Pathokinesis
If there’s one thing Imogen hated, it was people.
Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. If it were, she wouldn’t be in the superhero biz. That said, whoever came up with the saying ‘hell is other people’ definitely would have been Imogen’s best friend. Assuming she could make friends, of course.
To be fair, not many people could walk around and hear every single thought anyone and everyone had about them, with very little filter. It really put a kibosh on any attempts to socialize like a regular person. Unfortunately, that wasn’t a claim Imogen could make.
Here’s the thing about being a superhuman: no matter how many times you save people’s lives, they’ll always find something to hate or fear about you. They’ll always look at you as different, as a freak. That was why Imogen had kept her civilian identity despite her mother having abandoned her at 4, having run away from her father at 13, and having no friends who’d need protecting from the enemies Dreamcatcher picked up along the way. Sometimes, she needed a means of blending in, of stepping away from the fear and just being normal for a while, even if she was still a freak deep down.
Then it reached the point where Imogen Temult, not just Dreamcatcher, had lurked around Gelvaan for long enough to weird out pretty much everybody, which meant she didn’t even have that anymore.
Maybe her mother had experienced this, too. Maybe that’s why she left. Imogen remembered enough about her to know that she had the same powers Imogen had inherited. Maybe she got tired of being continuously without peace, without acceptance. Maybe that was why she’d abandoned Imogen all those years ago.
There were enough maybes in Imogen’s past to occupy a philosopher for the rest of their life. And not just any philosopher; a Greek one.
There’d been only one maybe that she’d decided to act on, though: maybe Imogen should follow in her mother’s footsteps and leave.
So she did.
Here’s another one: maybe it was a bad idea and Gelvaan would turn out to have needed her help. But the longer she stayed, the more she overheard, and the less reasons she could think of for it to be her that served as the help it needed.
Which was how she ended up here, in a dinky old apartment on the outskirts of Jrusar, famously a hotbed for supervillain activity. Because sometimes, she just needed something or someone to beat up.
The more she examined what would be her new home, the more she was starting to realize that she may have gotten fleeced. The tables barely stood in their own, the bed was lumpy and had several springs sticking out, the shower had a patch of mold growing on the ceiling, and the lock absolutely refused to properly close.
That was one more maybe for the pile: maybe this was a bad idea.
Little late to go back now. But maybe she was being too harsh. For all Imogen knew, those could actually be decorative stuffed cockroaches.
Given that the couch looked as if it would collapse in a brisk wind and the bed looked borderline lethal with all those pointy bits sticking out, Imogen had nowhere to collapse onto face-first in frustration, which ruined her plans for the day. So she spent the first hour after arrival arranging every single blanket she owned on the floor in order to complete her to-do list.
There were a lot of things in her life that would greatly improve if she just couldn’t see them.
Imogen resolved to find another, less shitty apartment elsewhere in the city whenever she got the chance, as her face lay buried in the blankets. Ideally one in a less populated building, because she could already hear the incredibly loud and extremely uncomfortable thoughts of the couple in the next room over, who Imogen could only assume had recently abandoned decades-long vows of chastity based on how absurdly horny they were.
Her life had never been particularly great, but she was struggling to remember when it had gotten this fucking horrible.
Desperate to get some space for herself, Imogen climbed to her feet, checking that the door was as locked as it could be before pulling on her costume and mask, which consisted of a flowing white, gray, and lavender robe over a tight pair of jeans and a black corset, complete with a lightning bolt design woven into the neckline and a full-sized black face mask that left an opening for her hair. It was far from the fanciest-looking costume, but unlike Batman or Superman, she didn’t have an entire Fortune 500 company or a fancy alien base in the Arctic to make her something nicer. All she had was a wardrobe and some basic level sewing skills she’d picked up off YouTube.
Flying was a unique experience that Imogen doubted she’d ever be able to describe to anyone (not that she had anyone to describe it to in the first place). The first time she’d managed it, she almost hyperventilated, having grown up with a fear of heights, but when an angry restaurant owner gets so upset at a dumpster diver that he pushes her off a cliff, it’s better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Nowadays, it was her almost her favorite thing to do, second only to beating up perverts who thought inappropriate things about her. Which, much to her chagrin, was a very common occurrence.
