The Things We Do (Under Editing)

More Than Me

"For just ten cents a day you could-"

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"About three things I was absolutely certain."

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"What time is it? The time of our lives!"

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A groan escaped my lips as I tossed my tv remote across the room. There was nothing but crap on TV. I was supposed to be writing a paper, but I kept getting distracted by the bottom of my laptop burning holes in my thighs, and the fact that I didn't want to do it.

"-tests went remarkably well." My gaze flicked back up towards the television where Ross Gray was shown seated in a comfy chair across a small table from one of the many talk show hosts that I knew little about and cared even less.

Not for the first time I wondered what the man had done to incur the wrath of Storm, but seeing as he was a rich old white man sitting on the throne of one of the biggest companies around, the list of possibilities was endless.

"Our design team has been working tirelessly in order to produce what will not only be the world's first completely computer operated car, but also the safest, most eco-friendly vehicle on the market. It astounds me how swiftly these individuals have succeeded in turning such a distant dream into reality." Sounds fake, but OK.

The shot changed from the pair in the studio to show the car in question. I watched it in action. The destination was quickly and easily set, and throughout the journey, the car carefully avoided any obstacle in its path. I might have been impressed if I believed that any of it was real. They probably had a whole team of people working to make it convincing. For all I knew, it could be a remote-controlled toy and a green-screen.

They changed the shot again to show some very aesthetic close ups of the vehicle. Right in the middle of the grille was Rhombus's little insignia of, well, a rhombus with an "R" in the center. J-Tech got their name in nice little silver letters on the side. It was certainly pretty, but that was probably all it was.

I scoffed and shut off the TV. If I knew anything about rich people, it was that they didn't play well together. Add a masked pyromaniac bent on tearing one of them down, and this was just a recipe for disaster.

Somehow, someway, I managed to make it to Virtualization before it started. I half expected for the other students to look at me like I'd performed a miracle. I probably deserved that much for the sole act of being alive.

Instead, I almost ended up wishing that I hadn't made it at all.

The moment I entered the room, I was bombarded by a yelling voice. It was loud enough to cover the crash as I dropped into a seat in the back of the room.

"That was my idea and you know it!" The red of James's face could rival Phantom Banshee's coat. I don't think I'd ever seen someone look that blazingly angry.

Elliot, on the other hand, looked even colder than ever. "You are not the first person to think of jewelry that doubles as a computer. Nor will you be the last."

I almost expected James to stomp his foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum. "We both know it's more than that! I'm the one that thought up the ear-cuff holographic projector!"

"Your lies are getting old, James."

"I won't stand for you taking the credit! The idea was mine, and I have proof!"

"Because you stole my notes from my bag!" Everyone in the room flinched when Elliot finally raised his voice. In my experience, when a quiet person raised their voice, you'd better watch out. They weren't in the mood to take anything from anyone. The others seemed to have come to the same conclusion and were starting to look like they'd rather be anywhere else. Elliot continued to stand with his arms crossed, but I could see his fingers digging into his arms.

"Oh, please," James dropped his voice, taking on a mocking tone, though a blood vessel still pulsed in his forehead as he continued, "We all know that you haven't had an original idea in your life. Daddy probably buys them for you, just like he buys you everything else. In fact, if he didn't buy you good grades, you wouldn't even be in this school."

The aura of "yikes" in the room was tangible. Personally I thought the accusation was ridiculous. Sure, most of the students from families with enough money for them to do so just coasted through school on their parents payments, but, as much as I disliked Elliot, he wasn't one of them. It was just about the only thing he had going for him.

What happened next went so quickly that had I filmed it and put it in slow motion, it probably still wouldn't make sense. All I know is that James ended up on the floor on the other side of the room, blood draining from his nose. No one could actually say they saw Elliot punch him, but considering Elliot's hand was curled into a bloody fist, that's obviously what happened.

The way he calmly wiped his hand and sat down, though... he didn't even seem mad, just... really annoyed. Something about the scene was unsettling. The others seemed to sense it as well. No one wanted to see what happened when Elliot got truly angry.

"It just goes to show. Ignorance leads to bad assumptions." The voice was ice cold and so low; it took me a moment to realize that it was Elliot's. He hadn't turned back to James. He hadn't moved at all. He just sat with his hands folded on the desk like a manager at some important meeting, and his eyes never left the front of the room.

I resisted the vague urge to scoot my chair away from him. Under normal circumstances I'd watch a fight like this while wishing for popcorn, but I had enough on my plate without sticking my nose into other peoples' drama.

I didn't even notice that James had left until five minutes later, when the professor walked in. A quick glance around the room told him who was missing, and who was pretending to not know anything. Without comment, he started class, bringing every ounce of pain back into my body with his first words. "Finals are coming."

I sat in my room, patching the numerous holes that had appeared in my costume and trying to keep my mind off the fact that I'd found my costume in my hidey-hole, right where it belonged. While it would be smart of me to think on that, I really didn't want to consider it. Mel and Kacie were at a club, or three, so I didn't have to worry about anyone barging in on me, but the apartment was far too quiet.

Usually I'm not one to hum, but I found myself trying to fill the silence as I worked. Old classics and lullabies drifted through the room, each one slower and sweeter than the last. Eventually, I drifted into a daze, and the sudden sound of my text tone made me realize I'd been staring at the needle and thread for ten minutes.

I blinked once and shook my head. This wasn't the time to be getting lost in my own head. My text reaffirmed that. Wraith wasn't impressed. My last venture had failed before it began. It was time to make my next move.

Fresh out of ideas, I sighed and picked up my boots. They'd been through a lot, explosions, robberies, kidnappings. Come to think of it, I'd been wearing them when I was kidnapped. No wonder they were looking worn. I flipped them over and looked closely. They could probably survive a few more rounds.

Suddenly, I stopped. Something was off. There was a patch on one of them. That hadn't been there before. When scratching at it with my nail yielded no results, and grabbed my pocket knife and proceeded to carve it off. I can say that I never expected what I found.

There was a small computer chip help between the patch and the boot. With the obvious transmitter on the side, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out that someone had been tracking me. But who? It clearly wasn't the police, as I hadn't been arrested. Who would have had a chance to put it there? There was only one possible answer:

Storm.