Chum

"Well, you're not dead, which is a lot better, historically, than I think most things that got into a fight with a T-Rex can say," the paramedic, a dark-skinned woman with colorful dreadlocks tied back, says to me with a smile. "You sure you won't need a cast? Your, um… All your bones in your right foot are kind of… not in one piece anymore?"

Her hands, gloved and professional, gingerly press against my foot, making me wince. Sharp lines of pain dash up my spine. "Oh, no, not true! Your tarsals seem to be in good shape. Your metatarsals… well, those are the big question. If you were anyone else, I'd say you're never using this foot again."

I sit in the back of the ambulance, feet dangling off the edge, thermal blanket wrapped over my shoulders like a shawl, although my clothes are still soaking wet.

The paramedic continues to probe my foot, her expression a mix of disbelief and concern. "You're certain you can regenerate? You said it felt like this got ground into dust, but there's definitely identifiable bones there, and they're in the right place - just broken."

I nod. "Yes, it's one of my abilities. But it takes a bit of time and energy," I explain, feeling the uncomfortable, unfamiliar domino mask across my eyes. My actual mask sits to my side, with this one mostly for preserving my superhero modesty as a crowd gathers to assess the damage.

Bulwark leans forward, his gaze heavy on my injuries, totally ignoring his own. Even though I'm the one that can regenerate! How is that fair? "Is there something I can do? How can I assist?"

The paramedic looks up at him, considering. "Could you check with any of the neighbors? See if they can lend us some dry clothes for her? Hypothermia can be a serious concern."

"I will see to it," Bulwark says and strides off, each step more like a miniature march, as if his body can only express gravitas.

I watch him walk away, then turn back to the paramedic. She starts rummaging through her bag, pulling out what looks like a blood pressure monitor and a pulse oximeter. "We need to get your vitals. Your core temperature's a little low, and these wet clothes aren't doing you any favors."

She wraps the cuff around my arm, and begins to do that little dance of blood pressure. The part I always hate, where it squeezes so hard it hurts for a second, before it lets go.

"Systolic's a bit high. We're going to start you on some painkillers," she announces, fishing out a small vial and a syringe. "Your oxygen levels look decent, though. Considering the circumstances, that's a miracle. Just a little bit of ketamine to take the edge off."

I don't shy away from the injection, although she chuckles a little when she sees the face I make at the word 'ketamine'. After she injects me, right in the thigh, she scribbles some notes on her clipboard. "We're looking at multiple fractures and breaks in your right foot, some internal bleeding in your abdomen, and likely a concussion from being thrown around like that. Your scalp shows signs of traction alopecia, though it's not severe. You're going to need to get to a hospital for scans and probably surgery for that foot. No concussion, thankfully."

"Yeah, got punched pretty hard in the gut."

She places a stethoscope on my abdomen, listening intently. "You might have some internal bruising. You'll need an X-ray, ultrasound—something to make sure you haven't ruptured anything." She moves it up to my chest. I try not to blush. "Lungs sound good, though. I don't hear anything out of the ordinary."

My insides churn at the thought of having burst something just from being struck hard enough. Is that even possible? "Uh, okay, got it," I murmur, as she goes back to examining my bad foot, the whole… appendage(?) having turned an ugly shade of plum purple and red.

"And this foot… I'm feeling some strange lumps, or maybe spurs, under the skin. They might be bone fragments." She continues to palpate my foot with an increasing frown. "Regeneration or not, we should get this looked at. Especially if the bones are trying to knit together wrong."

As she speaks, I hear Bulwark returning, carrying a small bundle of clothes in his large hands. "I have procured these," he announces, his voice tinged with a small, almost imperceptible note of pride.

The paramedic smiles and takes the clothes. "Thank you. Let's get her into these and to the hospital. Even if you can regenerate, young lady, you need to get properly checked out. There's too much that could go wrong, and I'm guessing you've never tested your powers against T-Rex-inflicted injuries before."

I laugh a nervous laugh, nodding. "First time for everything."

Bulwark turns away as the paramedic preserves my modesty with the thermal blanket. "Your courage today was admirable, young one," he says softly, almost tenderly.

I shrug, the thermal blanket slipping off my shoulders. "They were coming for me anyway. Courage isn't really a factor when I don't have a choice. I'd say it's more duty, or obligation."

"We are made of the same spirit, then," he replies, a soft smile touching his lips. "Come. Let us see to it that your duty does not cost you too dearly."

I take a deep breath and nod. If my injuries are the price of duty, then so be it. I've come to a conclusion - I'll pay it gladly, every time.

I don't like being in the hospital again, but the circumstances are a lot better than last time. They still have to put me under to re-set my foot, but apparently, from the nurses, there were a bunch of teeth growing off of it - a tooth for each fragment of bone. Scared the shit out of the doctor, evidently, which I wish I could've seen.

