The first full day blurred into the second, then the third. Time in this place didn't feel real. It stretched and folded in on itself, measured by the buzz of lights and the clack of trays.
I woke to the same announcement every morning. "Morning cycle. Line up for breakfast." My stump throbbed under the bandage. The energy aspect had worked a little overnight—a faint green pulse that left the nub of new flesh a tiny bit longer, tender and raw. It still wasn't an arm. Just a reminder that healing was slow and painful, like everything else here.
Breakfast was oatmeal again. I ate one-handed at a corner table. The common room after that was labeled "Structured Reflection," but everyone just called it downtime. Kids sat at tables or on bolted benches. Some stared at the walls. Some drew on scrap paper with dull crayons.
A boy with messy black hair dropped into the seat across from me on day three. Sparks kept popping between his fingers like tiny tasers. Every time he moved, a faint zap sounded and he winced.
"New?" he grunted, rubbing his hand like it stung him.
"Yeah."
He eyed my pinned sleeve. "What'd you do?"
"Fought someone back home. Hurt him bad."
He snorted. "Welcome to the club. Name's Jax. Electricity quirk. Can't turn it off anymore—feels like I'm always holding a live taser. Shocked my little sister last time I hugged her. She still flinches." He flexed his fingers and a visible arc jumped, making him hiss. "They put me in anger management twice a week. Like talking fixes constant shocks."
"Anger management?" I raised an eyebrow. "They actually have that here?"
"Oh yeah. Real fancy. You sit in a circle and talk about your feelings while your hands keep frying themselves." He rolled his eyes but gave a tired grin. "Last week a kid with fire hands melted his chair. Staff just said 'Good effort expressing yourself' and gave him a new one. Weirdly nice about the stuff that actually hurts us."
I found myself smiling—teeth flashing—and it didn't feel quite as monstrous. "Sounds better than the hospital. There they just poked my stump and said 'Monitor for instability.'"
We talked longer than I expected. Jax was frustrated but not mean. He missed his family, hated the constant zaps that left his hands raw, but he'd been here six months and figured out the rhythm. "Just don't go full monster in P.E. and you'll be fine," he said before staff called us to the next thing.
Anger management was exactly what he described. A circle of plastic chairs in a small room with motivational posters. The counselor had us go around and name one thing that made us angry.
When it got to me I kept it short. "People thinking my face means I'm dangerous."
The kid next to me—Eli, with feathers along his arms—nodded. "Same. I sneezed once and molted. The feathers are razor sharp now. Cut my mom's arm open just by accident. She cried more than I did." His voice was soft, tired. "They say I'm volatile. Like it's my fault they grew this way."
A couple kids murmured agreement. The counselor smiled that practiced, fake-nice smile. "Good sharing. Let's turn that anger into growth."
It was ridiculous. I almost laughed out loud. Nineteen-year-old me sitting in a circle talking about feelings with kids whose quirks actually hurt people. But I played along. Better than fighting it.
Normal classes came after—math on tablets, reading comprehension, basic history. The teacher sounded like he was reading from a script. "Focus on your future potential," he kept saying. I caught Jax rolling his eyes across the room while trying not to shock his own desk. I smirked back. At least I wasn't the only one who saw how fake it all was.
By the time P.E. rolled around, I was already drained.
The gym was big concrete with high ceilings and thick pads. Staff watched from the sides—cold but not mean. One woman with a clipboard called out, "Remember, this is a safe space to release pent-up energy. We strongly encourage healthy quirk expression today. No one has to participate, but it really does help with emotional regulation."
They were oddly adamant about it, like they believed running around would fix the fact we were locked in here.
I stuck to the edges at first. Jax jogged laps, sparks snapping every few steps and making him flinch. Eli stretched his arms and let feathers drift down—sharp enough that one landed on another kid's hand and drew a thin line of blood. The kid cursed but didn't yell; everyone was used to it. A girl with vine quirks grew a small climbing wall, but the thorns on the vines cut into her own palms as she climbed, leaving red streaks.
After a few minutes the clipboard woman walked over to me. "Todd, right? We noticed your file mentions adaptive traits. Would you like to try something small today? No pressure, but releasing a bit of energy can really help with the adjustment period."
I hesitated. My stump ached. The nub under the bandage felt raw. But sitting out forever wasn't going to help either.
I nodded.
Just the energy aspect—no full transformation. Green glow around my legs. I pushed a little speed like the pigeon memory and crossed half the gym in a burst. The air rushed past my face, teeth bared in the wind.
The staff nodded approvingly. "Excellent control. See? Healthy outlet. We hope that you continue, to show a posotive use of your quirk, remember that your quirk is still apart of you, and you shouldn't shun it."
i couldn't help but wonder how weird that was, but it's whatever.
Jax wandered over after, breathing hard and shaking out his stinging hands. "Not bad, teeth guy. Were you holding back?"
"Trying to," I admitted. "Last time I went all out I hurt someone pretty bad.. and myself..."
He leaned against the wall beside me, sparks popping weakly. "Yeah. I get that. Shocked a guard my second week. They didn't punish me, just made me talk about it for three days straight." He laughed, but it was tired. "Place isn't cruel. Just… empty. Like they think if we run around enough we'll forget we're stuck."
We talked more while the others kept moving. Jax told me about his sister again, how the shocks had gotten worse after a growth spurt. Eli joined us quietly later, picking a few loose feathers from his arms and wincing as they nicked his own fingers. "I just want to go home," he said softly. "My parents said the feathers were too dangerous around the baby."
I didn't know what to say that wasn't empty. "Me too."
We sat together until the announcement for dinner. Not friends exactly. But not alone.
That night I lay in bed turning the sandcastle keychain over and over. The facility was cold. The routines were empty. The adults smiled like they were reading from a manual.
But there were people here. Real ones. Angry, sad, bored, trying.
I closed my eyes and whispered to the dark, "Consequences. I can handle this."
The nub on my stump ached again, the energy aspect flickering like it agreed.
One day at a time.
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Hey guys sorry for the long hiatus, I started working on a ranch and farm to get money for college. it has been a long summer but my tuition is paid, and i have a few dollas in my pocket. hope all readers are having a good summer and even better lives. pls comment thought and point out grammatical errors, and or better ways to restructure sentences.