3:24 PM 07/30/2004 {Summer of 2004 - Lincoln}
I looked out the hospital window, my eyes glued onto the gray clouds ahead. The thunder boomed every few minutes, but I barely noticed.
The clouds were rolling forwards in a way that made me think they were alive. Today was the day. Ms. Perry had explained to me that after the rise in villain and gang activity in Brockton, there had been a rise in murders, some of which were kids.
So, this left many parents mourning their children and the life they had thought they'd live with them.
Some of them were desperate, was what Ms. Perry said, but left the "for a replacement" hanging in the air.
I didn't care.
I could handle the beatings. I could handle the false care. I could handle everything, risk anything but the idea of my promised freedom. If they wanted me to jump, I'd ask; 'how high?'
If they wanted me to smile, I'd smile.
I needed to escape from the phantoms of promises I hadn't been able to deliver on.
I had to run away from them. I'd failed them. I couldn't protect them.
All my planning, all my signals, everything hadn't been enough.
It'd all been torn down by one hand.
So, Ms. Perry had found a pair that she trusted, and told me that with them, I didn't have to worry about the PRT.
The PRT were the ones who'd managed to give me an out, not that they knew it. They'd done such a thorough job sweeping up their treatment of me that I'd been wiped from any public records on that day- as far as anyone but the PRT knew, the orphan known as Lincoln had not been anywhere near the hideout raid.
And if the PRT said otherwise, my part in all of it would've been revealed, or at least, the attack on me- given how well recorded Ms. Perry had my injuries.
According to Ms. Perry, with how the PRT were on thinning ice with their alleged treatment of parahuman minors, at least, with the few activists against some program called the "Wards", the fallout would outweigh anything the PRT would gain from digging, and possibly learning of my triggered status.
At least, that what Ms. Perry explained, as I halfheartedly hoped she was right.
So all Ms. Perry had to do was anonymously report an unknown trigger with nothing on record, and only have me on paper for my injuries. She seemed to be the one who'd managed my results- leaving the examiners waiting for them- which she altered.
Despite the voice in my head that was terrified, and urged me to run, I hoped she could let me go, as she seemed to be the only one who knew, or suspected me to be a Thinker.
Ms. Perry had tried to be honest about the couple that she'd found to adopt me, but I could tell she wasn't fully convinced either, especially as she went on to explain their situation.
Their child had been caught in the crossfire of a rogue parahuman on the run from the PRT, who had done nothing but provoke a rogue into retaliation in a public place, which had resulted in the death of their kid- so they'd directed their hate to the PRT.
I didn't know how to feel about it, but couldn't bring myself to feel much.
She had told me that I looked similar to their kid, so that had also been a factor.
I tried to think of reasons besides that, which would explain why they would want me, but simply came to accept that I was just a replacement.
But it was still enough to make me feel better, a lot better, in fact. I didn't have to fear the axe of CPS or the PRT.
I was safe.
It felt too good to be true, but I found my mind wandering to what the we at the foster home had dreamed about doing when we got out.
Maybe I could go to school.
Between my constant escapes from the foster home, the foster parents locking me in my room, home schooling me, and different homes, I'd had a spotty attendance, at one school at best, much less the many others I'd been to.
School had always been something I wished I could go through normally, with everyone at the foster home, especially Patty.
But Ms. Perry had told me that we needed to have a discussion with them first.
I tried to sit up on the bed, feeling trapped in all the covers.
My side stung, and I slid back down, groaning.
I didn't like the waiting.
Now that it seemed I was close to escaping the claws of the foster house, the world felt slow.
Wait. My blood froze. Could it be the PRT?
What if Ms. Perry lied to me to keep me calm?
I felt my heartbeat start to pick up.
I wasn't in any state to get out of here. I was trapped.
Shit.
Why had I been so stupid?
Fuck. Fuck!
My head began to ache, pounding along the beat of my heart.
I had to at least try to leave.
Looking down at the needles in my arm, I began to lose focus.
It would hurt, but I forced my hand to reach towards them, trying to ignore how my hand shook.