. It's a pretty good movie. A little quirky, and Michael Cera plays the same character he always plays, but we both enjoy it. Truthfully, I spent most of the two hours thinking about Colleen and my powers. When the movie ends, Mary shuts off the television and slumps her head down onto my shoulder. "I am exhausted," she sighs, looking up at me. "Is it the weekend yet?"

I give a soft laugh. "Not quite yet, but it's close," I assure her.

Mary exhales deeply and glances at the clock. "Well, I've got an eight o'clock class, unfortunately," she announces, "So I think we're gonna have to call it a night."

I nod understandingly. "I'll be with you in spirit," I laugh. She just rolls her eyes and smiles. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

She nods.

"If you could do something, like something good, for other people, would you do it even if it might cause problems for yourself?"

Mary gives me a strange look - which, frankly, is understandable because it's a strange question. But I can't help feeling like I need advice about this whole thing, even if I can't exactly come out and explain the situation. "Umm... yeah, I guess I would," she answers tentatively. She looks me in the eye. "Why? What's this about?"

"Oh, nothing," I assure her as I shake my head. "It's just, uh, something we were talking about in philosophy class today," I lie.

"Oh," Mary replies. And luckily, she decides not to linger on the awkward topic any longer. She hops up off the couch and offers me her hand. I get up and follow her out of the room. We walk, hand in hand, down the hallway to the front door of her dorm. "Good night, handsome," she says with a smile.

"Good night, beautiful," I answer back before giving her a goodnight kiss. Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I step out into the thin, nighttime air. There's a scent being carried on the wind, like the smell of a fireplace. Thinking little of it, I continue walking across the empty quads. I hear sirens approaching from a good distance away. A fire truck races past me, heading in the same direction that I'm walking. I turn the corner and see a most troubling sight.

One of the dormitories is on fire. It casts a flickering orange glow across the quad. Three fire trucks - including the one that just passed me - are parked in a semi-circle outside the front of the building, their flashing red lights adding to the startling display of color. A large crowd is gathered outside, and a team of paramedics is tending to students whose clothes are blackened with smoke. The flames have completely engulfed all four floors of the building as the firefighters blast away at them with futility.

I find myself sliding in amongst the crowd, driven - much as these students are - to spectate on the horrifying scene. The closer I get, the more I can feel the heat and the stronger the smell of smoke becomes. Without even realizing it, I've pushed to the edge of the barricades. I stare up at the blazing inferno of a building. The side of the building reads "Parker Hall." I don't know anyone who lives here, so far as I know. I turn to the student to my left, asking, "What happened?"

"They're not sure," the glasses-wearing student responds. "They're saying it might be an electrical fire."

I shake my head. Like I said, a lot of these dorms are older, and they haven't exactly been maintained properly. Still, it's a shock to hear that something as simple as faulty wiring could be responsible for all of this. "Is everybody out?"

The student shakes his head.

Just then, there's a crack and a sudden rush of heat. The flames pouring out the windows erupt into a large fireball. The entire crowd shrinks back out of reflex, myself included. I watch the reactions of the firefighters. They begin to scramble more frantically, doubtlessly aware that their time is running short. I lower my head and try to focus on what they're saying.

"Kent's trapped on the third floor," the apparent person in charge explains. "Beam collapsed on him. He says he's still got students on the third and fourth floors."

"So, what do we do?" the other fireman asks.

"Nothing we can do," the first fireman laments. "We've only got a few minutes before that roof caves in. If we send in more guys to rescue Kent and the students, they're as good as dead." He sighs. "All we can do is pray for a miracle."

I feel myself clenching my fists. I can't bring myself to believe that that's it. That these men - these trained professionals - are reduced to putting the lives of one of their own as well as all those students in the hands of fate. There has to be a better way. If Icon were here, he could swoop in and save all those people without even breaking a sweat. Hell, even that "Lyger" person who's been spotted around campus could do it. Where's someone like him right now? These people need a hero.

Think of the opportunity.

