Three days after the Omnitrix locked onto his wrist, Silas had developed a system.
It was not a good system.
It was the kind built at midnight from anxiety and good intentions, the kind that worked right up until it didn't. But for three days it had held.
The rules were simple. Left arm stays down. Right hand does everything. Long sleeve under the blazer at all times. No gym, he'd faked a wrist sprain with a bandage worn over the Omnitrix on Tuesday, which his gym teacher Mr. Briggs had accepted with the resigned energy of a man who had stopped being surprised by anything. No high shelves. No enthusiastic handshakes. No bumping the left arm on anything.
Forty-three hours of that system holding, and then Thursday happened.
....
AP Chemistry with Mr. Okafor met on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 8:15 AM in Lab Room 4, which smelled permanently of ethanol and the specific variety of academic stress that accumulated in rooms where things occasionally caught fire. Silas sat in his usual seat, second row, left side, nearest the emergency eyewash station.
Today's practical was a thermal decomposition experiment. Controlled heat application to a copper carbonate compound, measurement of gas output, documentation of colour change. Straightforward. He'd done more complex procedures at home with a camping stove and borrowed equipment when he was thirteen.
Devon slid onto the stool beside him, lab manual already open, pen already clicking.
Devon said, dropping his bag under the bench."Partner me. Keisha's absent and I refuse to work with anyone who uses the word literally as a filler more than four times per sentence,"
Silas said."That's very specific,"
Devon flipped open his manual."I counted yesterday. Marcus said it eleven times during the titration."
Silas said."Fine. You document, I'll operate the burner,"
Devon looked up."Why do you want the burner?"
Silas said."Because you almost set your sleeve on fire in October,"
Devon said."That was one time and I maintain it was the sleeve's fault for being so flammable,"
Mr. Okafor called the class to order from the front of the room, tall and unhurried, with the particular authority of someone who had been teaching long enough that he no longer needed to raise his voice. He walked them through the procedure in seven steps, wrote the expected reaction equation on the board in precise architectural handwriting, and added at the bottom, underlined twice: DOCUMENT EVERYTHING. A result you cannot explain is not a result.
'Yeah. No idea how relevant that is right now.'
....
The first fifteen minutes of the experiment were completely fine. Silas lit the Bunsen burner with his right hand, adjusted the airflow collar to a clean blue flame, and positioned the copper carbonate in the ceramic crucible with the steady, practiced movements of someone who found laboratory procedure genuinely calming. Devon documented. The compound began to darken.
The Omnitrix pulsed its usual slow heartbeat under his sleeve. He wasn't worried about the watch. He was focused on the experiment.
That was the problem.
Silas leaned forward to check the gas output measurement, shifting his weight on the lab stool, and his left elbow caught the edge of the bench at exactly the wrong angle. The Omnitrix faceplate, pressed between his arm and the bench surface, took the full impact. The plunger depressed.
'Oh no.'
Green light exploded from his wrist. He had zero seconds to make a decision.
'Bathroom. Now.'
Silas said, and did not wait for a response. He was off the stool and out the lab room door in the same motion, moving fast enough that the green light building under his sleeve was still just a glow by the time he hit the corridor. "I'm going to be sick,"
The transformation completed in the hallway. One moment Silas, next moment not.
Infernoid filled the corridor wall to wall.
'Move. Move right now.'
Infernoid moved, ducking a ceiling light fitting that would have lost the fight badly, and shoved through the boys' bathroom door at the end of the science corridor hard enough to leave a dent in the frame.
....
The boys' bathroom was small and smelled like industrial cleaner and regret. Infernoid barely fit through the door.
Seven feet tall, humanoid, composed entirely of dark volcanic rock shot through with channels of living magma that glowed orange-white where it broke the surface. No visible eyes, but an awareness that came from somewhere behind the lava channels, a sensory perception Silas was slowly learning to trust. Ambient heat radiated in a four-foot radius. Not flames. Just warmth, constant and significant.
Infernoid stood in the bathroom and looked at the mirror.
The mirror gave back a seven-foot being made of fire and stone wearing the stretched but intact remnants of a Metropolis Prep blazer. The EVA-polymer undershirt was doing its job. The blazer was distorted but holding. The timer panel on his chest was running.
'Nine minutes. You have nine minutes. The door is locked. Nobody saw the transformation. Just stand here and do not set anything on fire.'
Infernoid turned carefully, which at this size meant rotating slowly to avoid knocking anything off the walls, and checked the paper towel dispenser nearest him. A thin curl of smoke was rising from the edge of the roll. Ambient heat again. Infernoid patted it out with one massive hand. The dispenser dented slightly.
'Sorry. I don't know how you report that anonymously.'
The bathroom door rattled. Someone tried the handle. Then Devon's voice, muffled through the door.
Devon said. "Silas? You good in there? Okafor sent me to check on you. He thinks you might actually be sick, which, fair, you looked terrible,"
Infernoid looked at the mirror. At the nine-minute timer counting down. Then at the locked door.
'He can hear you if you speak loudly enough. You need to sound sick. Not like a geological event.'
Infernoid said, and the voice that came out was a deep volcanic rumble like an avalanche happening politely. He stopped. Tried again, quieter. "I'm fine,"
Better. Still not right. Still clearly not a sixteen-year-old with an upset stomach."Give me a minute."
A pause from outside.
