Facts were easier to deal with than emotions. Anytime Phoenix thought he was close to losing his mind, he reminded himself who he was, hoping that running through the unchangeable facts would make him feel more grounded. He was Phoenix Anderson, nineteen, from Rochester, living in Queens. In the fall, he would be a sophomore studying engineering. He was a superhuman gifted with telekinesis and the ability to manipulate minds. His entire family was dead, and he never felt more alone than he did on the days after the trackers were gone.
It was the middle of a stale summer, and he had more free time on his hands than he wanted. Having enough time to slow down and really think would only remind him about how messed up the tracker conflict was. So, instead of sitting in his apartment and waiting until the inevitable, uncomfortable thoughts crashed into his head and started to gnaw at his peace, he went outside. Sunlight and noise fixed a lot of problems.
He liked living in New York City. It was nothing like the suburb he grew up in and had its problems, but there was, to him, a perfect redeeming quality: the people. Eight-and-a-half million of them squeezed into little more than three-hundred square miles. All these different people with different pasts, different presents, different futures, and it reminded him that, in the grand scheme of things, human beings knew almost nothing about each other, and the world kept turning anyway.
Sometimes he really needed that reminder.
There was another upside, too: being able to move things with his mind was useful in the smallest of ways in a city of so many people. If he saw someone about to trip, he'd move the obstacle out of their way just enough to keep them from face-planting. If anyone littered, they would turn around and be surprised to see that their trash had followed them. The breeze took the blame.
He was careful, though, since his telekinesis came with a quirk. If he used it to move a difficult or large target, then swirling tendrils of blue light would appear around his hands and around the object. It was a pretty quirk but a risky one, so he made sure everything he did was small and inconspicuous. If anyone did notice things moving on their own, they had no reason to suspect him.
These simple actions were his way of doing some good in the world since he had no plans to become a superhero or any sort of agent. His parent's secret and his avoidance of the League didn't even have anything to do with it; he just didn't find it appealing. He liked his life.
By the time he was in Central Park, Phoenix forgot why he went outside in the first place. It was always a momentary thing, his tension over the trackers. Avoiding the League was a heavy choice his parents made, but he couldn't remember a single moment from his childhood when it ever mattered. It wasn't a punishing shadow that hung over them—no, they were a happy family with lives as normal as everyone else's, minus the superpowers.
And when Phoenix wasn't caught up with the trackers, he was a regular, generally optimistic person.
He stopped at a bench near the lagoon, where Tim sat with his seeing-eye dog, a golden retriever who was curled up between his feet with her head resting on her front paws. The old grouch's nephew was somewhere in the park jogging; they came here together every day, uncle and nephew and dog.
"Morning, Tim." Phoenix sat down on the other end of the bench. "Morning, Goldie."
"You again," Tim said with a scowl. "What's it, Dove? Pigeon?"
"Phoenix. Or Nick, if you prefer that."
It was a running joke, but sometimes Phoenix wondered if Tim was teasing or if actually couldn't remember his name. He guessed birds, at least. That had to count for something.
"What do you want?" the old man asked.
"Same thing as always," Phoenix said with a shrug. "Temporary company. And can I pet Goldie?"
"Sure. Whatever. She likes you, anyhow."
As if she understood, Goldie got out from underneath the bench. Phoenix reached over and rubbed the dog's head. "Thanks."
"Don't you have anything better to do than walk around here every day?"
Phoenix twisted his head around to look at Tim, keeping his hand on the dog. "I haven't been here in a few days, and no, I don't."
This was the sixteenth time he had come across Tim on the bench. It was day-four when he'd worked up enough nerve to ask to pet Goldie, day-six when he and Tim had an actual conversation, and day-eleven when Tim realized that this was becoming a routine.
But Tim never, ever told him to stop or to go away. Phoenix took that as a sign that the old man enjoyed his company, despite the scowls and ridicule, so he never took the insults too personally.
"I should get going," he said, giving Goldie one last pet.
"Hold on." Tim shifted in his seat. "There was someone here yesterday asking about you."
Phoenix froze. "About me?"
"Yes. I'd tell you what she looked like, but, you know..." Tim gestured to his sunglasses. "Blind. It was a woman, though, said she worked for the government. My nephew said she had the badge to back it up."
Phoenix had never met the nephew, but he considered sticking around until he ran by to ask him if the badge she'd held was for the League. "What did you tell her?" he asked quietly.
"What could I tell her?" Tim scoffed. "I only know your name, and I told her that you swing by and talk to me every few days or so. That's all."