Dr. Milton Reed's words ring in my head, much as they have all week. Since getting these powers, I've been pretty selfish. I mean, I'm the one who has to live with them, right? So why shouldn't I be a little selfish? On the other hand, though, these powers could be seen by some as a gift. And we're all taught from a very young age that we should share our gifts with the world. I can sit around and hope for Icon or Lyger or whoever else, but they're not here right now. I am. And regardless of how I may feel about these powers right now, they may be the only chance for those people trapped inside this building.

I start pushing my way out of the crowd. If I'm going to do this, I can't be seen. The last thing I need is to be recognized by somebody I know. Once I'm clear of the onlookers, I drop my backpack by a nearby tree. I close my eyes and concentrate, calling upon all that practice that I did last week. On command, an exoskeletal plate closes around my nose and mouth, obscuring my face. I take a deep breath and turn back to the burning building.

This is insanity.

Despite my internal protest, I feel my legs driving me towards the chaotic scene. The crowd has their back turned to me as they all continue to watch the dormitory burn. I break into a jog and then propel myself into a running leap. I launch through the air, drawing the attention of onlookers and firemen alike. Shielding my face with my arms, I crash through one of the third floor windows and hit the floor with a roll. Standing there amongst the broken shards of glass, the first thing I notice is the stifling heat. With every step I take further into the building, it feels like a million hair dryers blowing directly at me. There's a rush of air, and I duck instinctively. Flames lick the air above my ducked head, and I summon another exoskeletal plate to cover the top of my head.

The plate over my mouth keeps me from breathing in too much smoke, which is good. "Hello?" I shout over the roar of the flames. "Can anybody hear me?" I take another step, and my foot goes right through the floor. I grab onto a nearby wall for balance as I shimmy my ankle free of the new hole in the floor. In the distance, I hear coughing. I lower my head and follow it.

Finally, I come upon the missing fireman. Just as they said outside, he's trapped under a collapsed beam from the ceiling. I quickly rush over to him. "Sir? Are you okay?" I ask him.

He throws his head back and grimaces. "I hurt my leg," he answers.

I frown. "Just stay calm, okay?" I try to muster as much confidence in my voice as I can. "I'm gonna get you out of here." I place my hands underneath the collapsed beam and begin lifting. It's heavier than it looks, and it looks pretty damn heavy. As I lift it, I hear the ceiling begin to groan. Those firemen were right. It isn't stable at all. We don't have much time. "Can you roll?" I ask as I lift the beam high enough to give the fireman some clearance.

He gives a weak nod and then rolls to his side. Once he's clear of the beam, I set it down again. Some of the woodwork in the ceiling comes crashing down behind me. The firefighter gets on his feet, holding his right leg gingerly so that it won't support too much weight. He finally gets a good look at me and furrows his brow at the sight of the exoskeletal plates covering most of my face. "Who are you?"

"There's no time for that," I reply. I take his right arm and put it over my shoulder. He's not going to be able to walk out of here without my help. "How many students are still trapped inside?"

He hobbles on one foot as I guide him down the hall. "Two more on this floor, and then three more on the next one." The ceiling groans once more, and we both look up. He turns his head to me. "You don't have much time left, though."

"I'll work fast," I assure him. We reach the window through which I came in. Three floors below us, the firefighters have set up a safety trampoline. I help the fireman brace himself against the window. "Will you be okay making the jump with your leg?"

He gives me a nod.

"Okay. Tell them to be ready for more. I'm going to get the rest of the students out."

The fireman turns his back to the window and sits on the windowsill. "Thank you," is all he says before he allows himself to fall backwards out the window. I lean out to watch him land on the trampoline. With the help of his coworkers, he gets up and limps off to receive some much-needed medical attention. Meanwhile, I turn my attention back towards the students still trapped inside.

I tiptoe carefully down the hall past where I found the fireman. He said that there were two more people left on this floor. They must be further back in the building. Eventually, I come across a closed door. I hear coughing coming from the other side. With a strong kick, I knock the door off its hinges and step into the room. The two students are huddled in the far corner in the fetal position. "Come with me!"

The three of us snake our way through the rapidly spreading flames as I lead them to the window. One at a time, I help them up onto the sill. I make sure that they both land safely on the trampoline before turning to find the stairs.

