Mind Over Matter

“Mind over matter,” Ray says, balancing three stacked coffee cups in his open hands. He’s sitting in his chair backwards, arms held directly out over the table. If the cups fall, they won’t fall far, which is good because she certainly wouldn’t be cleaning the shards.

Not again.

“Of the same mind,” Georgia counters. She’s got two forks wobbling on the tips of her fingers. Mary’s got good money on her, but that’s hardly worth much. Everyone’s got good money on Georgia.

“Mindful meditation,” Ray tries.

Hansen makes a noise like a buzzer, long, white hair hanging over his eyes. He picks up another coffee cup—this one emblazoned with a cartoon bee—and adds it to Ray’s teetering stack. “Phrases only, no nouns.”

Ray swears. His hands are steady but Mary can see his index finger twitch. He’ll be trembling soon, the fairly light cups becoming heavier the longer he has to keep his arms outstretched. “Uh, mind the gap?”

Hansen’s head turns towards Georgia, waiting.

“I’ll allow it,” she decides. She’s the youngest, barely sixteen years old to everyone else’s twenty and up. The League only lets her work in states that allow for Superheroes her age. Even then their team leader, Prism, doesn’t let her out into the field much. Something about child abuse, no matter how they call it. Georgia hums. “A load off the mind.”

“Careful there,” Mary says, watching the way Ray’s hands dip towards the table. “One touch and you’re out.”

“Thanks, Mary,” Ray says. “Nearly forgot the rules there. Thank you so much for reminding me.”

She shrugs against the wall. Hansen is taking up both of the chairs on his side of the table and she knows better than to get too close to the older Hero. He’s friendly enough to her, as friendly as he is to anyone really, but his power tends to flare up when she gets within about three feet. It’s not either of their faults, fire and water, but it’s better to play it safe than risk sending each other into a catatonic state.

“Tick tock, old man,” Georgia says. Her fork wavers and she bites her lip. “You’ve got ten seconds.”

Ray struggles. They’ve all got the upsides and the downsides of their powers. While Ray’s the best of them all at prediction—guessing at what a subject will do next based on their power fluctuation and thoughts—he’s not a very quick thinker outside of missions. Prism had once explained it to Mary as a side-effect of adrenaline based powers; his quickness only lasts as long as his fight or flight instinct does.

The cups tumble to the table, clattering and rolling when they hit. Nothing breaks, and Mary can’t tell if that’s because Georgia softened their descent or not. While she’s not a true telekinetic, she’s had some success with small objects as part of her main power. They found Georgia last year, unfortunately after she’d accidentally commanded a good portion of her town to “take a chill pill.” Prism had arrived to divert the command, bouncing it in her artificial mind long enough that it broke, just before anyone starved trying to find the elusive pill of chill.

Mary hadn’t been given any orders for that mission. That’s not unusual. Mary’s only really called up for a mission when the subject is maliciously causing chaos, not teenage-angsting their way into an Incident. Accidental mental incidents—AMI’s for short—were usually handled by Hansen and Prism. Hansen could trap just about any mind in his own; Prism could divert compulsions and commands. They made a great team.

Ray swears again, shaking out his hands. “Do you look these up before? That’s cheating, you know.”

“Not cheating ‘cause you had every opportunity to do the same,” Georgia retorts. She pulls the candy bowl in the center of the table towards her. “The kit-kats are mine!”

“It’d probably be more fair,” Hansen mumbles, “if you chose a random subject for each round.” He’s not shy. Hansen was found by Prism three years ago, locked in a room by one of the people whose mind he accidentally captured. He’d been there for longer than anyone cares to ask and talks quietly because of it.

“Defeats the whole point of Mind Puzzle if we do that,” Ray says.

“We gotta stay on theme,” Georgia agrees. She tosses Ray a kit-kat, just like Mary knew she would. Georgia’s a good kid. “Mind Squad. Mind powers. Mind games.”

Ray grumbles, but he’s smiling as he opens the chocolate. He doesn’t mind losing, Mary knows, even to someone nearly ten years his junior. As long as they all respected his judgement in the field, he’d let anything go when they’re relaxing at home. 

