[centre][b][h2][color=f7976a]Michelle Diggby, 27[/color][/h2]
Pathokinetic / Washington DC[/b][/centre]

Michelle stared through the spreadsheet, her eyes unfocused on something far beyond the monitor. Maths was so dull and computers were dull, the two combined? Painfully so. She squeezed her eyelids tight shut, trying to summon forth the energy and concentration to unfuck the formula that put the departments costings at 19.436 quintillion dollars. She opened her eyes slowly, hoping the answer would reveal itself, but no such luck. She leaned back in her chair and looked around for inspiration, or a co-worker she could coarse into helping her. The office was quiet, not unusual for the time of day, and only a few people right across the room were still at their desks. No help. Michelle suppressed her desire to loudly vocalise her boredom and instead breathed deeply and studied her desk. It was a mess, paper work everywhere, desk tidy empty (because all her stationary was exactly where she needed it) and a stripey bobble hat covering the unnecessary number keys on the end of her keyboard. 

A pencil leaned over the edge of the desk, threatening to fall off that particularly captured Michelle's attention. She wanted it to roll back. The pencil wiggled. Michelle tried to envision the pencil just gently rolling, and pencil wiggled harder, desperately trying to over come its hexagonal edges. [color=f7976a]"C'mon, almost there..."[/color] Michelle whispered, attempting to motivate the inanimate object. The pencil vibrated violently for a pencil but before completing a single rotation, dived undramatically off the desk. Michelle wasn't working anymore, it was time to go home. She unceremoniously swiped the paper work into the locking draw and picked up her hat, scarf and coat, leaving the pencil where it belonged. Michelle buzzed herself out and wished Gordon good night and best of luck to the Titans whom he watched religiously.

It was freezing outside, but the cold air didn't bother her nearly as much as the pencil did. When she was younger she could have made that pencil dance, she could have composed a strongly worded letter to the governor with it and only her mind, she could have maimed someone significantly with it at 50 paces. She wished she could be merely irritated, its not like she used her powers for anything important anymore, but it was honestly depressing, a craft she'd honed for years was gone. She was practically powerless these days, an unsuper Super, with all the risk and none of the reward. Michelle stewed, cross and bitter, in her Fiat 500 the rest of the way home.

Michelle barged into the flat, tossing her keys at the hook and her coat at its hook (with much more success) [color=f7976a]"There better be something good on telly, I'm not watching any more reruns of Big Bang Theory!"[/color] Michelle shouted from the hallway. When she'd finally finished disrobing her winter gear she kicked in the living room door.

[color=6ecff6]“-mber thirtieth. Today is a wonderful day, but also a turn of history. It is with my pleasure to announce the conception of the Ray.”[/color]