Torch 7.4

Powers had a way of impacting the individual in general terms, beyond the way the Wretch affected me or Kenzie’s situation affected her. In the classes I’d taken and watched about parahumans, it had been painted out in broad strokes, partially but not wholly based on the PRT classifications. The generalized thinker mindset. Masters and sociology. Changers and identity.

When one could fly, it was easy to feel disconnected. Movers in general had issues when it came to feeling or being rooted in things. Being someone who had to run, walk, drive, and navigate the city on a day-to-day basis meant being in the city. It meant being on the roads and cooperating with others, watching out for them, and paying attention.

To fly was to be like the celebrity that was chauffeured everywhere. It meant not getting that daily dose of social give-and-take, good and bad. When I’d caught a ride to Ashley’s just a day ago, I’d suggested flying while everyone else rode. I’d told myself I could do stuff to help out while waiting for them, like we’d done with our detour. In the end, though, Kenzie was probably the only person in the world who would have been so happy to sit wedged in between Sveta’s hard prosthetic body and Chris, and I’d sided with the option that helped me stay connected and in tune with the group.

Now I felt the disconnect as profoundly as I had since flying over a flooded Brockton Bay. I navigated the air above a gridlock, a sea of red brake lights on a gloomy morning muting the color of much of the city.

I couldn’t stop for every incident I saw. More disconnection, that I had to see wrongs in progress and ignore them, because there were other priorities, or because I needed to look after myself and things immediate to me.

Once upon a time, in a land a universe away, I’d told Amy that she couldn’t be Scion. I’d had to tell myself much the same, in those hectic days after Dad’s head injury and the devastation of my hometown.

Traffic being outright stopped for ten minutes of me flying was a bad sign. Normally I would take my time, zig-zagging, looking for fire and even mundane situations where I could touch down and ask a question or two before taking off again. With this and the unrest it was causing, I wanted to get to whatever the source was.

People had headlights on in the fog, and it made for a stark image, with a crowd of people that had abandoned running vehicles now collecting in a mass. Some cars were pulling away, driving across fields to circumvent the situation, but they were mired, stopping because—

I had to fly closer to get a look.