The fourth floor is in even worse shape than the third floor. The flames nearly cover every surface, and the floor is cracked and filled with holes everywhere you look. The ceiling is bowed and looks about ready to give out. I hope that I'm just a little faster. I find the first student unconscious on the floor. Fire drips like burning rain all around him. I pick him up and carry him in my arms. Finding a window that's been blown out by the fire, I run and jump, landing on my feet with the student in my arms. The firefighters and paramedics rush to me, but I don't have time to field their questions. I hand off the student and jump back into the building.

Two more students. All I have to do is save two more students, and I can get out of here before the building comes down on top of me. Keeping this goal in mind, I begin frantically searching the fourth floor. I find one of the two students trapped in a room in the far corner of the building. The floor has completely caved in, creating a burning chasm between the doorway - where I'm standing - and the window - where the student is standing. I effortlessly leap across the gap, landing on the narrow stretch of floor on the other side. "Take my hand," I instruct, and the student does as I ask.

Holding onto the student tightly, I jump across the hole in the floor once more. I have to find that last student, and he can't be far. I make sure not to let go of the student that I did find, helping her navigate the fiery labyrinth that was once her dormitory. At long last, I kick down the door to the proper room and find the last remaining student. "Come on!" I shout urgently.

I'm leading the two students down the hall when I hear a long, loud creak. Thinking fast, I push them both forward and brace myself. A portion of the ceiling comes crashing down on top of me, nearly flattening me. The students stop and stare, unsure of what to do. "Keep going," I grunt. My muscles are shaking against the load weighing down on my shoulders. "To the window."

"What about you?" the guy asks.

"I'll be fine," I assure him, even though I'm not so sure about that myself. "Just go!"

The students do as they ask, turning and running for the window. The dorm continues to make creaks and groans like a house settling in the middle of the night. I struggle against the beams which fell on top of me. I'm worried that if I let them go, the whole roof will come crashing down. On the other hand, if I don't get out from under this thing, I'm going to be trapped inside this building anyway. So I decide to throw caution to the wind and make a break for it. With one last heave, I lift the beams off my shoulders. I hear the ceiling above me begin to collapse as I sprint for the window. Behind me, the building starts to fall apart like a Jenga tower. I keep my eyes on the prize.

Five strides left.

A sudden rush of heat nearly knocks me sideways.

Four strides left.

The floor begins to cave, the hardwood softened like butter by the heat.

Three.

I hear the crashing growing closer.

Two.

The window is just ahead of me now.

One.

I leap moments before the ceiling comes tumbling down. I narrowly squeeze through the open window, easily clearing the crowd and landing in the middle of the quad. I stand up for a moment and turn back to the dormitory. The fourth floor collapses down onto the third floor. Had I been a step slower, I might've been caught in that. I look down and see the crowd starting to approach me. They want answers about the man who jumped into a burning building, rescued six people, and then jumped back out. Well, those aren't answers I'm prepared to give. I leap into the air, bounding away from the scene. Once I've put enough distance between myself and the nearest onlooker, I circle back around and retrieve my backpack by the tree where I left it.

The rest of the walk back to Emerson Hall, despite smelling strongly of smoke, I'm smiling.[/hider]

“It’s a little tight, don’t you think?” I ask as I pinch uncomfortably at the kelly green fabric.

“Precisely the point,” Giuseppe assures me. He’s a soft-spoken, older Italian gentleman. His hair has all but turned white, and he wears a pair of thin, rectangular glasses. The arch in his back causes him to appear even shorter than his frail frame would suggest. “You wouldn’t want it getting snagged on anything, would you?” he asks. “Besides, this way you can wear it under your clothes, and no one will be the wiser.”

I frown. I suppose he’s right. You don’t exactly see Icon zooming around in a hoodie and parachute pants. Although I can’t imagine that the cape serves any practical purpose. I mean, imagine if it got stuck in a revolving door or sucked into a jet turbine or something…

Okay, wow. This is probably super confusing, huh? I should start over.

My name is Sean Joseph Abbott. I’m eighteen years old. I’m the younger of two children in my family. I grew up in Carver, and I currently attend Lost Haven University. I have a new girlfriend, Mary Elizabeth Robinson, whom I’m quite fond of. I work part-time at Tons of Buns in the Duncan Commons student center. I have no idea what I want to major in or what I want to do after college. Up until about a month and a half ago, I was – by any definition – “normal.”