She already knew that, Phoenix thought. Why else would she have asked you about me?
Tim cleared his throat. "You're not getting into trouble with the authorities, are you, boy?"
"What? No! I—no." Phoenix stood and backed away before he could make himself sound any guiltier. "I have to go."
Tim's hands tightened around his cane. "Alright."
I'll see you tomorrow, Phoenix thought, if I don't get taken into League custody.
He walked away. He didn't know what he was doing; there was nothing to be done. There was nothing to fix.
"Hey."
He stopped dead in his tracks. The hey could have been for anyone, but he knew it was for him. He turned his head, dread slowing the movement. A woman was leaning against a tree, arms crossed over her chest. She was tall, taller than him, and she was wearing the trademark black boots. Clipped to her belt was a badge; it was folded closed, but he didn't need to see it to know what it was for.
"You see that kite over there?" she asked, pointing.
Phoenix followed her finger up to the branches of another tree, where a drone was hovering quietly. If she'd called it a kite out loud, then she didn't want to make a scene, but it didn't change the fact that there was a League drone in Central Park.
"I see it," he said quietly.
"Good." She straightened off the tree.
Phoenix swallowed. She'd approached him differently than the others had; she'd directed him to her instead of following him and getting him somewhere alone. What did that mean, if the League was changing tactics? Two trackers in two days...it couldn't be good.
"That kite is equipped with response tactics you don't want to see," she said, coming closer with her hands shoved into her pockets. "So don't try anything with me."
Her tone was cold, rigid. It was surprising. Every tracker so far had been gentle, because as far as they knew, he was a harmless kid who had to be registered into the system. She was treating him like he was a criminal on thin ice.
Because that's what they think I am.
That realization hit him now when it should've hit him months ago. He gave them every reason to think he was a criminal. Difficult to catch? Check. Strange circumstances surrounding every tracker that went after him? Check. They didn't know why he was doing it; they couldn't possibly know that he meant no harm.
"I need you to come with me," she said.
Phoenix hesitated, trying to come up with a response that said 'no' in a way that didn't make him seem like a felon. "I...can't."
"Why not?"
He backed away carefully, eyes glued to the drone. It didn't approach, it only hovered peacefully where it was. He understood that it was only here in case he attacked her—and he wasn't doing that, but he was still afraid of it.
"I can't go with you," he said.
He waited for her to pull her hands out of her pockets, revealing some sort of a weapon to take him down with, but she didn't.
She only narrowed her eyes and said, "I'll see you soon. I promise."
To anyone listening, what she said made it sound like they were friends making plans for later. To him, it sounded exactly like what it was: a threat. He stood there, frozen, and watched as she left, the drone rising into the sky and racing off in a different direction.
Even with her promise, he couldn't believe she'd let him go. For now, he thought, but it was still strange.
Sunlight and noise weren't going to fix this, so Phoenix headed home. He gave the lobby man a smile that betrayed no worry, but it slipped off his face as soon as he was out of his view. The same question repeated itself over and over in his head: how soon is soon?
Phoenix went up to his apartment and sat down at the table, fidgeting with a pen and trying to understand her tone. Telekinesis wasn't exactly the mildest of powers—if the League truly thought he was a criminal, then he would be marked as a dangerous one. They knew he was sending the trackers back but didn't know why, and that made it worse. How would he explain himself when it got too far? Would it be better to turn himself in now and get it over with?
There was movement behind him, and Phoenix jumped in his seat before twisting around to see. The woman from the park was standing right there.
"You should've checked all the rooms," she said simply.
Soon meant very soon, apparently.
Phoenix's fingers tightened around the pen in alarm. She was right; if he was cautious, he should've searched the entire apartment to make sure no one was inside.
She stood on the opposite end of the table and placed her hands on the back of a chair. Her fingers were rough and calloused, the skin around her nails bruised and peeling. She still had the boots on, but now she was wearing a tactical jacket, too. Everything about her screamed that she was someone who knew how to get things done quickly, and with force, if necessary.
Even without the threat of the drone, he wouldn't get rid of her so easily. He could tell.
Phoenix put the pen down. He was sure she hadn't followed him here, and that could only mean one thing. "You already knew where I live," he said. "So why meet me at the park?"
"I wanted to see how you reacted."
He understood what she was getting at and shook his head. "I'm not a criminal."
"I figured as much," she said. "I've been observing you for a week, and you seem like a decent person."
"A week?"
"Not in here—mostly outside. At your old internship that ended three days ago, at that club mixer in the coffee shop, anytime you went grocery shopping or used the train." She grinned. "But I did watch what you did with the tracker yesterday."