She was finally enjoying herself for the first time since arriving in the city. Which meant, naturally, that something had to go wrong.
It began with the faint sound of an explosion, which Imogen felt was safe to assume wasn’t typical of Jrusar. It was followed a moment later by a bright flash of light, then a burst of fire. Several flaming bolts shot off in different directions, one of which Imogen just barely managed to dodge before it Pompeii-ed her.
The next thing that stood out was loud shouting, which was accompanied by the cracking of fists against flesh. A loud whoosh sounded, followed by more yelling and several stray blasts of black energy of some sort arcing off in different directions, and by that point it really only made sense for Imogen to investigate.
Finally, something to punch.
The first thing she noticed was the heat, because even though she was from Louisiana, the third hottest state in the US, it still felt like taking a walk across the sun. Waves of heat washed across the pavement to a steady beat, like the world’s worst DJ, and at their center was a massive nine-foot-tall-at-least man with an incredibly pissed off expression on his face. His skin was a deep red, like he’d been bitten by a radioactive bottle of ketchup, and all across his arms and torso were a series of cracks that glowed like lava. He wore nothing but a pair of torn-up black jeans (which was just as well, because Imogen was not prepared for full-frontal nudity today). His black hair was cropped so short it was practically a buzz cut, and loosely dangling over his shoulder were the remains of a military sash, a single medal clinging on for dear life.
The second thing she noticed were the people scattered across the ground.
There were five at first glance, if you counted the weird humanoid wolf-thing, all surrounded by miniature craters, which had presumably sprouted from them all being thrown against the pavement with extreme force.
There was the aforementioned humanoid wolf-thing, a messy and blood-stained coat of white and gray fur covering its body, along with a pair of purple tracksuit pants and a single leather cuff around its right wrist.
There was a shorter man, a much more structured and padded verdant jumpsuit covering his body, with a broken and battered Captain America-style helmet over a head of brown hair, a pair of piercing green eyes, and an extremely fancy and surprisingly pristine-looking sword buried in the pavement next to him.
There was a taller man, hair dyed a deep purple, with absolutely nothing covering a very prominent set of abs and a simple pair of torn-up-in-a-hipster-way blue jeans around his waist. He had a small chain necklace with a nickel-sized pin attached to it, displaying four stripes across it, composed of one yellow, one white, one purple, and one black stripe. Starting on his left shoulder and stretching down his arm, his waist, and all the way up his neck to his temple, were a painful-looking series of scars, the upper ends curling around his clouded left eye.
There was a woman who was likely regretting dressing so lightly, with a long, wavy set of minty-green hair tousled and dotted with soot and debris. She wore a flowy long-sleeved crop top, the color of kiwi, with loose, open sleeves like an 80s rock star, and a neckline so low she was one wrong move from being arrested for indecent exposure, and her face was covered by a white mask that hid her eyes, nose, and mouth before looping around her ears. A long skirt hung from her hips, made of a series of white, green, and teal streamers like a hula skirt, and around her waist was a leather belt with a gold emblem of a flame over the buckle.
And the last person… well, she was something else.
She was tall and slender, pale skin the color of the sky on a rainy day, with long, spindly arms and legs, her long and jagged fingers resembling a once-beloved toy that had been forgotten in a box in the back of an attic for years. She had deep, dark eyes, like two little black holes, and long, obsidian-colored hair with a single shock of white woven into it like a star dancing solitary across the night sky. She wore a flowing robe-like garment, dark like her, with sheer streamers drifting from her shoulders and starry designs dotted across the fabric. Her palms were wrapped in dark leather, and her neck was adorned with a beautiful choker that was capped off by a metal tag with a pentagram etched into it.
Historically, Imogen had never been able to function around attractive people. Today was no exception.
When her eyes landed on the woman, Imogen’s entire brain momentarily stalled, like a car having trouble switching gears. She stopped where she was, hovering several dozen feet above the battle, which was enough for the massive volcano of a man to notice her.