Mary knows that he’s had problems with respect in the past. Ray and Prism are the only ones who were on a Hero team before the formation of the Mind Squad. Prism was asked to create the squad by the leader of the League, Foresight.

Ray was asked to leave his team by his teammates. They didn’t ask him to leave very nicely.

His new squad make sure not to mention it.

“We’ve got a call,” a woman says from the doorway. She’s tall, taller than Mary, and very, very thin. Her curly, black hair nearly overwhelms her narrow face. Prism is always in uniform, harsh geometric t-shirt over black jeans that match her black mask. During dangerous missions, she’ll put body armor over everything.

It’s not an encouraging sign that she’s got her Kevlar vest clutched in one hand.

“An AMI?” Hansen asks. His eyes are on the vest too, a small wrinkle appearing between his brows. He doesn’t sound hopeful that it’s an accident.

Prism’s black eyes flash. “No. It’s full team on deck today, guys. Suit up and be at the plane in ten.”

She strides out of the doorway, long legs taking her out of sight in the blink of an eye.

Georgia looks around at the adults. “Wait, was she talking to me too?” 

Ray meets Hansen’s eyes. Both men hate sending Georgia out into the field. Both men know that Prism does too. Neither of them turn to look at Mary. People around here tend not to look Mary in the eyes if they can help it. She certainly makes an effort to avoid it.

“‘Fraid so,” Ray says, making his voice nonchalant. “Shirt then vest, squirt.”

Georgia colors. “That was one time! I thought we were supposed to be incognito—“

Mary slips out the door, knowing that none of them will move until she leaves. While Georgia and Ray’s powers don’t activate on proximity with her like Hansen’s, it’s...uncomfortable for their telepathy to encounter her.

She can be a little much.

—————————

“Local hero team encountered the subject at 0600,” Prism says from the pilot’s seat. The jet is larger than they strictly need, capable of carrying ten people. Despite that, Ray, Hansen and Georgia—the only members of the team not currently deployed—are sitting as close to the front as they can get. Mary doesn’t take it personally, sitting all the way in the back next to the hard restraints they use on unruly subjects.

She’s wearing her own body armor. It’s a bit more extensive than anyone else’s and includes a neck guard, arm guards and shin guards. Her power draws attention and, if the subject is armed, it makes her an easy target. She fiddles with the buckles around her forearm cover and listens to Prism over the roar of the plane.

“Subject is a 22 year old male, average build, wearing a red shirt and khaki shorts. According to witnesses, he’s a student at the university he’s attacked and was engaged in an altercation with a female student shortly before the hero team arrived. It became clear he has mental abilities when, without touching the female student or the heroes, he was able to inflict lacerations that, while felt, can’t be seen.”

Mary sucks in a breath at that. “Mind wounds.” They’re the nastiest sort of things. They make the body think it’s wounded and, without a mind healer to assist, are very, very slow to heal. It’s like having a phantom pain that never goes away. The fact that they’re described as lacerations...They need to get there now.

Prism nods, lips thinning as she begins to bring the plane down. “Yes. The heroes aren’t trained in identification and are unsure of the subject’s mental rank or the precise nature of his ability. The only consistent report has been that most victims met his eyes before being attacked.”

Georgia, hands white-knuckled around her seat belt, asks, “Most?”

“The ones who are conscious,” Prism says.

Great.

They land in the middle of campus, on the green where local PD have created an impromptu landing zone. There are students on the far side of the lawn, pointing and whispering at the logo on the side of their plane. They can recognize the League’s symbol, but not the added circle and bolt underneath it—the sign of the Mind Squad exclusively.

Mary remembers seeing this same plane land outside her house nearly four years ago. She can sympathize with the open-mouthed stares coming from the students. 

Prism leads the way out of the plane, kevlar firmly in place. She’s the most recognizable of them all, having been on a team with Foresight at one point, and the officers gravitate towards her. Hansen, hair swinging in his face and hands wringing, follows on her heels.

Georgia and Ray are wearing their masks, nondescript black ones. Georgia’s talking about decorating hers, but hasn’t so far. She and Ray hang back, between Mary and the press, scanning the crowd for anyone with particularly interesting thoughts. While both of them are capable of true telepathy, it’s illegal to practice in this state. They’re only skimming the surface, the bits and pieces they can pick up without delving past the mind’s natural defenses.

