The wind roared, a beast of fury, tearing at Perca's threadbare jacket. Each gust slammed into him like a bully's shove, intent on dragging him back into the tempest. Rain lashed down, a relentless curtain, turning the world into a blurry canvas of greys and whites. He was grateful for the science teacher's hand, firm and warm on his shoulder, a solid anchor against the storm's assault. He hunched deeper into himself, head bowed, focusing on the steadying pressure, a silent plea for the doorway to arrive faster.
Then, a flicker of motion snagged his attention. Across the rain-lashed schoolyard, figures materialized from the deluge. Men. They were clad in heavy, dark gear, combat vests bulking their forms, weapons held loosely but ready at their sides. Their faces, visible even through the downpour, were set, grim, focused. They moved with purpose towards the small cluster of students still huddled near the oak tree. Kael. Unease, cold and sharp, twisted in Perca's stomach.
The heavy school doors groaned shut behind them, the storm's raw fury softening to a muffled growl. The hallway, usually alive with the boisterous energy of youth, felt strangely hushed, the air thick with a tension he could almost taste. Teachers stood in tight knots, their faces pale, etched with worry, their voices lowered to anxious whispers. Perca risked a glance back through the rain-streaked glass of the doors, but the storm was too dense, the figures outside swallowed by the grey, indistinct.
He turned back to the science teacher, a question pressing at the edge of his tongue, but the man's brow was deeply furrowed, his gaze lost somewhere beyond the hallway walls. He muttered under his breath, fragmented words drifting out – 'protocol,' 'containment' – snippets of adult anxieties, a language Perca didn't fully understand, yet felt as a prickle of unease on his skin. Then, one word, louder, clearer than the rest, hung in the air, echoing the hushed tones around them: "Metahuman."
Metahuman. The word resonated in Perca's mind, unfamiliar, yet vibrating with a strange, unsettling energy. He'd caught it before, a snatched phrase in the hurried whispers of teachers before the sky had ripped open. Now, it pulsed through the hallway, unspoken yet present in every worried glance, every hushed tone. Metahuman. What was it? The word felt heavy, laden with a significance he couldn't quite grasp, a mystery wrapped in adult fear.
He pictured Kael. Kael, his classmate, small and often bullied, who had stood beneath the oak as the storm ripped through the sky. The storm… it had erupted just as Kael… what? What had Kael done? He hadn't seen anything concrete, no visible action, just a shift in the air, a sudden, violent unleashing of rain and wind. But now… the armed men, their purposeful stride, and that word, 'metahuman.' A fragile thread of connection began to form in his thoughts, tenuous, yet insistent.
'Meta-'… the prefix surfaced in his memory, a scrap of knowledge gleaned from science class. Altered. Beyond. Changed. Metamorphosis. Meta-analysis. Altered human. Was that the root of it? Somehow… changed humans? And Kael… had Kael changed? Was that why the soldiers were here? Was that the source of the hushed whispers of 'containment' among the teachers?
Could an altered human… command the weather? The thought sparked, improbable, fantastical, yet strangely… compelling. He saw Kael again, small, shoulders hunched against the wind, standing beneath the oak as the sky seemed to tear itself apart above him. Weather control. A whisper of a myth, a power ripped from the pages of a comic book. Awesome. A shiver, not entirely of fear, ran down his spine. Altered humans wielding the forces of nature.
But the logical corner of his mind, the part that prized order and reason, the part that meticulously disassembled broken toys to understand their inner workings, pushed back. Weather was immense, chaotic, a force beyond human grasp. Could a person, even an 'altered' one, truly command such power? It defied logic, defied everything he understood about the delicate balance of the world. It didn't make sense.
The science teacher, still lost in his own thoughts, guided Perca deeper into the school, away from the anxious clusters by the entrance. They moved in silence, the only sounds the distant rumble of thunder and the relentless drumming of rain against the glass. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile, cold glow on the increasingly worried faces they passed. The air itself seemed to vibrate with unspoken tension.
