Thunderstorm was not having the best day.
Her head was groggy, as if someone had injected slime into her skull. Behind her eyes was a burning sensation, and her body was stiff from remaining motionless. Her eyelids were uncooperative, her eyes twitching as she struggled to open them. Her throat was scratchy and dry, like a desert had manifested in them.
Her fingers twitched, her fingertips sensing the fabric of a bedsheet, and the faint texture of bandages around her hands and arms. Despite her ears ringing, pounding on her skull like drums, she could hear the creak of a chair, and the faint chirp of a machine.
Then she heard someone snapping the fingers beside her ear, as if they were trying to get a response from her. Her breathing sharpened, muscles tensing. She wanted to wake up, but her body wouldn't allow her.
The snapping stopped, which eased her nerves a little. Eventually, her eyelids opened, the world in front of her blurred and distorted. She could see a dark ceiling, the electrical lights turned off, with a small peek of light shining through what possibly could be an unshut door.
She paced her breathing, and moved her limbs slowly to regain control over them. She could feel bandages wrapped around her stomach too, which was where one of the major wounds were.
Finally, she was capable of pushing herself up, supporting her weight with her arms, though the wounds stung with pain. Her mind instantly cleared, the pressure lessening as her senses sharpened.
Then she remembered the other person in the room. She spun around, and she saw a man, his legs crossed on the swivelling chair, stationed in front of various medical machinery. Maybe she was still delusional, because his eyes looked like they were glowing faintly, the gold moving as his gaze trailed down to her wounds.
"Took you long enough," he said, though his voice was muffled, due to the ringing in her ears. He stood from his chair, opening the drawer from a white cupboard and put on disinfected one-use plastic gloves. "I'm going to have to check on your wounds. Hold out your left hand."
Thunderstorm frowned, sceptically listening anyway. She raised her left hand, the bandages fresh, but the wounds remained.
The man gently cut the bandages with a pair of metal scissors, and unravelled the latter professionally. When he got to the last layer, he frowned with confusion and removed the bandages entirely before getting another bundle of it.
As he rebandaged her hand, he turned to her, though his movements were precise and clean, with no excessive time wasted.
"You don't how to protect yourself with your powers, do you?"
"No..." Thunderstorm glanced away. "I don't."
"I understand. If there's no one to teach you, figuring out is impossible," he said, then smirked in triumph. "Unless you're as smart as me, that is."
He stared at Thunderstorm expectantly, like he was expecting a reaction, and he got it, though it may not be the effect he was going for. Thunderstorm's cheeks reddened, and she turned away, though he kept her hand firm as he made the finishing touches.
He kept his smile as he cut the bandages, keeping them in place with some basic paper tape.
"Not used to harmless teasing, huh?" he guessed. "My name's Solar. So, you went up against Quake like a headless chicken. I'm actually surprised you're still alive."
The memory of the battle formed in her mind, the embarrassment of suffering a humiliating defeat still fresh. The ending of the battle slowly came to her in pieces, and Quake didn't kill her, but instead she'd saved her...
"You're with Quake?"
"Um, yeah. She's our team leader."
"But why-" Thunderstorm swallowed, remembering the phone call that went horribly wrong. "The phone-"
The door swung open, and a silhouette was framed by the light outside. Thunderstorm snapped her eyes shut, acting from instinct as her eyes had yet to adjust properly.
"Close the door, damnit," Solar grumbled, sinking back to his chair in exasperation.
"Then why don't you close your trap?" The newcomer closed the door anyway, though it was gentle, as if he was trying not to startle anyone. He exhaled an audible breath, and brushed his hands together while turning to Thunderstorm, the black-framed glasses on his nose moving as his nose scrunched. "Well? How are you doing?"
Thunderstorm's eyes squinted, white spots still dancing in her eyes. That voice... the same figure that she'd seen that night on the ruined ball...
She walked right into a villain's trap.
Her breathing fastened alarmingly, her heart racing as the monitor screeched to study her heart rate. Thunderstorm tried to get off the bed and stand, though her legs collapsed on itself almost instantly.
"Hey!" Solar rose from his chair. "Take it easy! You're not recovered enough to do anything drastic like scratching my irresistible, charming face off!"