Fate, it seems, had different plans for me.

If you’re going to understand my story, you need to know about Gene.Co. They’re a prestigious scientific firm based in Lost Haven, specializing in any number of fields from quantum physics to robotics to genetic engineering. Last year, their CEO – a real slimeball named Nelson Rivers – announced a new initiative to produce a line of DNA Recombinant serums. Ostensibly, these serums were designed for military and law enforcement applications. Depending on whom you ask, Gene.Co planned to sell the serums under the table to the highest bidder.

So, how does this all relate to me? Well, one of Gene.Co’s scientists realized what his company planned to do with their metahuman serums, and he stole a prototype. That’s when he ran into me at Central Station. Literally. In all the confusion, the scientist slipped the serum into my backpack before hopping on the first train out of town. I discovered all this later when, upon opening my backpack, I cut myself on a shard of broken glass. The serum mixed with my blood and produced a number of changes to my genetic code.

I woke up the next day to find that the cut on my hand had healed practically overnight. If only that were the end of the strangeness. I was also faster and stronger than ever before. I could produce yellowish bursts of energy from my palms. My hands and feet were sticking to everything. Perhaps most disturbingly, I found that I could extend and retract segmented plates of exoskeletal armor over my entire body. The exoskeleton also produced a color changing pigment which allowed me to blend into my surroundings to an extent.

Needless to say, I freaked out. The first order of business was to learn how to control these new powers so that I could avoid any public “outbursts.” The second order of business was to talk to someone way more qualified to deal with this situation than I was. For that, I turned to Google. A few minutes of searching brought me to Dr. Milton Reed, a biologist specializing in the study of the metahuman phenomenon. He’s the one who told me about Gene.Co. I asked Dr. Reed to develop an antiserum, to which he reluctantly agreed but not before urging me to consider the “opportunity” I had been given.

Opportunity? What a joke. Through no fault of my own, I had been turned into some weird half human, half insect hybrid. My normal life had been turned on its head overnight. If my friends and family ever found out about this, they would never look at me the same way again. I just wanted things to go back to the way they were. I wanted to return to the days where a chemistry exam was my biggest concern in the world.

Of course, it’s never that simple, is it? In spite of myself, I did start to think about the opportunity I had been given. My mind was already changing when someone close to me got hurt. Colleen Frank, my chemistry partner, was mugged walking home to her dorm one night after meeting with me to discuss our class project. If I had been there, I could’ve protected her from that mugger with ease. The incident made me think about all the people I could protect, friends and strangers alike. After all, folks like the aforementioned Icon had abilities, too, and they were out there using those abilities to make the world a better place. Who was I to put myself before the needs of the world?

Dr. Reed was thrilled when I told him that I had made my decision, and he referred me to Giuseppe, a tailor he knew who specialized in being… discreet. And that’s how I got here.

“Say, Giuseppe,” I begin curiously, “you don’t take commission from super-criminals, do you?”

“Not for anything less than double price,” he answers in a tone so straight that I honestly can’t tell if he’s pulling my leg or not. “The fabric on the hands and feet is thin enough not to interfere with your adhesion abilities, and your exoskeletal plates should be able to pass through the seams with ease.”

To test this, I close my eyes and concentrate, calling forth the segmented brown plates from under my skin. It has taken no small amount of practice, but I’ve gotten a lot better at extending and retracting my armor. The transformation is almost instantaneous now. Sure enough, the exoskeletal plates slide right over top of the spandex as if it wasn’t even there. With a thought, I retract the armor, and the hardened browns are replaced once more with vibrant greens.

Giuseppe hands me the mask, saying, “I think the colors really fit the insect motif.”

I slide the mask over my face. It settles into place snugly. The rounded yellow lenses do make me look a lot more bug-like.

“Have you given any thought to the name?” Giuseppe asks me.

Underneath the mask, I smirk.

[img=http://i166.photobucket.com/albums/u118/EBJ05/MicroHeroes/Mantis.png]