Action Figures - Issue Two: Black Magic Women by Michael Bailey Page A
Authors: Michael Bailey
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that too, but I’m a little afraid of the answer.
“I have to see him today too,” Sara says, “so let’s hit him up together. Maybe between the two of us, we’ll make up one completely sane person.”
“We’re not insane,” I say, “we’re...psychologically interesting.”
“I’d have gone with traumatized,” Matt says.
“Oh, thanks ever so much for your sympathy, Captain Tactless.”
“What? Am I wrong? Bad stuff happened to you, it messed you up a little. Getting all P.C. and saying you’re ‘psychologically interesting’ or whatever doesn’t make it all go away.”
Not unlike Concorde, Matt is especially infuriating when he’s right.
I spend the rest of the school day giving myself a pep talk, convincing myself there’s no harm in asking Mindforce for an assessment. I mean, how bad could it be? If I were a basket case, I’d be on medication or in a hospital, right? So what am I worried about?
What
am
I worried about?
Matt, Stuart, and Missy plant themselves at Coffee E while Sara and I head over to Protectorate HQ. We don’t talk at all during the Wonkavator ride. Whatever’s gnawing at me, it’s on Sara’s mind too.
Mindforce is there to greet us at the end of the line. For some reason, so is Natalie.
“Ladies,” she says.
“Carrie, you’re with Natalie today. Sara, you’re with me,” Mindforce says, and they head upstairs for their session.
“Change of pace today?” I say.
“Come on,” Natalie says, beckoning. I follow her through the bowels of HQ, and we stop at the door leading to Concorde’s workshop. Natalie pulls out of her pocket something that looks like an oversized cell phone, pokes at it.
“You told Mindforce you wanted to learn how to use your powers more effectively,” she says.
“Yeah...”
“Because you want to feel empowered. No pun intended.”
“I guess.” Natalie arches an eyebrow. Looks like noncommittal pseudo-answers aren’t going to cut it with her today. “Yes. I want to...I don’t want to feel...you know...”
“I don’t know. Tell me.”
She waits. Damn her, she’s going to make me say it.
“Helpless.”
There it is. I wasn’t scared of what Mindforce might say about me; I was scared of what he’d make me say about myself, but it looks like that duty’s been assigned to Natalie, for reasons that aren’t clear yet.
Natalie glances at her little tablet computer. “Your energy blasts. That’s your go-to offensive move, yeah?”
“Yeah. They’re pretty all-purpose.”
Natalie takes me into the workshop. “Doc Quantum thought you might be firing off some form of laser beam,” she says as we weave through a mini-maze of work stations, messy rows of steel tables covered in strange tools and electronic components, “but there was no heat component. What you were throwing off was more like a focused gravity pulse — pure force, nothing but impact.”
“Okay...”
“But you have generated heat with your blasts before.”
I never thought about it before, but, “Yeah, the very first time I used them. I accidentally melted a plastic garbage can with them.”
“How did that happen? What made you shoot to kill at a garbage can?”
“Ummm...I don’t know, honestly. I was dragging the can out to the curb, it was really heavy, I got frustrated, next thing I know, zap, all melty. But that was the only time I’ve ever done that, as far as I can remember.”
“Not quite,” Natalie says with a gesture of presentation that directs my attention toward (oh, wow) the Thrasher armor the Squad trashed during our very first outing as a team. The Protectorate confiscated the battlesuit so Concorde could examine it inside and out, and he obviously took that job seriously: the suit is spread out all over the floor, and I do mean spread out; he’s almost completely dismantled the thing, to the point it’s unrecognizable as the massive armored humanoid we took down. It’s like one of those 3-D jigsaw puzzles, fresh out of
“I have to see him today too,” Sara says, “so let’s hit him up together. Maybe between the two of us, we’ll make up one completely sane person.”
“We’re not insane,” I say, “we’re...psychologically interesting.”
“I’d have gone with traumatized,” Matt says.
“Oh, thanks ever so much for your sympathy, Captain Tactless.”
“What? Am I wrong? Bad stuff happened to you, it messed you up a little. Getting all P.C. and saying you’re ‘psychologically interesting’ or whatever doesn’t make it all go away.”
Not unlike Concorde, Matt is especially infuriating when he’s right.
I spend the rest of the school day giving myself a pep talk, convincing myself there’s no harm in asking Mindforce for an assessment. I mean, how bad could it be? If I were a basket case, I’d be on medication or in a hospital, right? So what am I worried about?
What
am
I worried about?
Matt, Stuart, and Missy plant themselves at Coffee E while Sara and I head over to Protectorate HQ. We don’t talk at all during the Wonkavator ride. Whatever’s gnawing at me, it’s on Sara’s mind too.
Mindforce is there to greet us at the end of the line. For some reason, so is Natalie.
“Ladies,” she says.
“Carrie, you’re with Natalie today. Sara, you’re with me,” Mindforce says, and they head upstairs for their session.
“Change of pace today?” I say.
“Come on,” Natalie says, beckoning. I follow her through the bowels of HQ, and we stop at the door leading to Concorde’s workshop. Natalie pulls out of her pocket something that looks like an oversized cell phone, pokes at it.
“You told Mindforce you wanted to learn how to use your powers more effectively,” she says.
“Yeah...”
“Because you want to feel empowered. No pun intended.”
“I guess.” Natalie arches an eyebrow. Looks like noncommittal pseudo-answers aren’t going to cut it with her today. “Yes. I want to...I don’t want to feel...you know...”
“I don’t know. Tell me.”
She waits. Damn her, she’s going to make me say it.
“Helpless.”
There it is. I wasn’t scared of what Mindforce might say about me; I was scared of what he’d make me say about myself, but it looks like that duty’s been assigned to Natalie, for reasons that aren’t clear yet.
Natalie glances at her little tablet computer. “Your energy blasts. That’s your go-to offensive move, yeah?”
“Yeah. They’re pretty all-purpose.”
Natalie takes me into the workshop. “Doc Quantum thought you might be firing off some form of laser beam,” she says as we weave through a mini-maze of work stations, messy rows of steel tables covered in strange tools and electronic components, “but there was no heat component. What you were throwing off was more like a focused gravity pulse — pure force, nothing but impact.”
“Okay...”
“But you have generated heat with your blasts before.”
I never thought about it before, but, “Yeah, the very first time I used them. I accidentally melted a plastic garbage can with them.”
“How did that happen? What made you shoot to kill at a garbage can?”
“Ummm...I don’t know, honestly. I was dragging the can out to the curb, it was really heavy, I got frustrated, next thing I know, zap, all melty. But that was the only time I’ve ever done that, as far as I can remember.”
“Not quite,” Natalie says with a gesture of presentation that directs my attention toward (oh, wow) the Thrasher armor the Squad trashed during our very first outing as a team. The Protectorate confiscated the battlesuit so Concorde could examine it inside and out, and he obviously took that job seriously: the suit is spread out all over the floor, and I do mean spread out; he’s almost completely dismantled the thing, to the point it’s unrecognizable as the massive armored humanoid we took down. It’s like one of those 3-D jigsaw puzzles, fresh out of
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