Devon said."Your voice sounds weird,"
Infernoid said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near tectonic. "I told you I'm coming down with something,"
Devon said."It sounds like you swallowed a bass speaker,"
Infernoid said."Devon. Please go back to class,"
Devon started."Okafor sent me—"
Infernoid said."Tell him I'll be five minutes. Tell him it was something I ate. Please,"
A longer pause. Then:
Devon said flatly."Something you ate,"
Infernoid said."Yes,"
Devon said."At eight-thirty in the morning,"
Infernoid said."Early breakfast,"
The silence on the other side of the door had a quality to it that Silas recognised from inside a volcanic body, which was a sentence he could not have imagined saying a week ago. The quality of Devon filing this moment in his growing collection of things that didn't add up.
Devon said, and his footsteps retreated down the corridor."Fine. Five minutes. I'm timing you,"
Infernoid let out a breath that came out as a low heat shimmer in the air in front of him. He looked at the timer. Seven minutes and forty seconds.
'Just stand here. Do not breathe on the mirror. You are fogging it with heat. Stop breathing on the mirror.'
He did not breathe on the mirror.
It was the most disciplined seven minutes and forty seconds of his life.
....
Silas came back through the lab room door at 8:44 AM, sleeve adjusted, blazer smoothed down, face composed. Mr. Okafor looked at him from the front of the room with the measured attention of a man who had seen students leave sick and return looking like they'd had a philosophical experience.
Mr. Okafor said."Foster. You're back,"
Silas said."Yes sir. Sorry for the disruption,"
Mr. Okafor asked."Do you need to go to the nurse?"
Silas said."No sir. I'm fine now,"
Mr. Okafor studied him for a moment, not unkindly, just precisely, the way he studied data points that didn't quite fit the expected curve.
Mr. Okafor said."Sit down. You have four minutes left on the experiment. Document what's on the crucible and calculate the theoretical yield from your starting mass,"
Silas said."Yes sir,"
He slid back onto his stool. Devon did not look up from his documentation sheet. He was writing with the careful deliberate focus of someone who was absolutely not looking at Silas, which was its own kind of statement.
They worked in silence for four minutes. The bell rang. The class began packing up. Devon capped his pen, closed his manual, and finally looked at Silas directly with the long level look of someone who had made a decision about what questions to ask and when.
Devon said."Something you ate,"
Silas started."Devon—"
Devon said."At eight-thirty in the morning. That made your voice drop four octaves,"
Silas said."I told you, I'm coming down with something,"
Devon said."You know what's funny? In twelve years of knowing you, I have seen you get sick exactly twice. Both times were the same flu in seventh grade, twelve days apart, and both times you tried to come to school anyway because you thought you could study through it,"
Silas said."People change, Dev,"
Devon said. He picked up his bag. Looked at Silas for one more beat. "Not in a week they don't,"
Devon said, and left."I'm not pushing. Just want you to know I notice things. That's all,"
Silas sat alone at the lab bench for a moment, the emptied classroom quiet around him, the Bunsen burner extinguished and cold.
'He notices things. Yeah. I know, Dev.'
He looked down at his left wrist. The Omnitrix faceplate pulsed once, its ordinary slow heartbeat rhythm, the lightning bolt accents glowing their steady green in the fluorescent light of Lab Room 4.
he thought at it. 'We need to talk about your trigger sensitivity,'
'Sitting on you does not count as an emergency.'
The watch pulsed again. It almost felt like a response.
....
He called his mother from the corner of the school steps at 3:47 PM, the afternoon crowd of students thinning around him, buses pulling away in sequence.
Silas said."I transformed at school,"
The pause on the other end lasted three seconds.
Denise asked."Are you hurt?"
Silas said."No,"
Denise asked."Did anyone see?"
Silas said."No. I made it to the bathroom,"
Denise asked."What triggered it?"
Silas said."I leaned on the bench wrong and my elbow pressed the faceplate down. It just went off,"
Another pause. He could hear her breathing, the measured controlled breath she used when she was processing something she'd halfway expected.
Denise asked."Which form?"
Silas said."Infernoid. The fire one,"
Denise said."In the school bathroom,"
Silas said."Yes,"
Denise asked."For how long?"
Silas said."About nine minutes. Devon came to check on me while I was in there. I talked to him through the door,"
Denise asked."He heard you?"
Silas said."He heard a voice. He said I sounded like I'd swallowed a bass speaker,"
Denise said, her voice carrying the specific quality she used when something had moved from theoretical problem to actual problem."Silas,"
Silas said."I know, Mom,"
Denise said."Devon is not stupid,"
Silas said."I know. He told me he notices things,"
Denise asked."What did you tell him?"
Silas said."That I was sick. That it was something I ate,"
Denise said."At eight-thirty in the morning,"
Silas said."That's what he said too,"
A brief silence, and then quietly, reluctantly, unmistakably, she laughed. Just once. Short. The kind of laugh that acknowledged the absurdity of a situation without suggesting it was okay.
Denise said."Come straight home. The contact Dr. Vasquez gave me, I've done my research on him. I think we can trust him. I'm going to make the call tonight,"
Silas asked."Who is it?"
Denise said."His name is Dr. Emil Hamilton. He works at S.T.A.R. Labs, semi-retired now. He's dealt with situations like this before. Off the record,"
'S.T.A.R. Labs. Of course.'
Silas said."Okay. I trust you,"
Denise said."Straight home, Silas,"
Silas said."Straight home,"
He hung up. Stood on the school steps for a moment as the last bus pulled away and the street settled into its ordinary afternoon rhythm. A delivery drone overhead, someone's music from a ground floor window, the distant sound of the city doing what cities did.
His left wrist was warm.
he thought at the watch. 'We need to figure out the elbow problem,'
'I cannot transform every time I lean on something. I lean on things constantly. That is a basic human behaviour.'
The Omnitrix pulsed three short beats. The pattern he'd come to read as something like acknowledgement.
'Good. We agree. Figure it out.'
He picked up his bag and started walking home.
(Image)