Teachers congregated near the science wing now, their hushed voices more urgent, their glances darting nervously towards the windows, then back in the direction Kael had been led. Unease pulsed around them, a tangible wave of adult anxiety, permeating the hallway, settling like a damp chill. They spoke in low, hurried tones, words like 'situation,' 'handled,' and that word again, 'metahuman,' weaving through their anxious murmurs like a persistent, unsettling melody.
Perca caught snippets of their hushed exchanges as they walked. "Soldiers?" one teacher breathed, her voice tight with a tremor of fear. "Why soldiers?" Another murmured in reply, "Protocol, I expect. Containment protocol." Containment. The word landed in Perca's mind, cold and heavy. Containment of what? Of whom? Of Kael?
He glimpsed another teacher, her face bleached white, her hands twisting together in a nervous rhythm. "His… his powers," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "They said his powers were… manifesting." Powers. Another unfamiliar word, echoing the strangeness of 'metahuman.' Powers, containment, metahuman. They swirled together in Perca's thoughts, a confusing, unsettling vortex of the unknown.
A sudden, almost desperate longing for familiarity, for something solid and reassuring in the swirling chaos, propelled Perca to reach out. He tugged lightly, hesitantly, on the science teacher's sleeve. The teacher stopped, blinking down at him, his gaze still clouded with worry, yet softening slightly as he focused on Perca's small face.
The science teacher, Mr. Harrison, was different. He didn't speak to them in the simplified tones the other teachers sometimes used, as if they were breakable things. He treated them with a kind of quiet respect, almost like junior colleagues, especially when the subject was science.
He explained complex ideas with patience, real things, complicated things, and never showed impatience when Perca asked questions, even the ones the other kids snickered at. Mr. Harrison made science feel… safe. Understandable. And in this moment, Perca craved safety and understanding with a desperate intensity.
Mr. Harrison crouched, his gaze level with Perca's, the hallway noise fading into a muted background hum. His expression was etched with concern, his voice gentle as always, yet Perca detected a subtle undercurrent, something guarded, a tension beneath the surface of his usual calm. "Are you alright, Perca? That storm was quite sudden." He gestured vaguely towards the rain-streaked windows, though the downpour had eased into a steady, less violent rhythm now.
Perca nodded, a small, tight movement, trying to project a bravery he didn't feel. He knew Mr. Harrison was being kind, offering comfort, but the mention of the storm, the storm inextricably linked to Kael in his mind, only amplified his unease. He met the teacher's concerned gaze directly, his own green eyes shadowed with worry. He wasn't alright. Not really. But the knot of confusion and fear twisting in his stomach felt too large, too amorphous to explain.
Mr. Harrison's hand rested briefly on Perca's shoulder, a fleeting, comforting squeeze. "Just stay inside, okay? Don't go wandering off in this weather." The words were meant to reassure, a gentle warning laced with the kindness that usually settled Perca's anxieties. But today, the comfort felt thin, insufficient. It didn't touch the armed men, the whispered 'metahuman,' the palpable fear hanging in the air.
Taking a deeper breath, steeling himself against the tremor of uncertainty, Perca blurted, "Mr. Harrison… can I go to the science room? Please?" The request tumbled out, more abrupt, more urgent than intended, a small, desperate plea escaping his lips.
The teacher hesitated, his brow furrowing deeper, the worry lines around his eyes intensifying. He glanced down the hallway towards the science classrooms, a flicker of indecision in his gaze, then back at Perca. "The science room? Now?" A question hung in his voice, tinged with surprise, yet not a firm refusal. A sliver of hope sparked in Perca's chest.
Perca nodded quickly, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. "Yeah. Please." He swallowed, the words catching slightly in his throat. "I… I'm scared. And… and it's safe there. It always is."
He didn't elaborate, didn't attempt to articulate the illogical comfort he found amidst the ordered chaos of beakers and charts, the silent promise of knowledge held within the locked cabinets and weighty textbooks, the clean, almost sterile scent of chemicals. He only knew he needed to be there, surrounded by the familiar, predictable world of science, a world that, unlike the hallway outside, usually made sense.
