Chapter: The Visitor's Questions
The room hung heavy with the silence of unspoken anxieties. A single, flickering fluorescent light buzzed overhead, its sickly yellow glow highlighting the dust motes dancing in the stagnant air. The afternoon sun, weak and watery, barely penetrated the grime coating the single window, casting long, skeletal shadows across the cracked and peeling walls. The three siblings huddled together on a worn wooden bench, the wood smooth and cold beneath their tense bodies. Nicholas's leg bounced a frantic rhythm against the floorboards. Michael's fingers drummed a restless tattoo on his thigh, the sound a counterpoint to the frantic thump-thump-thump of Nicholas's leg. Nichole, the youngest, sat rigidly upright, her small hands clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles shone white. The air thrummed with a palpable tension, thicker than the dust, heavier than the silence.
The silence stretched, an agonizing expanse of time punctuated only by the erratic buzz of the light and the rhythmic sounds of their anxieties. Then, a soft click. The door opened, a sliver of hope—or perhaps dread—slicing through the oppressive atmosphere.
A young man entered, his presence immediately filling the cramped space. His uniform, crisp and neat despite the subtle fraying at the cuffs, bore the faintly gleaming insignia of GASA—Government Agency for Super Abilities—a symbol that held both promise and foreboding. He carried a heavy, leather-bound folder, its edges worn smooth and frayed from years of constant use, a silent testament to countless similar encounters.
He didn't speak, didn't offer a greeting or introduction. Instead, with the practiced ease of someone who'd performed this ritual countless times, he pulled up a chair, sat down opposite the siblings, and opened the folder. His fingers, long and slender, moved with a deft precision, turning pages with a soft whisper of paper against leather. His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, scanned the documents quickly, his gaze lingering on specific passages before finally settling on Nicholas.
"Nicholas," he said, his voice calm, measured, devoid of any unnecessary inflection. "Your file suggests you've had control over lightning since birth. Would you say that's accurate?"
Nicholas swallowed hard, the lump in his throat feeling as large and heavy as a boulder. His gaze darted to Michael, seeking reassurance or perhaps a shared understanding of the weight of this moment. He shifted on the bench, the tension in his young shoulders constricting his breath.
"I… I think so," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the persistent hum of the light. "I've always felt it… like it was a part of me. Even before I knew what it was, before I understood…" His voice trailed off, lost in the overwhelming enormity of the situation.
The agent nodded slowly, his expression inscrutable. "And you've lived with your brother, Michael, and your father all this time? That's what the file states."
Nicholas blinked, surprised by the blunt directness of the question. "Yeah," he confirmed, his voice gaining a little strength. "Just us. We've been alone… as long as I can remember." The unspoken implication hung in the air – a life lived in secrecy, in fear, in constant vigilance.
Gently, the agent closed the folder, the sound a soft punctuation mark in the ongoing silence. His attention shifted to Michael, his gaze piercing and observant.
"Your records don't show any abilities. Can you explain that, Michael?"
Michael ran a hand through his messy, dark hair, his jaw clenching tight. He avoided the agent's gaze, focusing instead on his hands, which he nervously clasped together.
"I… I didn't know I had any powers," he stammered, his voice low and hesitant. "One moment I was on the ground… and then… then I saw something… an alien… about to attack Nicholas. Something inside me… it just… snapped. I didn't mean for it to happen. It just… did." He shuddered, a visible tremor running through his slender frame.
The agent's gaze softened slightly, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. "That's common," he said quietly, his voice laced with a quiet empathy. "Sometimes powers lie dormant, hidden until a moment of intense fear, or overwhelming need, unlocks them. Tell me, Michael, how did it feel?"
Michael's hands twitched, an almost imperceptible movement. A faint, ethereal spark, like captured lightning, flickered between his fingers, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.
"Like a storm inside me," Michael whispered, his voice barely a breath. "Wild and angry. Like it wanted to break free… to consume everything." His eyes darkened, reflecting the inner turmoil he described.
"Scary," he added, his voice filled with a raw, unfiltered fear. "Like if I lost control… I'd destroy everything… everyone… around me."
The agent leaned forward slightly, his posture conveying a careful blend of authority and compassion. "Fear can be a guide, or a prison, Michael. How do you carry that fear every day? How does it shape your life?"
Nichole remained silent, her small body a statue of contained anxiety, her fingers working ceaselessly, clenching and unclenching in her lap. The agent's next question was directed at Michael.
"Do you believe your power is a shield for your family… or something that could ultimately hurt them?"
Michael's gaze shifted to Nicholas, then back to the agent. His eyes, though still shadowed with fear, held a fierce, unwavering determination.
"I'd never hurt my brother," he said firmly, his voice regaining strength. "I'll protect him… no matter what."
The agent nodded slowly, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "Loyalty like that is rare, Michael. It will be your strength." He stood, stretching his legs, the movement breaking the intense tension that had held the room captive.
"Tomorrow," he announced, his voice regaining its initial professional tone, "the Academy will send people to bring you in. They'll teach you how to control your powers, to understand them better, to harness their potential."
He paused, seemingly lost in thought for a moment, then his gaze shifted down the hallway, as if expecting someone else to appear.
"Before that…" he said, turning his attention back to the three siblings, his voice softer now, almost conversational. "What scares you the most? What are you afraid to lose?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and profound, a stark contrast to the casual nature of his previous remarks. The three siblings exchanged uncertain glances, the weight of the question pressing down upon them. A prolonged silence filled the room, broken only by the relentless hum of the fluorescent light.
Nicholas was the first to speak, his voice a barely audible whisper. "My family," he said softly. "If I lose them… I don't know who I'll be."
Michael nodded, his voice thick with emotion. "Same here," he agreed. "I'm scared of losing what little I have left… what little we have left."
The agent's expression softened, a faint, almost sad smile touching his lips. "Good," he said, his voice low and gentle. "Fear keeps you human. It reminds you what is truly important."
He paused again, the silence stretching, before continuing. "Be ready. Tomorrow is just the beginning. A new chapter, full of both challenges and possibilities." He looked at each of them in turn, his eyes conveying a quiet understanding of the burden they carried.
Without another word, he turned and left, the soft click of the closing door echoing in the sudden stillness. The two siblings remained, the quiet room suddenly feeling heavier, the weight of the future pressing down on their young shoulders, a future both terrifying and exhilarating in its potential.