Mary hangs back, eyes on Prism. Her mask is hot and itchy. She’s against wearing it. Masks are meant to hide identities and Mary doesn’t have a civilian persona she goes out in. She very rarely leaves the compound and, when she does, it’s only with certain members of the Mind Squad. Still, Prism insists that a civilian identity can come in handy someday, so Mary bears with the hot, sweaty fabric as best she can along with her hot, sweaty body armor.

“I am hot and sweaty,” she says aloud.

Georgia coughs to cover her snort.

Prism jogs back over to the group, a pensive look on her face under the mask. “Subject’s in front of the library. It’s an older building and he’s keeping the students from exiting through the front. The fire escape’s been damaged since last semester.”

Mary lets out a slow breath. “So we’ve got hostages.” Hansen nods, lagging behind prism to keep the space between them. “Shit.”

“I’ve called Patch,” Prism says, naming one of their team’s mind healer. “He’s four hours out.”

Ray swears. It’s not like when he swore after losing the game—this one’s filled with venom. “Even in the jet?”

“Even in the jet.” Prism adjusts her gloves. “I go in first. Everyone single line behind me, Georgia at the rear. Let’s move.”

They do.

The small, concrete path they’re following spreads into a brick trail, small shrubbery lining either side. The sky is bright overhead, small clouds dotting alongside the treetops and a light breeze tugging at both. It’s peaceful and Mary remembers when she once dreamed of going to a school like this. It’s a little funny that she’s ended up here now.

“You know,” Georgia says from behind her, “you still can.” The younger girl sounds hardly out of breath—part of her control lessons include jogging. She picks up the pace a little so she’s astride with Mary. A shiver passes over her when she gets a little too close, but she ignores it. “Prism says I’ve gotta at least apply. You can too. We can go to school together.”

Mary veers a little away, giving Georgia more space. Georgia’s power won’t attack her, but she hates making the younger woman feel uncomfortable. She focuses on her own feet so that she’s not tempted to meet Georgia’s eyes.  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Georgia hums, probably not having expected a different answer. Mary never thinks going out is a good idea. “You have to leave the compound sometimes.”

Mary disagrees.

Prism slows to a stop. The four following her instinctively stop as well, falling silent when she raises a hand. Ahead, the library sits at the end of their path, brick fanning out into a small patio with stone benches. There’s a sculpture of a book in the center, obstructing their view of the wooden, double doors.

In front of the sculpture is the subject and the first hostage.The subject is as described; mid-twenties, dark hair, red shirt, khaki shorts. The hostage is on the ground at his feet, curled around herself as if protecting a small package. Mary thinks she’s unconscious at first but, as she watches, the dark, curly head moves.

“Calvin,” the woman on the ground groans. “Please.”

The man doesn’t seem to hear her, eyes on the approaching Mind Squad. His mouth is twisted down so far that the lines around it make him look like a puppet, just waiting for someone to pull his strings.

“He’s going to attack whoever gets close enough,” Ray says. He sounds different when he’s using his powers. Any southern accent he might have had disappears and his intonation goes flat. He sounds cold and robotic. “Radius is big, nearly as big as mine.”

Prism cracks her neck. “How can you tell?”

Ray smiles through thin lips. “He’d be lashing out now if he could reach. We got lucky stopping this far out.”

“I don’t believe in luck,” Prism says. She ignores the way half the squad mouth the words with her. It’s a bit of a catch phrase, one she seldom admits to having. She adjusts her gloves again. “Alright. Objective is to get the girl away from him. We’ll try using Warden for containment first, the hat second, unconscious third.”

“Gotcha,” Hansen says. He’s different in the field too. He’s no longer mumbling and he pushes his hair out of his face, securing it behind his ears with a headband. His eyes, behind his black mask, are clear and blue. “Have the hat handy, please.”

Mary nods and pulls her belt around. She carries the hat, its properties bothering her least out of all of them. It’s designed to shut down any mental abilities and, when worn, feels like encasing your head in concrete. As if that isn’t bad enough, the thing is ugly as hell, consisting of wire mesh, copper tubes and bright yellow wires.