It was truth, of a sort. The science room had always been a sanctuary, a refuge from the confusing, often overwhelming world outside. A place where things, even complex things, possessed a structure, a reason, a way to be understood through observation and analysis. The locked cabinets, usually a source of intrigue, hinting at hidden wonders within, didn't inspire fear, but curiosity.
The spines of the science books, heavy and worn, promised answers, knowledge waiting to be unlocked, secrets of the universe laid bare on their pages. And the quiet murmur of intelligent discourse, Mr. Harrison's voice explaining some intricate scientific principle, was a comforting sound, a melody of order in a world that often felt discordant and chaotic.
It was the antithesis of how he usually felt, adrift in the school's social currents, always a little apart, a little too quiet, a little too… small. In the science room, amidst the tools of logic and discovery, he felt a sense of belonging, a sense that his way of seeing, his quiet observations, his relentless questions, actually held value. It was a place where his mind could breathe.
Mr. Harrison considered his plea for another long moment, his gaze searching Perca's face, perhaps seeing the genuine fear reflected there. Then, he nodded slowly, a reluctant acceptance. "Alright, Perca. Come on." He straightened, but kept a reassuring hand on Perca's shoulder, guiding him towards the science wing. "But you stay put in there, you understand? Don't go wandering around the school." His voice was firm now, the underlying worry resurfacing, sharpening his tone.
Perca nodded eagerly, relief washing over him, loosening the knot of tension in his chest. "Yes, sir. I will." He would stay put. He needed the science room. He needed the quiet, the order. He needed to think. He needed to try to make sense of the impossible word echoing in his mind: metahuman.
As they walked, other teachers glanced their way, their worried expressions softening, shifting into something gentler, a hesitant sympathy. Mrs. Davison, the history teacher, offered a small, sad smile, her eyes filled with a quiet understanding.
Mr. Abernathy, the gym coach, gave Perca a quick, almost imperceptible nod, a silent acknowledgment of his quiet retreat. They knew Perca was different, solitary, often lost in his own thoughts. They likely understood, on some level, that the science room was more than just a classroom to him, that it was a sanctuary in a storm.
Mr. Harrison unlocked the science room door, the familiar, comforting scent of formaldehyde and dust, a strange yet welcome aroma of preserved specimens and forgotten experiments, enveloped Perca as they stepped inside. The room was dim, muted, the heavy storm clouds outside casting long, distorted shadows across the cluttered desks and shelves. The air itself felt cooler, calmer, a stark contrast to the charged, anxious atmosphere of the hallway. Perca felt a fraction of the suffocating tension ease from his shoulders, a small breath in a world suddenly gone awry.
He moved instinctively towards the biology bookshelf, his fingertips trailing along the worn spines of the thick textbooks, a silent, seeking gesture. He wasn't sure what he was searching for, not exactly.
Answers, perhaps.
Explanations.
Some thread of logic, some piece of scientific understanding within these ordered volumes that could make sense of the chaos erupting outside, the armed men, the fear, the whispered word – metahuman. But the storm, though muffled by the classroom walls, still throbbed with a restless energy, a low hum of unease that vibrated through the building. The rain hammered against the windows, a relentless, insistent rhythm that echoed the frantic pounding in his own chest.
He selected a hefty volume on human anatomy, its pages thick and filled with detailed illustrations. He flipped through it, his eyes scanning diagrams of muscles and bones, intricate networks of organs and nerves, searching, grasping for some connection, however tenuous, to 'metahuman,' to altered humans, to the impossible notion of weather control.
But the textbook remained stubbornly silent on the subject, filled only with the familiar, reassuring language of cells and systems, the concrete reality of the human body, offering no answers to the fantastical, frightening questions swirling in his mind. No mention of superpowers. No explanation for storms summoned from anger.
After what felt like an eternity, yet was likely only minutes, he abandoned the book, letting it fall closed on the desk with a soft, defeated thud. He turned to the window, peering out at the rain-blurred world. The downpour continued, a solid, opaque sheet of water obscuring the schoolyard, turning the outside world into an indistinct grey wash.