Phoenix blinked, still hung up on the time. He'd been set up for a whole week, and judging by how calm and confident she was, she'd come prepared for anything.
"Before you try the whole mind control thing," she said suddenly, "please note that I'm gifted with super strength and durability. You'll have a hard time if you try."
Mind control. So they knew about that—how long had they known? Phoenix felt numb. The League knew everything they needed to: where he lived, what powers he had, what he'd been doing to outsmart the trackers. The grand finale of all his futile efforts was finally on its way.
"I'm not a criminal," he repeated, "but I can't go with you."
She nodded, almost sympathetically. "I get it, this tracker stuff isn't all that ethical. But listen, you have mind control and telekinesis—those aren't powers we can ignore. Whether you're a superhero or not, whether you use your powers for something or not, you're part of this. Understand?"
Of course he understood. He was part of the League's world by default simply because he had superpowers, but that had absolutely nothing to do with why he was staying away.
"I understand," he said, "I really do, but I still can't go with you."
"Why not?"
"I can't explain. It wouldn't make sense."
"Try me."
Phoenix had to do something; she wasn't going to leave on her own. He glanced at the kitchen counter behind her, where a bowl of innocent-looking apples was sitting. Fully aware of how messy this was about to get, he took a deep breath before replying, "I don't want to tell you."
She looked genuinely disappointed. "Fine," she sighed. "You don't have to tell me why you don't want to come. It won't matter when you're there."
He sent one of the apples flying at her. It bounced off the back of her head harmlessly, but in that one second that she stood there, confused, he grabbed a frying pan and swung.
She had strength, she had durability, but if he had time, his mind control could still work. He just needed her to be incapacitated.
She grabbed the pan right as it was about to hit the side of her head, wrenching it out of his grasp and throwing it across the room. He immediately used his telekinesis to lift her up, a little bit of blue swirling around his hands as he did. Lifting humans was difficult: they were too irregular of a shape and hard to control when the limbs kept flailing, and he was struggling, and he was also standing too close to her.
She kicked his shoulder with enough force to knock him over, his hold on her dissipating. She landed on the ground before he could get up, and in less than a second, she'd grabbed his wrists and had him pinned to the floor.
The super strength wasn't a lie: she was gripping his wrists hard enough to make his hands turn white, and he could tell that, if she wanted to, she could snap his bones with only a little more pressure. No matter how much he squirmed, he couldn't move out from under her knee.
"Stop struggling," she said calmly, not a bit of strain in her voice.
Phoenix suddenly noticed that the ceiling fan was directly above them. Perfectly, directly above them. He trusted her to move.
His hands were too numb to use. Telekinesis was the ability to control things with your mind—Phoenix didn't actually need his hands, but without them to help visualize and direct the motion, it would be harder. He focused on the fan with every ounce of effort he had, and a faint blue weakly swirled around the blades as he tugged. The tracker's face scrunched in confusion when she saw his eyes focused on something above, and she looked up just as the fan broke off the ceiling with a shudder.
She jumped off him, and he scrambled to the other side. The fan crashed to the floor in a heap of broken wood and dust. Out of the corner of his eye, Phoenix noticed her reaching into her boot and pulling something out. He got up, but slowly, weighed down by his throbbing shoulder and panic.
"What do you think is going to happen?" she asked from across the settling dust.
He watched her silently.
"No matter what you do," she said, "we'll find you. If you escape me, we'll send someone else. Escape them, and we'll send a whole team."
Phoenix closed his eyes. He knew all of that, but hearing it out loud made it more real, more inescapable. It was always going to lead to the one tracker who would succeed, and he'd never tried to convince himself otherwise.
She took his silence as compliance and approached slowly, walking around the fan to where he was standing. She held her hand out. "I'm Kate. Come with me."
Phoenix stared at her hand, and then he reached out hesitantly. This is it, he thought. There's no going back.
Their hands had barely touched when Kate's grip suddenly hardened, and she pulled him forward so fast that he nearly tripped and fell. Before he knew what was happening, something sharp poked his neck.
His limbs went limp as his vision blurred, and he realized that all of the trackers wore boots because they had easily accessible needles tucked inside. That was what she'd pulled out of her shoe: a hypodermic filled with something that was now coursing through his bloodstream.
"Don't worry," she whispered as his eyes started to close. "You'll be fine."
Author's Note - I don't know how well I explained the swirling blue that appears around Phoenix's hands when he uses his telekinesis. It's like the red stuff that appears around Scarlet Witch's hands:
I hope that visual helped ;)