Honestly, hat is a bit of a misnomer. It looks more like a terrible, steampunk crown. Mary’s worn it exactly once. Most of them have, actually, and not a single one of them can pull it off. Literally and figuratively.

“Hold on,” Prism says, swinging an arm out to stop Hansen from moving within striking distance. “Remember, we’ve got media coverage on this one. I’ll try to talk to him.”

It takes a minute for Mary to understand what she’s saying. They hardly ever talk to subjects that aren’t part of an Accidental Mind Incident. AMI’s can be coached or talked down—intentional mind manipulation incidents can’t and shouldn’t. 

But the public doesn’t know the difference between IMMI’s and other power-related attacks. To them, it’ll just be another group of heroes jumping the gun and using force when they could have talked it out. The public doesn’t know that Ray’s always been right when it comes to hostile subjects. They don’t know that this man will attack and they want to see the heroes at least try to de-escalate the situation.

To be honest, Mary can’t blame them. She’s seen enough teenagers pinned under rubble because an older hero gets a little too enthusiastic “saving” the day.

Ray hisses out a breath. “Prism, that’s not a good idea. He’s not willing to listen or negotiate. We could be endangering the girl further if we try to appear reasonable.”

“Or,” Prism says, “we show him there’s another option and change the outcome.” She gives him a reassuring smile. “Relax, Indicate. I’ll have my shields up. Worse comes to worst and I’ll break the attack before coming right back.”

“I’m coming with you,” Hansen says. When Prism starts to protest, he holds up a hand. “If you get me close enough, I can lock him down. It’ll look like nothing to the cameras.”

Prism nods, her mouth tight and unhappy. She knows it’s a good idea, but she’s never been the type of leader happy to endanger them. Mary knows the older woman takes a fair bit of the risk on herself just to keep them together. 

The two inch forward, Prism in front of Hansen, hands out splayed. She calls out, “Calvin, we’re unarmed, we just want to talk!”

“Hear that?” Calvin says to the woman at his feet. “They just want to talk too. Should I give them your answer?”

Mary watches as he sneers at the prone woman and feels her stomach sink. The woman turns her face up and there’s naked pain written across it, heavy lines around her mouth and arching over her brow. “Calvin, I—“

“Shut up,” he sneers. He looks up at where Prism is inching forward. “I just wanted her to listen! If she’d just listened—!” A wave of anger, obsession and lust wafts across the distance between them. 

Behind Mary, Georgia grunts. “Gross.”

Ray shushes her, but doesn’t disagree.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Prism says. Mary can see flickers of her shield in her aura, endlessly turning facets and mirrors that make a confusing labyrinth. Hopefully Calvin can’t pick up on any of it. “Why don’t you come over here? We can talk about it.”

They’re nearly close enough for Hansen to reach out and grab his mind. Mary doesn’t envy Calvin what’s about to happen. She’s heard both Georgia and Ray describe being trapped in Hansen’s mind as surreal. Almost pleasant. He’s sectioned himself off from where he keeps visitors so, they say, it’s almost like being in a room filled with stars. Alone. Quiet.

To Mary, getting rolled by Hansen feels like being shoved into a woodchipper. Feet first.

“Hell,” Ray swears, starting forward. “Prism, don’t—!”

The warning comes too late. Calvin steps over the woman, face twisting until all of his teeth are glinting under the mid-day sun. His hand slashes forward like a blade and Prism gasps.

Mary’s not that good at sensing. She needs to really concentrate to pick up on anything and she makes it a point not to concentrate on her teammates. They can feel her looking and it can distract them at crucial moments.

She doesn’t need to sense anything to guess what just happened. 

Calvin strikes again, throwing whatever mental dagger he’s able to. Prism jerks in front of Hansen, catching it again. Her shields should bounce the mental projectile until it turns into a splinter, rendering it ineffective. That’s what should happen.

Instead, she collapses to her knees, arms coming to staunch a wound over her stomach that no one can see. “Warden, don’t!”