He could hear the wind rattling the windowpanes, a low, persistent whine that spoke of untamed power. School was canceled, Mr. Harrison had said. But cancellation felt meaningless. No one was going anywhere. They were all trapped here, inside the school, confined by the storm, by the unseen threat outside, by the weight of that single, bewildering word: metahuman.
Another flash of lightning split the sky, illuminating the room with a stark, sudden brilliance, followed by an earsplitting crack of thunder that made him jump, a jolt of pure sound that seemed to resonate through the floorboards, vibrating in his very bones.
He glanced at Mr. Harrison, who stood motionless by the window, a silent sentinel staring out at the raging storm, his expression unreadable, lost in his own private world of adult anxieties. The lightning, the thunder, the whispered word 'metahuman'… the disparate pieces clicked into place in Perca's mind, coalescing into a single, insistent question, a question that demanded to be voiced.
Turning to the teacher, his voice small, yet surprisingly clear in the sudden hush between thunderclaps within the science room, Perca asked, "Mr. Harrison?"
The teacher turned slowly, his gaze settling on Perca, a flicker of something unreadable, something deeply unsettling, in his usually kind eyes. "Yes, Perca?"
Taking a deep, steadying breath, pushing past the sudden tightening in his throat, Perca voiced the question that had been building, the question that felt both terrifying and utterly necessary. "What's a metahuman?"
Mr. Harrison froze. Every muscle in his body seemed to lock, his posture becoming rigid, his gaze sharpening, all trace of warmth, all hint of gentleness, abruptly vanishing from his face. His eyes widened, pupils dilating, reflecting the dim light of the science room, and Perca saw something flicker within them, something that resembled… fear?
No, not quite fear.
Shock.
Utter, stunned, disbelieving shock.
He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively in his throat. The air in the science room seemed to thicken, the silence stretching, becoming heavy, suffocating, charged with unspoken dread.
He blinked, his eyes darting nervously around the room, a trapped animal seeking an escape, or perhaps searching for some unseen authority, someone else who could magically appear and answer this impossible question for him. His hands, previously relaxed at his sides, clenched into tight fists, knuckles white. For a long, breathless moment that stretched into an eternity, he stood motionless, silent, his gaze locked on Perca's face, his own expression a stark, frozen mask of stunned disbelief.
Then, finally, after an agonizing pause, his voice emerged, strained, tight, a bare rasp of sound, utterly devoid of the calm, reassuring tone Perca had always known. "Where… where did you hear that word, Perca?" He didn't answer the question. He sidestepped, deflected, his voice laced with a strange, almost desperate urgency, as if the source of the question itself was more dangerous than the answer.
Perca frowned, confusion warring with a growing unease at the teacher's visceral reaction. "Outside," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, the weight of the unspoken truth pressing down on him. "I heard… I heard another teacher talking. And… and you said it too, in the hallway."
He drew another breath, the disparate pieces of the puzzle clicking together with chilling certainty in his mind, the improbable theory solidifying, hardening into conviction with each passing second.
He met Mr. Harrison's widened, horrified gaze directly, his own green eyes unwavering, clear, and strangely resolute. "Is it… is it Kael?" he asked, the question now a statement, his voice gaining strength, certainty, conviction. "Is Kael a metahuman? Is that… is that why the storm happened? Because of him? And… and are you all… are you all hiding it?"
Mr. Harrison's reaction was an answer in itself. His face drained of all color, paling further to a ghostly white, his eyes widening again, this time not with shock, but with a dawning, chilling horror that mirrored the storm's raging chaos outside. His mouth opened, forming a silent 'O,' but no words, no denial, no explanation, emerged.
He simply stared at Perca, frozen, his expression a terrifying mixture of disbelief, fear, and something else, something deeper, darker, that sent a jolt of ice through Perca's veins. The truth, whatever monstrous, impossible truth it was, hung heavy in the air between them, unspoken, terrifying, and in that silence, suddenly, undeniably real.