“Another one,” he growled, his voice crackling like flame. “You’re like rats in this city. Always finding your way into places you don’t belong.”
He reached out a tree-trunk-sized arm, slamming his palm into the ground and digging his fingers into the pavement. He tore out a chunk of the street before lobbing it at Imogen.
Luckily for her, Imogen had had large chunks of debris thrown her way before (god, what the fuck was her life that she could so casually make a claim like that?), so her instincts took over as she reached out her hand. Her eyes flared with violet light, and the debris immediately froze in midair. Imogen then flicked a finger, and it reversed course, slamming into the man’s chest and sending him crashing to the ground.
“Y’ like rats so much, let’s dig you a hole deep enough so y’ can meet ‘em,” Imogen called down to him. “That way, us up here won’t hafta look at that fuckin’ face a’ yours no more.”
The man growled as he climbed his way out of the crater he’d made. “Show some goddamn respect, pipsqueak,” he warned. “You don’t know shit about me.”
“She clearly knows enough to recognize what a fucking loser you are, Ratanish!”
Out of the corner of her eye, Imogen spied the shirtless man stumbling to his feet. He brushed himself off, then leapt at the flaming man, Ratanish, slamming into his side and sending both of them flying.
As the smashing of fists echoed down the street, Imogen floated down next to the other heroes, all digging themselves out of their craters.
“Thanks for the assist,” the green man said, brushing off his sword. “Eruption’s been a thorn in our side for a while now. Most of us don’t have many abilities that are effective against his particular brand of crazy.”
“…uh, right. Yeah, no problem, glad I could help.”
Imogen had once been told that she had the social skills of an avalanche. Never had it been truer than now.
With a roar, the shirtless man was roughly thrown back towards the group. The green man leapt into the air, trying to dodge, but just like she had a moment ago, Imogen’s muscle memory kicked in, and she caught him barely five feet before slamming into them.
“God, I hate this fucker,” the man muttered as he drifted to the ground.
With a roar, the flaming man, Eruption, leapt into the air, sailing towards them like a comet. Imogen once again reacted, trying to catch him in midair, but a split-second distraction of glancing over towards the shadowy woman caused her to act just a moment too late, and Eruption crashed into the ground. Imogen’s vision went white, and her entire body was consumed in burning pain as her form flew through the air like a ragdoll
But she never hit the ground.
Instead, she felt a strange, almost chilling sensation that seemed to radiate from her waist, and it took a moment for her to process the fact that something had wrapped around her and caught her in midair. It definitely wasn’t a person, and it definitely wasn’t kindly, but it still managed to stop Imogen’s tumble through the air before setting her down gently onto the ground.
Imogen stumbled for a moment, trying to regain her bearings, and as her senses returned to her, she observed a tentacle made of an inky blackness hovering in front of her. It was immediately accompanied by a strange string of thoughts floating through the air around Imogen, a string that danced and twirled and chimed like a hummingbird. It was ethereal. It was angelic. It was exquisite. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful sound Imogen had ever heard.
It was the most conflicted Imogen had ever felt. She wanted to sigh and lose herself in the music, while at the same time scream and run away from the strange and unsettling eldritch tentacle.
… hope she’s alright. Did I catch her in time? Oh, I was too distracted with everyone else, wasn’t I? Come on, Laudna! That’s no way to make a first impression!
It startled Imogen somewhat when the string momentarily coalesced into a singsong voice, with a strong British accent and a charmingly distinguished syntax.
“Are you all right?” the voice called out, aloud this time, and Imogen’s head swiveled around until her gaze settled on the hauntingly beautiful shadow woman she’d seen earlier, a few yards away and running towards her with worry written on her face.
Before Imogen could answer, she saw another chunk of pavement hurtling towards her out of the corner of her eye, and she swiped her hand through the air, diverting its course enough that it smashed into a car across the road.
“… I’ll take that as a yes, then,” the woman said, astonished. “You’re quite capable with those powers of yours, aren’t you?”
