EXTRordinary

2/3

-From the recovered journal of Jackson Quinn, six years before the incident

Journal,

The psychologist just released the news...

I'm a... level nine!?

Holy carp.

I'm sure you're owed an explanation, but I'm just trying to process. I was happy with life as a three, just lucky enough to defend myself. Only, my power isn't luck. Not really.

Basically, how it happened was that I was in the park, reading under a tree. Boring? Maybe, but I enjoy it. I don't play sports because running could break my bad leg.

Or so I thought.

But then I saw him. Tall, blonde, large as a mountain, holding a red-headed boy by his collar. The boy's hands crackled with blue energy and he fought like a cornered animal, but his punches did no damage. The big man simply hoisted him off his feet and threw him through the air. He bounced twice before rolling to a stop at my feet, all bloodied. Nasty stuff I usually didn't get involved in. What could I do? Couldn't run, wasn't truly lucky enough to take on an enemy with an ability as high as his. Durability, I'm assuming.

Anyway, the boy struggled to his feet, and I could see he was crying. I knew to stay out of the way, stuff like this happened all the time in the higher-level schools, but something about seeing it first hand made me angry. I shut my book and stepped forward.

This man bullying a child wasn't right, yet we think it is just because he's stronger. Is that justice? I don't agree.

Now, it seems like some big gesture I was doing, but man-mountain (I'm gonna call him that) wasn't fazed. He dwarfed me easily, and my obvious limp didn't help me appear tough. I know the red-headed kid appreciated it, though. He couldn't have lasted much longer. Man-mountain said something intimidating, I called him something I regret, the details don't matter. What's important is that he charged me. That's when it happened.

I felt a pressure in my head, something tight and sharp. I know for sure my ears popped.

Man-mountain's fist came towards me and I raised my hands to protect my face, but the impact never came. I opened my eyes to see his hand, arm extended, a mere foot from my face. For a second it seemed like he had pulled his punch, but then I realized his fist wasn't the only thing that had stopped moving.

Birds hung suspended in the air.

Cars sat still on the road.

The red-headed boy's mouth was open, halfway through shouting a warning.

They couldn't move, but I could.

Then I noticed my hands.

Little wisps of purple lightning flowed from my fingertips, streaming across my knuckles, down my palm and over my nails. It tickled a little. I took a step backward from the man-mountain's extended hand and the purple energy trailed behind me, marking where I had been. I was fascinated, in a world all my own. I walked up to the man-mountain, that scum of a human being, and punched him in the gut, purple energy remaining behind to mark the point of impact. He didn't flinch, didn't react, so I hit him again. After all, he deserved it, didn't he? Picking on someone with a lower power level than him.

Somewhere between punches something incredible occured to me. I wasn't lucky enough to dodge the truck when I was ten. I wasn't lucky enough to spot the one card in a deck of fifty-two. I certainly wasn't lucky enough to dodge man-mountain's punches. Yet I had.

I wasn't lucky enough.

But I was fast enough.

My ability was speed at a level nobody had ever seen before.

I don't know how long I stood there hitting him for, but I know that by the time I was done my knuckles were raw. Even man-mountain's durability wouldn't take that many hits.

Then I noticed a hummingbird nearby starting to twitch. It's wings slowly sped up, a beat at a time. I looked at my hands to see the little lightning bolts nearly gone.

My powers aren't infinite, I realized.

My ears popped again, the pressure in my head ceased, and suddenly a piercing "look out!" reached my ears. Man-mountain's fist rushed past my head like a freight train and he doubled over like he'd been shot, clutching his gut before collapsing, out cold in an instant.

The red-headed boy wasn't speechless for long, and he peppered me with questions about my level and ability and and and...

I simply shrugged him off and ran home, being careful not to go too fast.

I spent most of my time alone for the next several weeks attempting to understand what had awoken my powers. I couldn't even recreate the lightning I'd seen before, only weak sparks. I feared I had used all of my ability until a few weeks later when I shocked myself touching a doorknob. Electricity, it... restores my powers. Rejuvenates me like a battery. How do I know this now? Well, it's going to sound insane, but...

I stuck a fork in an electrical outlet.

I wasn't fried, as you can guess. I don't know what compelled me to do it, but I did. I had to know. Sure enough, my powers were back in full force the next morning. I wonder exactly how much charge I can hold, and how resistant to electricity I truly am. For that moment I was content to have my powers back.

What I did next is the reason I'm here, writing in this journal, in a psychologist's office. I did something much, much more stupid than sticking a fork in an outlet. It's something I already regret and know I will regret even more in the months to come.

I told my parents about my speed.

Le Bonus!

(art is NOT MINE)