Perennial

Chapter 6 -- Perennial

The weeks following my last visit to Mr. Suit are full of last minute tests and preparation to go to Icarus, a lot of which seem to be about determining where I am in my education and control of my powers, as well as any combat capabilities I may have.

They familiarize us with our new uniforms, which are unisex and form fitting and built to endure the brunt of our individual powers. (For example, Maria's would be waterproof, as she has hydrokinesis, and if either of us had that handy dandy power of pyrokinesis, they'd be fireproof. Mine, specifically, is more... generalized, but still durable, since chlorokinesis doesn't typically do a whole lot of damage to the user, unless you count all the grass stains.) We are also given name tags with our project names on them.

It's then that we learn that the nametags aren't just name tags. They double as something called a perception filter. Basically, what a perception filter does is it filters your perception (surprise!) of the wearer so that you only see what the name tag wants you to see. (For example, my nametag hides my naturally brown eyes with a greenish hazel, and my brown hair with a blonde edged with red highlights. My skin is also a few shades whiter than it should be.)

The purpose of perception filters in the school is twofold. First, it's damage control that protects the identities of the students should the school ever be infiltrated by enemies of the government. Second, it gets students used to the habit and sensation of wearing a perception filter. Adult super-humans are required to wear them on all their assignments (as an identity protection).

I had suspected DSHA was using this kind of technology. It's satisfying to see I was right.

By Sunday, I find myself at the Icarus Academy, safe and (mostly) sound with a few other girls from Midas with me. None of us have any suitcases. It's not like we brought anything with us to Midas in the first place, anyway. All we have is the uniforms on our backs.

Our journey takes place in one of those vehicles that's too small to be a bus but too big to be a van. On the outside, it looks long and black, which reminds me of a hearse, even though the vehicle itself is obviously not. On the inside, the accommodations are cramped, the windows are all tinted, and it smells vaguely like fish. I don't think I want to know why.

The ride to Icarus seems unnecessarily long. Along the way, at least two of the girls complain about being carsick, and Maria starts rocking back and forth like she needs to use the bathroom.

It's a great relief to everyone when we pass by the sign announcing that we have now arrived at the grounds of the Icarus Academy, our new home for at least the next two years, if not more.

I make a special effort to pay attention to what I see as we pass by the guard tower and the fences, just in case things go south while I'm here and I need to make a break for the exit.

We finally pull up to the front steps of the main building.

All of us file out of the bus-van as fast as we can because I don't think any of us could stand to be in there much longer.

A young woman is waiting for us outside the school. She steps up to greet us, and then begins to launch into a spiel that I hear nothing of because I'm too distracted by her hair to listen.

It's bright pink. Not just a little pink here and there, her hair is actually pink. It's curly, too. The way it's styled makes it look like a magical cloud of fabulousness that pays no regard to the laws of physics. In fact --

"Hey!" She snaps her fingers right in front of my face, throwing me out of my reverie. My eyes flick to hers. They're a startling shade of blue. Combined with her hair, they make her look like some kind of cotton candy princess.