The Metahuman Agency: The Superhuman War

Sick Mind

1975.

The warm afternoon breeze drifted through the drawn curtains, filling the small, dark room with a breath of fresh air. But the room's sole occupant ignored the sweet summer air, as well as the flickers of light that managed to penetrate the cracks in the drawn curtains. She did not want to be disturbed, least of all by menial distractions such as summer vacation.

A young girl sat in the room, hunched over a desk. Her skin was quite pale, her mousey dark hair unkempt, and her clothes stained with droplets of oil, coffee stains, and scorch marks. Her desk looked like a mess, cluttered with scrap metal, screwdrivers, plugs, cables, and batteries.

Currently, the girl was examining an object, turning it over and over again. The object looked like a little robot out of a science fiction picture. It was cobbed together from a coffee machine, bits of a lamp, scrapyard junk, and what other materials its maker had scourged up. It looked simple, resembling three-legged insect, but it was the culmination of months of work.

The girl smiled and placed her creation on the desk. "Alright," She said, snatching up a remote control from the ground. "PR1, prepare for test run."

She clicked a button on the remote. There was a moment of agonizing silence then the little machine whirred to life. Lights blinked to life on its front and it wobbled as it rose on its trio of legs. The girl felt a stir of excitement run through her body, like electricity but she didn't celebrate yet.

She pushed the controller. PR1 responded to its command and awkwardly scuttled across the desk, knocking aside bits of clutter from its path. It reached the end before the girl turned it around. The robot again responded and did a complete one-eighty, shuffling back to its starting position in the middle of the desk.

"It's working..." The girl said, her lips quivering. "It's working!" She gleefully played with PR1 a bit more, moving the robot around the desk. It obeyed every command without fail. Its stance was awkward, the noises it made while moving were too loud, but these and other flaws the girl was able to overlook. For the first time, PR1 hadn't shut down, fallen, or failed to respond to the remote's commands. For the first time, it was working. Not only that, it was working perfectly!

She finally stopped PR1, the robot coming to a halt at the back of her desk. She gingerly picked it up, grinning from ear-to-ear, and hugged it to her chest.

"I did it!" She cried, dancing across the floor with glee. "I did it!" She held up PR1 and addressed it. "They said you wouldn't work. That a simple student couldn't design you from household appliances, much less a GIRL." She laughed again. "Well, whose laughing now? Just wait til I show 'em! Just wait!"

The girl enjoyed her moment of splendor, continuing to giggle and laugh with glee. Eventually, she wore herself out and put PR1 down. She shut him off and patted him like a dog. He was so perfect, the little machine, and she had made him with her own hands. Just wait until Professor Barnes saw this! He'd swallow his gum, the misogynistic old bastard.

The girl swiveled around in her chair, facing the wall. Posters of Van Halen, The Rolling Stones, and Black Sabbath were plastered over her bed. She was sure her father disapproved of them but he barely paid her any attention, so he didn't have time to protest. Her lips quivered in anger as she thought of that.

'It doesn't matter,' She thought, waving a hand at the air. 'Maybe he'll actually like PR1. I mean, who couldn't? Only an IDIOT could think this little guy isn't a work of pure genius...' She twiddled her fingers together nervously.

He would be home soon, wouldn't he? She rose off her desk, folding her arms behind her back. She exhaled. She'd show him. He'd like it. And for once, maybe he'd pay her some attention instead of Amanda...