Anything that can cut through Prism’s shields is too much for Hansen’s. Hansen doesn’t seem to be thinking about that. He dodges around Prism, closing the necessary distance between them to grab hold of the subject’s mind. 

“Go away!” Calvin snarls. He raises both hands this time, eyes crashing into Hansen’s, and brings them down a beat too late.

Hansen stops, ten feet away, and Mary can feel the bubble of power that bursts from him. It closes over Calvin, arresting his movements before he can throw another mental dagger. 

Georgia claps. “He got him!”

“No,” Ray says, dread in his voice. “He didn’t.”

Calvin screams, fighting to rip his mind out of Hansen’s grip. Mary can only imagine how this might look to someone not in their field—two grown men screaming at each other, each with a woman collapsed on the ground behind him. Calvin’ s scream empties of pain until all that’s left is rage.

The one thing worse than a mental incident that’s not an accident is a mental incident with a fully enraged subject.

Hansen breaks away from the mental battle, ripping his power from the other man like a band aid. It makes Calvin stumble, off balance after he’s no longer being mentally dragged forward, and lose focus for one crucial moment.

Ray darts forward, reading what Hansen is about to do. They reach Prism at the same time and, together, scoop her up on either side. They begin dragging her to the edge of Calvin’s radius, teeth gritted as they struggle to move fast.

Calvin recovers faster than they can get out of his radius, red shirt bunching up as he pulls himself upright. He snarls, a horrible grating sound, and raises a hand again.

Georgia gasps and starts forward. “Stop!” Her voice is filled with command, the power in that one word enough to raise every hair on Mary’s body. Compella is very rarely brought out into the field, but not because she’s not good.

Georgia, Hero name Compella,  is one of three people on the planet capable of true compulsion, the ability to command another person absolutely. She’s got the largest radius of influence that anyone on the Mind Squad has ever seen, but always does better with direct eye contact. She seeks it out instinctively, especially when she’s entering into fight mode.

Calvin, the bastard, uses that eye contact to cut through her command, back through her power, and directly to her. Georgia screams as his mental lacerations hit her, hands flying to cover her face. He’s managed to backtrack her mental signature, his blow flying over Mary to hit true. Georgia sobs.

Mary’s teeth grind and she whirls on Calvin. He looks winded, but not like he’s going down any time soon. He staggers back over to his victim, standing over her and glaring at the Mind Squad. Mary sees red. She reaches for her mental locks and barriers, ripping through her own shields to—

“Stand down!” Prism gasps. She stumbles past the edge of Calvin’s blocks and throws Hansen ahead of her before collapsing. “Damn it!”

Mary still wants to fight, but she can’t not listen to Prism.She focuses on her breathing, in and out, in and out, until her skin stops crawling and the rage she feels settles back into her stomach.

Hansen stays on the ground next to Prism, panting. His eyes are squeezed shut tight and his fingers spasm. “I feel like he cut open my fucking liver.”

“He gut shot me,” Prism says. “Remind yourself that it’s not real. It’ll help.” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. It doesn’t look like the reminder is helping her. She’s trembling. “He cut through every twist of my shields like they were paper.”

“He sliced my command,” Georgia says. Her voice is filled with tears and she doesn’t protest when Ray gathers her up in his arms. “He can hone in on us. I don’t think that thing even knicked Mary.”

“Code names, kiddo,” Ray reminds her. There’s no real chastising in his voice. His hands are running over Georgia’s hair like he’s looking for a head wound. “Where’d he hit you?”

“I’m fine, Indicate,” Georgia says. She doesn’t move out of his arms, nor does she take her hands away from her eyes. “How far out is Patch?”

“Three hours,” Ray says grimly. Three hours is a long time when you’re in pain.

Prism pushes herself up, arms still clamped tight around her stomach like she’s trying to keep her guts in. “Compella, you’re benched. Warden, take her back to the plane. Indicate, keep an eye on the subject but stay back. I’ll—“

“You should have just said yes!” Calvin screams, his voice shrill across the distance. 

Mary’s been too focused on her breathing. She hadn’t been watching the subject like she should have. While she’s been trying to keep calm, Calvin’s been talking to the woman on the ground, getting angrier and angrier.