In that moment, Imogen was thankful that she’d included a full-cover mask in her costume, because she felt her cheeks immediately begin to burn hotter than that Eruption asshole lobbing the pavement left and right.
One day, she’d learn how to handle being complemented by cute people. One day.
The exchange was once again interrupted by a slab of pavement frisbeeing through the air, barely missing Imogen’s head as she ducked out of the way and probably shaving off an inch or two of her hair. She was definitely going to get this jackass back for that.
Imogen began sprinting forward before leaping into the air and taking off, arcing over Eruption as fast as she could manage and shooting up into the sky. With a better vantage point, she glanced around, scanning the city before her eyes landed on the perfect solution to her problem.
“Get back here, bitch! I ain’t done with you yet!” Eruption screamed from below. His voice was followed by a loud THOOM, with a stern and painful grip wrapping around Imogen’s ankle following closely after, wringing a pained yell from Imogen’s throat.
Despite her ankle, Imogen gritted her teeth, determined to stick with her plan. She glanced down at him, then began spinning in circles faster and faster, his grip still locked on Imogen.
“If y’ say so,” she spat back.
At that moment, Imogen kicked her other foot forward, slamming the sole of her shoe into Eruption’s face. It wouldn’t have worked if it weren’t for the flare of telekinesis she channeled down her leg, slamming him directly in the face and sending him flying.
…right into the Jrusar public park, where he fell headfirst into the lake.
“Serves you right, fucker,” Imogen muttered.
She then dove forward, swooping over the rooftops and landing on the docks. She could see a pillar of steam drifting off the surface of the water, but no sign of Eruption.
Where y’ at, asshole? she projected.
All she received in return was a faint sound of static. Eruption was alive, but unconscious, probably drowning.
Being a superhero was so annoying sometimes.
With a frustrated sigh, Imogen reached out her hand, locking her thoughts onto a familiar humanoid form sinking towards the lakebed, then jerked her arm back, yanking him out of the water and carrying him over to where she stood, unceremoniously dropping him onto the ground.
“An’ stay down,” she said, giving his head a light kick.
She glanced around, then reached out, lifting a rope into the air before snaking it around both his ankles and looping them around into tight knots. She then lifted the other end up as well, wrapping it around the branch of a small but sturdy tree that hung over the water, leaving Eruption’s unconscious form dangling over the lake.
“Not a bad idea.”
For, like, the five hundredth time that day, Imogen jumped at the sound of a voice behind her, and she spun around to see the group of superheroes approaching her, the green man in the lead.
“Normal material is too weak to hold him, but if he tries to escape this one, he’ll fall in the water and pass out again,” he nodded. “Very resourceful of you. Thank you, by the way, for the assist.”
“Uh… yeah, no problem,” Imogen stammered, caught very much off guard. “Was in th’ area, an’, y’know, why not?”
The green man marched right up in front of her and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “You can call me The Green Knight. And this right here is Bell’s Hells.”
Imogen tilted her head in confusion. “Bell’s Hells?”
“Long story.”
“I’m Inferno,” the green-haired woman announced as she stepped forward, a grin stretched across her face. "It’s very nice to meet you.”
As she spoke, she leaned forward slightly, giving Imogen an extremely clear and very obviously intentional view straight down her shirt.
“Uh,” Imogen said.
The Green Knight reached over to place a hand on her forearm. “Maybe take it down a few notches, yeah?” he said. “We just met her. Give her some breathing room.”
The woman, Inferno, formed an extremely prominent pout. “Awwwww.”
He just rolled his eyes. “And anyway, that’s Alpha,” he pointed at the wolf-man, “and Singularity,” he pointed at the shirtless man, “and that’s—”
“I’m Revenant,” the shadowy woman said enthusiastically, an excited expression on her face. “It’s really nice to meet you… uh, miss…”
It took a moment for Imogen to register that she was being asked to introduce herself. It took another minute (or three, but who’s counting?) for her to remember what her name was.
“D—Dream,” she stammered. “Uh, that is… Dreamcatcher. Nice t’… meet y’all?”
