Girl With Mask #Wattys2016

Chapter Eight

Aya stumbled, and the agents let her fall to the ground. Her eyes closed, Aya pressed her palms to what felt like carpeting and tried to remember how to breath. She'd never teleported before, and the experience had jolted her. She could hear her blood pounding in her ears.

"Whenever you're ready," said a calm British voice, and Aya shoved herself to her feet. She rubbed at her eyes and let a lofty office room come into view; floor-to-ceiling windows framed the mahogany desk seated before it. New York City spread out behind the window; they were at least fifty stories up.

"I'm in the Orange Offices," realized Aya.

"Strike headquarters," agreed the voice, and Aya turned to look at the tall woman reclining against the desk. Her soft brown hair was pulled back in a thick headband, and her black suit looked perfectly tailored. Aya knew that strong jaw line and straight nose as well as anyone else in the world.

"You're Dr. Ring!" said Aya. "You're, like . . . you're Dr. Ring!"

The woman laughed. "I am. And you've met Agent Baxter and Agent Wang, no?"

"I—yeah. Yes." Aya looked back at the two agents, who had taken up station at the double doors, like body guards. "They were nice."

Dr. Ring laughed, and Aya smiled uncertainly. Her heart was still going to fast, and her throat burned like she'd run a mile.

"Why don't you take a seat?" Dr. Ring gestured to the cushioned seat in front of the desk. Aya perched on the end of it; Dr. Ring hopped up to sit on her desk and crossed her legs at her ankles. Almost shy, Aya stared at those ankles and grasped the edge of the chair's seat with her hands. Dr. Sandra Ring was maybe the most famous non-TV personality scientist, if not in the world, then the United States. She had five PhDs and ran Strike's research and development team.

"You look a lot like your mother," commented Dr. Ring.

Aya glanced up. "Oh, you knew her?"

Dr. Ring chuckled. "Knew her? She was one of our best. Alison Hirsch didn't have the strongest power, but the ways she used it were effortless. I've seen the footage of her last battle."

Aya's fingers went cold. "You've seen it? It's classified."

"Not for me." Ring tilted her head and gazed at Aya. "What do you know about Operation Plexiglas?"

"Um, it protects Manhattan from water fights. It's, like, those dikes in Holland. It surrounds us. It's why the last fight with the Fish Queen didn't drown us."

"So you're in touch with current events, then? Brilliant. I like to see a child invested in our world."

"Well," said Aya. "Everyone knows about the Operation P. I wouldn't say I'm more knowledgeable than anyone—"

"Stop!" Dr. Ring held out both hands in front of her. Aya paused, flustered. "Learn to take a compliment, you silly girl. You won't get anywhere if you insist on deflecting. Now. Back to your mother. I was watching the footage from the fight. The Fish Queen, deep out to sea, surrounded by her vicious fish minions, the water frothing around her, artificial waves clashing—and the heroes. The heroes came from the sky."

"And my mother was there," said Aya.

Dr. Ring nodded. "Yes. Your mother was in her jet. She was an excellent pilot, Aya. It wasn't her fault that everyone sort of . . . lost the plot. The battle went south. It went south fast."

Aya hesitated. She wanted to ask what had gone wrong, but she was too nervous, and Dr. Ring kept talking. "I'll be frank with you, Aya. We've seen what your mother can do, and it looks like you're one better. A 3.0. A newer new model.

"Your mother could produce illusions. You can be much better. So. You're here so I can offer a spot on our Junior Strike Team. I'd be willing to offer you a starting salary of ten thousand a month along with our excellent health insurance plan."

Aya's mouth went dry. "Ten thousand? A month? For real?"

"Did your mother never tell you how much she made? I suppose not. Not very decorous, is it?"

"No," said Aya. "I guess not."

"And her life insurance . . ." Dr. Ring whistled. "We're very generous, Aya. You're filthy rich, Aya. But, then, I'm richer." She smiled teasingly. "Don't fret. I'm sure you'll catch up."

"I wasn't fretting," said Aya.

Dr. Ring didn't answer but leaned over to press an intercom on her desk. "Jenna? Send in Rob, please. I think Aya could use a playmate." She took her hand off the intercom and put it back in her lap. "You'll like Rob, Aya."

"Yeah," said Aya.

"Hey!" Dr. Ring peered at Aya. "You're frowning. This isn't the time for frowning, Aya. I just told you that you're absolutely minted. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go see a man about a dog." She winked and sauntered to the door. She turned around on her way out to say, "Don't touch anything, children," before the door shut behind her. Not a minute later, the door reopened a boy with light brown skin and floppy brown hair ambled into the room. His white cotton t-shirt clung to his abs, and his khaki shorts look fresh out of the dryer.

"You're Aya," he beamed. "I'm Rob. But you probably know me as the Blue Flyer."

***Two days late, but I finally wrote it! As always, feedback is appreciated: any type of feedback! If you hate my story, I still want to hear about it! PM me or use the comments. If you like my story, please vote! Thank you to everyone who's read to Chapter 8; it means a lot :) 220 views!