“I’m sorry,” the woman sobs. She holds her arms up as if to ward off another attack. “Calvin, please—I didn’t mean—“

Mary looks between them and her team, making sure she’s only looking out of her peripherals. The woman’s fear is obvious, even from a hundred feet away. Her team is on the ground, pale with pain, shaking with it. Georgia whimpers when Mary’s gaze touches her and Mary quickly diverts her attention away from the teenager.

“I’m taking the hat,” Mary says. Usually Prism would, or even Indicate. Mary‘s main job is usually to wait with the jet. Her eyes flick to Prism’s and away again. “Okay?”

“You don’t have shields,” Prism says. “You’ll be cut.”

It’s not a no. Mary’s hands curl over the hat. “I know.” She lets Prism looks her in the eye just long enough to show her sincerity. Then she focuses back on the situation ahead of them. Calvin’s arms are creeping their way into the air.

Prism swears. She and Ray have similar swears. “Don’t look at the hostage, Themis. Keep your eyes on the subject and only the subject. She’s too wounded to take any more.”

Mary nods. She can feel the edges of her control wavering, eager to slip the constraints she puts on her mind. She hardly ever goes out into the field and, when she does, it’s like breathing for the first time after weeks underwater. “Got it.”

She reaches for that first lock and, this time, no one stops her.

————————-

Mary didn’t choose her Superhero name. Themis is a Greek deity, known for being fair and just. She’s associated with the scales of justice and Mary doesn’t consider herself to be a good judge of what’s right and what’s not.

Themis, of course, is also one of the Titans.

That, Mary can identify with.

—————————-

Themis feels like she grows with each step she takes. Her body remains the same, of course, but her mind—she spends so much time keeping herself folded in, tucked away, that she forgets what it’s like to breathe.

Her awareness washes across the brick, concrete and grass like a tide, out and out and out. She can feel the ant colony nestled in the grass two hundred feet away. She can taste the pain in the air, like sick perfume, and Calvin’s anger.

She looks up and straight into Calvin’s eyes. They’re smaller than she thought they were when she was all buttoned up. Wide and mean and ugly. 

“What,” he breathes, staring at her, “the fuck.”

The hat dangles loosely in her left hand. Calvin doesn’t notice it. He’s looking at her, eyes flicking from left to right as if expecting to see someone else there. Ray once described the sensation as dissonance. His mind told him that there had to be a hundred people looking at him. His eyes never believed it when they saw Mary there instead.

“Just me,” she says. She wants to look at the woman to check on her. She hasn’t made any noise. Some people react like that; they go completely silent when Mary walks by to avoid attracting attention. “Don’t move.”

“Stay back,” Calvin says. He backs up, hands coming up as if to ward her off. His back hits the book statue. “Don’t come closer!”

Themis takes another step and braces.

Calvin lashes out, hands swiping forward again and again. There’s fear in his eyes and she can tell he very desperately wants to look away. He can’t. He has to look at her to attack her, to attack the threat, and if he looks away for a second, his mind tells him she’s right behind him.

The mental daggers aren’t really daggers. They’re more like swords, she’d guess. She’s never encountered anything like it. They plunge into her psyche, catching on memories and sensations. She feels the lacerations like gashes on her arms, all the way from elbow to shoulder and then across her chest.

The pain nearly takes her breath away. It hurts, but the wounds aren’t really there. She has to remind herself of that. They’re also not that deep. She’s too much for his power and each cut only goes skin deep, if that. 

She takes another step forward.

Calvin screams. “Die!”  She can see the whites of his eyes and the way his hand trembles as he pats the statue behind him for the corner. He’s going to try and put the thing between them to keep her from getting to him. “Just die!”

She takes the next dagger to her outer thigh. She knows the hostage is on the ground somewhere in front of her, but she doesn’t dare look right now. She’s got all of her barriers and blocks down and every inch of her gigantic mind is narrowed in on Calvin. If she looks at someone without powers like this, she might very well send them into shock.

She’s seen it happen before.

Themis, never looking away, begins to run towards the subject. He’s going to bolt soon and that doesn’t look good on camera. She arcs around where she might have seen the hostage last. Calvin stumbles over the corner of the statue, falling onto his ass. He crabwalks away from her rapid approach, screaming. 