I’m sure it is, the shirtless man, Singularity, thought as he tried to hide a grin spreading across his face.
Imogen turned to look directly at him, her eyes locking with his.
An’ you as well, she sent back to him.
He startled somewhat, but his smirk reformed almost immediately, even wider this time. Imogen ripped her gaze away from him in order to keep from rolling her eyes.
“Nice to meet you, Dreamcatcher,” Revenant said happily. “Always happy to have another hero in Jrusar! I hope we’ll be working together a lot in the future.”
Working together?
As in, with other people? Like, talking and interacting and… god forbid… socializing?
No, no, no. Absolutely not. Other people were not something Imogen involved herself with. That never ended well. How long would it be until they learned she could hear their every thought? How long until they hated her for breaking their privacy? For learning their every secret? How long until they learned that there was no hiding anything from her?
“I, uh, actually… I usually work better alone…?” she said, unsure why she was posing it as a question. “It’s… well, it’s a long story, kinda difficult t’ explain… I jus’ mean… it’s better, if I’m on my own.”
The Green Knight tilted his head in interest. “Really? Things seemed to be going pretty well a minute ago.”
“It’s jus’ better, alright?” she insisted. “It jus’ is.”
She blinked suddenly, realizing how hostile that comment had sounded. She swallowed nervously, then leapt into the air, shooting off through the sky and away from having to answer questions.
This was not a good idea.
Maybe this was a good idea.
Mostly.
Bartending sucked, especially when you have to listen to every fifth customer fantasizing in detail about how they’d like to pin you to the wall and lick your collarbone. It had gotten so bad during happy hour that Imogen had retreated to the bathroom for almost fifteen minutes in order to ride out an extremely intense dry heaving episode.
She didn’t think it was possible, but when she took to the air a half hour after she clocked out, the feeling of freedom had somehow gotten even stronger. It was as if it flowed through her every vein, like it wasn’t just a part of her, it was her.
It nearly made it all worth it. Nearly.
There were no words to describe how elated she felt when the sound of an alarm rang through the city like a wine glass struck with a utensil. She twirled through the air before diving towards the sound, the wind whistling in her ears and gusting through her hair.
It was a bank robbery, as it turned out. A classic. Something quick and easy, something Imogen could let loose on a little bit, channel some of this building anger at someone who actually deserved it.
It wasn’t the usual run-of-the-mill bank robber. No, apparently this robbery was being performed by a weird little man in a mini-mech. His body was wreathed in technology like the world’s lowest-budget Pacific Rim sequel, and attached to each forearm was a machine gun, each firing wildly into a blockade of police cars.
“YOU GONNA REMEMBER THIS DAY, MOTHERFUCKERS!” he screamed. “NAME’S TANVIR THE RAKE, YOU GOT THAT? YOU BETTER FUCKING REMEMBER IT, OR I’LL FIND AND KILL EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU IN THE SLOWEST FUCKING WAY I CAN!”
“Geez, dude, calm th’ fuck down.”
Channeling her best Neo impression, Imogen swooped down towards the street and landed directly in shooting range. She skid a few inches from the force of her descent, then threw her hand up, sending out a wave of telepathic power. The bullets began to slow in midair before crawling to a complete stop, tumbling to the ground like raindrops a moment later.
Damn, The Matrix made that shit look easy.
The crazy guy, Tanvir ‘The Rake’ (what kinda shitty supervillain name was that, anyway?) stared at her in horror, his machine guns whirring to a halt as he froze in fear.
“You!” he gasped. “The Dreamcatcher! He warned me about you!”
…what?
With a yell, Tanvir lurched forward as his guns once again began firing wildly at her. Imogen took off running to the left, her palm still held protectively in front of her as bullets dropped to the ground around her and whizzed over her head.
“Y’know my powers, then y’ should know by now that this whole Punisher thing y’ got goin’ on ain’t workin’!” she called over to him.
“STAY AWAY FROM ME!” he screamed. “I’m not going back to those freaks, you hear me? I’d rather DIE!”
“Wha--?”
