Triple Point

Chapter 1: Lost in Translation

First-Time Reader ⇌

Re-reader ⇌

---

March 3, 33 AE

Somewhere in Japan

Elsie was going to die.

She could see the headlines now: "Hollywood actress mugged/kidnapped/murdered during Japanese vacation." She wasn't sure which of the three would be applicable, but she knew none of them were preferable. And as a drunken middle-aged local cornered her in a dark, narrow alleyway, yelling at her in a language she couldn't understand, she figured any of those outcomes would be valid options.

If only she had a superpower, maybe she could get herself out of this mess. At the very least, she wished she could communicate in all of the languages in the universe. But she knew that was impossible, and that was very unfortunate for two reasons: one, it did nothing to alleviate her current predicament, and two, it showed that she was actually nerdy enough to know that meta-abilities didn't work like that.

Elsie supposed that if she had to be scientifically accurate about her wishes, then she would wish for the superspeed meta-ability so she wouldn't have had to travel by train in a foreign country in the first place. She would have actually settled for any meta-ability, since any of them could have probably prevented her from falling asleep on said train and getting kicked out of the station with nothing but a dead phone, a sparse amount of yen, and no idea how to get back to her hotel.

Or maybe she could just have enough power to not get mugged, kidnapped, or murdered in a dark alley.

Regardless, she was way too old to suddenly acquire newfound meta-abilities and couldn't count on convenient superpowers as a reliable backup plan; she had to use what she already had.

She was going to die, wasn't she?

Suddenly, another figure appeared behind the man, smaller in stature but with a more imposing aura. The newcomer said something in Japanese, and the sound of their voice immediately filled Elsie with a mixture of relief and dread. It wasn't their tone that caught Elsie off guard, even though it was filled with the dangerous sound of warnings and threat, but it was the familiarity. Elsie knew that voice with certainty, and while it meant she was saved from the angry drunk, she now had a new problem.

Immediately, the drunk spun around, initially sounding angry. But after exchanging a few words with the newcomer, his tone quickly shifted to sounding more irritated than anything else. He and the newcomer went back and forth for a bit before the latter slowly approached Elsie.

Instinctively, Elsie tensed, but she knew it was a ridiculous reaction. Because as Camilla Wyatt stood before her, her face now visible with her close proximity, Elsie knew that the other woman would never physically hurt her. It was her words that were dangerous.

When people first met Camilla Wyatt, their impression of her would vary based on where they stood with her.

To the average American citizen, they would see the cute and spunky guardian with the bright eyes and mischievous grin that showed off all the latest and greatest consumer goods. To wealthy CEOs, she was the name and face of the American Protection Organization, and her rags-to-riches story combined with her diverse genealogy made her the perfect model for their products. To criminals, she was their cue to surrender, because behind her innocent smile and petite figure was a demonic force to be reckoned with.

To Elsie, Camilla Wyatt had been a literal angel. Now, all Elsie saw was the woman's piercing gaze, a pair of lasers that could burn one's heart to a crisp. She saw a slight frown holding back a whirlwind of words that would blow the ashes away, leaving nothing but destruction in its wake.