I have another vial of teeth, now! The last one kind of… melted? The teeth started turning into dust about a week ago and then the next time I checked the vial it was completely empty, so it's nice to have a tooth vial again. I don't know, call me weird, but it feels cool. My bones were in a good enough shape that the doctor decided to only splint me, instead of putting me in a full-on cast. Which sucks, because it would've been cool to get my cast signed, but, you know, doctor's orders.

They finally put a number on my regeneration! They said that it's "Unclear, possibly conditional, shows signs of significant healing in the timespan before arriving at the hospital, but significantly slowed prior to surgery, and accelerated again during surgery," and when I asked for clarification, they said "Estimated 8x-6x healing factor", which is cool.

If I had to guess, based on what I know about myself and my pattern of being stabbed, sliced, cut, and otherwise mangled, I think my body tries to heal itself fastest when an injury happens to keep me stable during a fight, and then slows the roll afterwards. Or maybe it goes for the biggest injuries first, or heals me fastest when it feels like I'm in danger, but whatever the options, it's definitely a slope. I was sore for a lot longer than I think I should've been when Safeguard stepped on me, after all.

But, I don't know. I'm not a superheroologist.

I think a lot about these things in my hospital bed, still wearing borrowed clothes from the neighbors, who I'm sure all know who I am at this point. I mean, a girl who looks an awful lot like Samantha Small just came out of the Small residence to fight a Tyrannosaurus Rex. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together. But if anyone knows, they're keeping it hush hush.

I have about a week of healing, maybe two, guesstimated by the medical people, before my foot is walk-on-able again. Which is a lot longer than most of the other injuries I've received, but way better than 'never being able to use that foot again' or even just 'eight weeks'. I value running around and being a miscreant too much to want to stay grounded for too long.

I put my phone down, clicking the little red hang-up icon with my thumb. The whole day washes over me in a wave of exhaustion. My parents, still in New Jersey, just sounded happy that I was still alive. I told them about the house, and they said not to worry, everything's insured. My dad, specifically, apparently got "superhero insurance" on top of the normal home insurance, which I didn't even know was a thing. I asked him why he'd have done that in the first place, and he said, "Well, I work for the municipal government of Philadelphia. You make a lot of enemies there."

I asked him if he had ever made a supervillain enemy. He refused to answer, which means 'yes'. That's a story I'll have to pry out of him later.

They said they loved me and that they're so proud of me and they're so glad I'm alive. We all cried. It was kind of ugly. My face still hurts. My mom's voice rings in my ears. I told them that I wanted to stay at Pop-Pop Moe's for their safety, and they hemmed and hawed, and said okay, but only if you're sure you can find a place to stay.

"Plus," my mom said. "You're gonna have to do something so much harder than fighting a dinosaur man."

"Yeah?" I replied.

"You're going to have to keep going to school once your foot is all better," she said.

"Damnit," I replied.

I scroll through my contacts. There's plenty of people I'd gladly couch surf with - all of my friends from middle school, for one - but I don't want to put them in danger. There's a target on my head now. The Kingdom tracked me down to my house, and I doubt they'll be stopping there. Bulwark knocked Mr. T-Rex good, and maybe blinded him, and if there's anything I know about guys like him - like Mr. T-Rex, like Mudslide, like Aaron McKinley, it's that they don't take embarrassment lying down.

I scroll down through my HIRC client to the Young Defenders group chat. There's a ton of messages of concern, of support, both in individual conversations and from the group. Clearly, someone gave them the low down at some point in the past 8 hours, and I have to wonder if it was Bulwark or someone else. I pop my head into the chat, tell everyone that I'm okay, and pop the question.

I pull up to a tiny little rowhouse on Almond Street, about fifteen minutes by car from my house, but, somehow, closer to my high school. Bridesburg sits comfortably nestled near the Delaware, and a tiny little stream runs across the street, cut over by Bridge Street, near a funeral home and a convenience store. This rowhome isn't brick and mortar like mine, not old, it has those weird white shingles that kind of feel like plastic, and a front step that just goes right to the sidewalk. A single front step, rather, as opposed to the steps, plural, that my home had.

I ring the doorbell, glancing backwards at a Multiplex, who throws me a respectful salute from inside the car. Apparently, being able to make up to twelve of you means you can chauffeur people around easily - go figure. He watches me, not moving, waiting for the front door to get answered.

The pinkish dyed hair of the girl who answers the door is unmistakable. I know her as Blink, of course, but she's got a civilian name I'm probably going to find out in less than a couple of minutes. "Hey, Bee! I'm really, really super glad to hear that you're all okay."

I glance at my foot, chuckling, and adjust my emergency backpack, so generously bought for me with taxpayer dollars and delivered to my hospital room by another of Multiplex's duplicates about 6, 7 hours ago. The moon hangs bright in the sky ringing in at around seven thirty, seven forty five. I'll be honest, the past however-long it was - from Jordan coming over to the fight to the hospital, it's all kind of turned into a big smudge of time. It doesn't feel real. Like a bad dream. "Alright enough."