Before Imogen could finish her question, the sound of a bullet ricocheting off metal rung loudly through the air, followed by a loud explosion as one of the police cars blew up and sent the officers flying in every direction. Imogen was hit from behind by the blast, knocking her off her feet and sending her plummeting to the pavement.
“LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU HEAR ME?” Tanvir screamed, his voice somewhat muffled to Imogen’s ears in her current breathless state. “I JUST WANTED TO MAKE A NAME FOR MYSELF! I NEVER WANTED THIS INSANE BULLSHIT!”
Distantly, Imogen heard Tanvir’s loud, metallic footsteps quickly approaching her. She managed to turn her head enough to observe him charging at her, his gun aimed directly for her, and she tried to throw up her hand in order to deflect his fire, but she wasn’t fast enough.
It was an odd thing, watching your own death approach you. She expected her life to flash before her eyes, but instead, it was as if the world slowed to a crawl, and the only thing flashing was the muzzle of the gun as it launched a volley at her. She could see the bullets shooting towards her, spinning through the air like miniature drills.
Then she glanced down as she saw the shadow cast by her hair begin to shift unnaturally, before it suddenly peeled away from the pavement and shot upwards. The bullets glanced off the strange, rubbery, inky surface, clattering harmlessly to the ground.
“What the—” Tanvir began.
He never finished his sentence, because before he could, his own shadow reached up out of the pavement and wrapped its arms around his shoulders. It yanked roughly, and his legs went tumbling out from beneath him, sending him crashing to the ground.
As Imogen was processing what was happening in front of her, she felt a hand gently settle on her shoulder. Instinctively, Imogen reached up to try to bat it away, but a second hand landed on her wrist calmingly, a clear gesture of reassurance.
“It’s okay,” said a familiar voice. “I’ve got you.”
It was immediately joined by another familiar sound: the gentle ringing of thoughts drifting through the air like the scent of flowers.
Dazed, Imogen shifted her head, looking upwards to lock eyes on a familiar shadow-clad woman with smooth, silky skin and a dazzling smile. She knelt beside Imogen’s collapsed form, cordially holding out a hand for her to take.
“He’s restrained,” she assured Imogen. “No need to worry, just take it slow, okay? Come on, I’ll help you up.”
Imogen’s hand clasped the woman, Revenant’s, hand, who softly pulled her to her feet. Imogen stumbled a bit, still trying to regain her equilibrium, but Revenant’s hand on her shoulder kept her stable enough to keep from falling back down.
“You alright?” Revenant asked cautiously, leaning a little closer to examine Imogen’s masked face. “Explosions knock the wind right out of you, trust me. It’ll take a second for you to stabilize, but it’ll be fine. I got you.”
“…right.”
Imogen nodded, breathing slowly to get her lungs back under control. That tactic immediately failed her as she looked up to meet Revenant’s eyes, and her breath escaped her completely as she felt herself being sucked in like a whirlpool.
One day, she’d learn how to function around attractive people. Today was not that day.
“That idiot’s down for the count, so let’s get you out of here,” Revenant said. “Brace yourself, this can be a little jarring for some people.”
“Huh?”
Before Revenant could respond, the shadows scattered across the ground around them began to rise up and cover the both of them like the world’s creepiest blanket. Imogen’s view went black, and her stomach lurched suddenly, like she was in an elevator, then her entire body began to tingle uncontrollably. She tried to reach up to brush her face, but her body didn’t respond to her commands, seemingly frozen in place.
Then the tingling feeling gave way to a cool rush of air, her view cleared up, and her body began responding again. As she looked around, she found that the two of them stood atop an extremely fancy-looking tower of steel and glass: Eshteross inc. HQ, the tallest building in Jrusar.
“I hope you aren’t afraid of heights,” Revenant blurted out, suddenly seeming quite nervous. “You can fly, so I figured you were alright, I just wanted to bring you to my favorite spot so you could relax a bit. You took quite a hit.”