"What do you want with me!?" Thunderstorm screamed, her throat protesting. Her hand was coated in a later of electricity, which in a burst of red, a twin-edged spear materialized in her hand.
Solar and Cyclone raised their hands and backed away from her, though they were holding them defensively, their gazes exchanged in uncertainty.
"Thunder, we're not going to hurt you," Cyclone stated. "I said we were going to help you, remember? We're trying to help you!"
"JUST TELL ME WHAT IS IT THAT YOU PEOPLE WANT!" Thunderstorm shouted, her body trembling, tears forming in her eyes. She leaned on the wall to keep her balance, the spear held vertically, the red, bloody glow casting into her face, framing her terrified expression.
The machines behind Solar sparked and short-circuited, the computers releasing a high-pitched wail as smoke filled the air. The lights above them shook whined and shattered, the wires molten and burning.
Glass rained down on them, clattering on the floor, forcing them to shield their heads.
Thunderstorm bit her lip, her hand gripping her spear like it was her lifeline. The bottom spear's tip sizzled on the tiled floor, creating sparks and a piercing screech.
She backed into a corner, holding her spear's end towards them. She let herself fall into the enemy's hand. She was too trusting that someone would help her-someone that barely knew her. She was too gullible, and she paid the price.
"Thunderstorm," Cyclone said firmly, his hands raised as if trying to stop her from doing anything reckless, "we're not going to do anything to you. What we want is for you to calm down, and give us a chance to help you."
There was something in his tone that caught Thunderstorm off-guard, something that she heard it once before-from Quake. The same thing that she heard when she and Quake first met on that damned golem.
... what happened to the city?
Her grip on the spear tightened again, causing them to stiffen once more.
"What did you do to the city?! What did you do!?"
"The city's fine! They're beginning repairs as we speak!" Solar said, more exasperated than defensive. "If you don't believe me, then search the live news up!"
"Is Blaze and Thorn okay? What did you do to them!?"
"For Christ's sake, we didn't do anything to them!" Solar continued. "Why do you even care about them after how they treated you? They don't even treat you as an equal or with any respect!"
"Would you just please listen to us?" Cyclone pleaded, his hands crossed as if he was practically praying to god for all of this to be over. "We're not going to hurt you. You can barely even walk!"
They both stared at her with equal concern in their eyes, the intensity hyper-focused on her well-being rather than their current situation. It's not like she could do anything about it, anyway.
Still, Solar was right. Why did she care about those two? Ever since she was elected leader, they had been avoiding her like the plague. She was always the scapegoat. Thorn said she had changed, but so did they.
The spear in her hand clattered on the ground, the weapon fading with electrical sparks and static as she lost her hold. Her knees trembled, exhaustion taking over her, but Cyclone rushed over and caught her before she fell.
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to blink back the tears as Cyclone hung her arm around his shoulder, the rest of her body limp with numbness.
"Quake's going to kill me," Solar muttered, turning to the destroyed machines. "We could barely pay our utility bills, and now we have this. 'Make her feel at ease,' she said. 'It'll be easy, they said.'"
Do villains pay bills? Thunderstorm had no idea. Solar then helped to get the glass shards off the bed as Cyclone helped her onto it, and he used his wind manipulation to condense the smoke into a small sphere, circulating in his palm.
"Hey, egotistical," Cyclone called. "I'm cleaning the floor. Move your bright ass somewhere else."
Solar rolled his eyes, and muttered several choice words in different languages, which most of them Thunderstorm had never heard of in her life. Before he left the room, he patted Thunderstorm's shoulder, saying: "Don't worry about it. I'd do the same."
Thunderstorm barely acknowledged him, but she nodded lightly. She leaned on the bed's frame, her dazed gaze staring at the oversized orange shirt and black shorts that she was wearing that didn't belong to her. They were a female's, but not her size.
Cyclone cleaned up the room with his powers, sweeping up the glass with his powers and gathering the shards into a bubble of air. He left the room to dispose of the mess.
She was finally alone, but the silence was horrifying, overwhelming, louder than anything she ever heard.
What was going on...?