“Shut up,” she snarls. She skids to a stop at his side, knocking his hand out of the way when he instinctively tries to hit at her. He’s gone sightless with terror, mind rebelling at what’s next to him. She slams the hat onto his head, pulling the strap on the back until the edges of it dig into his skin.

“Why—wha—“ Calvin says. The hat lights up, feeding off the mental energy he tries to throw out. “No. No!” He slashes at her with the edge of his hand.

She stares at him, eyes mellow and cool. Nothing happens.

It’s too much for Calvin. Her presence is stressful enough on someone with mental powers. To someone whose powers have just been locked away? It must be like Jack waking up to find the Giant leering over his bedside.

His eyes roll up into the back of his head and he faints dead away.

Themis stares at him. He’s collapsed back onto one of his arms. That can’t be comfortable. The statue is blocking her squad’s view of what’s happening so, as far as they know, the fight is still going on.

She really needs to stand up and show them that it’s over, but...But then she has to go back. It’s so rare that she gets to stretch like this that she can’t bear the idea of putting her blocks and barriers back so soon. She wants to stay here, like this, for just a moment longer. Just another moment. The air vibrates with her need, the sweet scent of grass mixing with it. The sun on her skin feels so good and the wind sounds like music—

There’s a pained whimper from the other side of the statue. Themis flinches at the sound, jerking her attention away from it as soon as possible.

Mary crashes back into herself. She may not be paying attention to the woman, but the woman is probably still paying attention to Mary. That can be a huge burden for a normal mind. Not to mention the countless lacerations the poor student must be suffering from Calvin’s tender care.

Mary is, abruptly, disgusted with herself. This is why she doesn’t go out. All she does is consider herself and not anyone else when she does. 

She uses her self-hatred to reach for her blocks. She pinches off her awareness, trimming it so that her aura rests just above her skin. She pulls her mind from the sky, funneling it back into her head, and seals a lid over it. She raises her barriers until she feels like she’s blinded by them.

Then, when she’s as good as normal as she she’ll ever get, she stands up. “Clear!”

Prism is on her feet and Mary lets relief sweep through her. She’d been worried Prism would be out for the count by the mental wound. Mary’s got exceptionally thick mental skin, anything that hurts her can really hurt one of her teammates.

It’s always nice when she overestimates herself.

“Good work,” Prism calls. She jogs towards the hostage. If she’s worried about the way Calvin’s feet stick out from behind the statue, she doesn’t show it. “You hurt?”

All of Mary’s cuts throb at once. “Skin deep.”

“We’ll get them looked at anyway,” Prism says. She kneels next to the woman and puts a finger to her neck. “She just fainted. Patch will want to take a look at her first.”

Mary’s lips thin. Prism always put the victims ahead of herself. “Then Compella. Then you.”

“Then you,” Prism retorts. She slides her arms under the woman and lifts. For all her slenderness, Prism is strong. “I sent the others back to the jet. You okay to join them?”

Mary hesitates. She’s got her mind under control now, but the memory of being free… “I’ll wait with the subject. Just let me know when takeoff is.”

Prism sighs. “If that’s what you want. Indicate would prefer to see you sooner than later. He worries.”

Mary doesn’t think Ray has any reason to worry about her. She waves off the concern. “Is the League sending someone to pick this guy up? Or are we taking him?”

Calvin’s lax face doesn’t look like much of a threat anymore.

“League’s ten minutes out,” Prism says. “They want the local team to take credit for the capture. They need the press.” She rolls her eyes. “Typical.” 

“We’ll still get the funding,” Mary consoles. She watches the woman droop in Prism’s arms. Her face is twisted like she’s having a nightmare. “It’s not good for her to be near me right now. We’ll be fine here.”

Prism nods and heads back towards the jet. “Patch will be here sooner than he thought. Keep out of trouble until then.” 

Mary can’t imagine getting into trouble, locked down like she is. “Oh,” she says, “I’ll try.”

Calvin’s eyes flutter. Mary waits for Prism to get out of earshot and bashes his head against the edge of the statue. His eyes stop fluttering.

Good.