Imogen blinked, trying to process the absolute blur that was the last sixty seconds. With a jolt, she realized that she had a death grip on the other woman’s hand, and she awkwardly jerked it away, sending a quick flash of disappointment across Revenant’s face.
“Sorry,” she said nervously. “I didn’t— I mean, I was— you weren’t looking good, so I just thought—”
“You’re… no, no, you’re okay,” Imogen mumbled in return. “Sorry, jus’… jus’ gettin’ my bearin’s here.”
“Oh, of course! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…”
“You’re fine, I promise.”
Imogen couldn’t really help the grin that spread across her face at how much Revenant was fussing over her. If she didn’t find her cute before, she definitely did now.
With a deep sigh, Imogen sat down, dangling her legs over the side of the rooftop. “Good view,” she said. “I see why y’ like it here.”
Revenant hesitated before taking a seat next to her. “You can see almost the entire city from here,” she said. “It’s beautiful. All those people, all those stories… there’s so many yet to be told. It’s indescribable.”
Imogen once again thanked herself for incorporating a mask into her costume, because she could feel a heat spreading across her face at the breathless means in which the other woman spoke, as if she were bearing her soul.
“Thank you,” Imogen blurted out. “I don’ think I said that yet. Y’ saved my life, an’ I can’t find th’ words t’ express how grateful I am.”
“Oh, of course!” Revenant responded. “Anything for a fellow cape, you know? And a friend, of course.”
…friend. Right.
“Glad y’ were in th’ area, t’ be honest,” Imogen said. “Thought that guy was jus’ some street thug, but shit went downhill real fast back there.”
“Jrusar is like that,” Revenant replied. “It breaks your expectations. And to be honest… I may have been trying to keep an eye on you?”
Imogen felt her heart skip a beat at that.
“Whaddya mean?” she asked, desperately trying to hold back a voice crack.
“Jrusar is… well, it’s not always safe for heroes like us to be wandering around solo,” Revenant explained. “That’s how we ended up forming the Hells. We gotta have each other’s backs, you know?”
“You tryin’ t’ recruit me again?” Imogen asked, a smirk hidden behind her mask.
Revenant laughed awkwardly. “Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But honestly, I really am just worried about your safety. You seem nice, you don’t deserve what Tanvir was trying to do there.”
“Y’ barely know me.”
She smiled. “I’m usually a pretty good judge of character.”
Imogen chuckled, then gave a small sigh, looking down at her feet. “Other people ain’t real easy for me,” she admitted. “Y’ saw my telekinesis, but I’m also a telepath, an’ I can’t fully shut it off. I end up overhearin’ stuff a lot, stuff people don’ usually want known. It’s been… well, it’s ruined some relationships in th’ past, so…”
She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder, and turned to see Revenant looking at her, a gentle smile on her face. “I’m sorry people can’t see past that,” she said. “But us, the Hells? We’re all weirdos, we’ve all got something other people find uncomfortable. Us freaks gotta stick together, you know?”
“You callin’ me a freak?”
“Only in the nicest sense. Nobody ever changed the world by being normal.”
Imogen swallowed nervously, leaning back to look up into the sky. “I dunno,” she said. “It’s still… people in general are a little intimidatin’ t’ me. Guess I’m jus’ nervous how y’all will react t’ th’ real me.”
“We’ll show you our real selves as well,” Revenant said simply. “We all love each other no matter what we have going on. And I guarantee, you’ll fit right in.”
Imogen hesitated, the prospect of being around others even more sending worries running through her thoughts.
Revenant’ll be there, she assured herself. Y’ came here for a fresh start. Y’ don’ have any friends already, so if this goes wrong, it’s not like you’ll be any worse off than y’ are now.
“… alright,” she finally said. “I’ll give it a shot.”
Revenant immediately perked up at that, hope filling her eyes. “You mean it?”
“Yeah. I’ll try it out.”
With a smile (that Revenant couldn’t even see, shit!), Imogen held out her hand.
“Y’ can call me Imogen,” she said. “Imogen Temult.”
Revenant smiled back, taking Imogen’s hand and giving it a shake.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Imogen Temult,” she said. “My name is Laudna.”