"Come in, come in! My parents dragged the futon out of the storage room for you. It's not the best in the world so I got out and got you a mattress topper from the Walmart a couple streets down. I hope you don't mind?" She asks, fidgeting around as I step inside my temporary abode for the next however-long-it-takes to get my house rebuilt. My dad said with what I described to him, the fastest we could possibly hope for is 16, maybe 14 weeks, depending on if there's any construction crews with superhumans aboard. Realistically, closer to 20, 24 weeks.

I sure hope Blink doesn't get tired of me by then!

My parents said that they could arrange a long-stay hotel, which is what they're going to do when they're all squared off with Pop-Pop Moe and the coast is clear, but, like… I don't know. I feel most comfortable knowing I've got someone by my side that gets it. What if I'm alone in an Econolodge and Mr. T-Rex comes back and it's just me?

So. Yeah. Living with Blink for a couple months!

"Bee?" She asks, waving her hand gently in front of my face. I realize that I just had that whole train of thought while spacing out, staring into her home's kitchen, which is a lot more modest and old looking than ours.

"Sorry, spacing out. And, uh, you can call me Sam when we're in our civvies like this," I say, stepping into the rowhouse. I glance back at Multiplex, who, satisfied that I made it inside safely, takes the car out of park and begins pulling down Almond Street. "Honestly, the futon is probably bigger than my normal bed, so, that's cool."

It is indeed, the couch unfolded into an uncomfortable looking bed, with a comfortable looking memory foam mattress topper, and then an ill-fitting sheet stretched over it, duct taped at the corners. I sit down, take a deep breath, and flop back onto it.

Blink smiles at me, warm and a little vacant. She always looks a little bit vacant though, so I'm sort of used to it by now. She sits down next to me while I ease my backpack off my back. I take my rescued photos and set them on the plastic table that's been set aside as my nightstand - just wet polaroids, now. I'll get a frame for them from the dollar store later, or something.

"If we're using civ names, you can call me Lily! Lily Chen. My parents will be back in like half an hour with dinner for us. Do you like Chinese food?" Blink - Lily - says, her head clearly trailing from one thought to another in a solid, uninterrupted flow. She leans sideways on the futon, conspiratorially, the sort of leaning someone does at a sleepover. "Like actual Chinese food, not Panda Express. Peking duck and stuff. Do you like duck?"

"'ve never had it," I answer, honestly, finding it hard to meet Lily's gaze. "Food will be nice, but I think I just need to nap. Can you wake me up when it gets here?"

Lily smiles and pulls me into a hug, my face nestled against her. Against all the resistance in my blood, I find myself relaxing. She lets me go and pats me on the head. "You sleep good, okay, Sam? I'll wake you up. When it gets here, I mean. And I'll get you my old laptop!"

I smile at her, but it feels more like a grimace, like a chimpanzee's smile. My teeth lock together. Lily doesn't mind, but I think anyone else would think the sight is horrifying. "Thanks. You're a lifesaver."

"That's my job, silly!" She says, scooting off the futon and bolting up the stairs.

End of Arc 2: Keys

Subject: Unforeseen Circumstances - Temporary Absence from School

To: [email protected], [email protected], [email protected], [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Dear Teachers,

I hope this email finds you well. Unfortunately, I have some unexpected news to share. Due to a superhero incident in my neighborhood, my home was significantly damaged, and I was also injured. Thankfully, my family and I are safe now, but the circumstances will prevent me from attending school for the next week.

During my absence, I'd greatly appreciate it if you could email me the assignments and material I'll miss. I'll do my best to keep up with the coursework from home, despite the ongoing situation.

Thank you for your understanding and assistance during this challenging time.

Sincerely,

Samantha Small

Subject: RE: Unforeseen Circumstances - Temporary Absence from School

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Samantha,

I'm sorry to hear about your circumstances. The most important thing is that you and your family are safe. Don't worry about the assignments for now; life happens, and we can catch up later.

Best wishes for a quick recovery.

Mrs. Foster

Subject: RE: Unforeseen Circumstances - Temporary Absence from School

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Samantha,

That's quite the ordeal you've been through. I hope you're taking the time to heal, both physically and emotionally. I'll send you the reading material and assignments you'll need for the next week.

Take care.

Richard Strickland

Tacony Academy Charter High School

(267) XXX-XXXX

[email protected]

Subject: RE: Unforeseen Circumstances - Temporary Absence from School

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Hey Samantha,

Wow, that's intense! Glad you're okay, though. Take the time you need to get back on your feet. Attached are the materials and assignments for Earth Science this week, and next if you feel you need it.

Stay strong!

Best regards,

Laura Bollinger, M.Sc.

Earth Science/Chemistry/AP Environmental Science Professor

Tacony Academy Charter High School

(215) XXX-XXX

[email protected]

Subject: RE: Unforeseen Circumstances - Temporary Absence from School

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Samantha,

Sorry to hear about what happened. That's tough. Don't worry about PE or Home Economics. We'll get you caught up when you return. Focus on getting better for now.

Sincerely,

Chris Simmons