The REM Trials

Chapter 1

Click. Click. Click.

The sound echoes throughout the lobby, and I press my fingers into my temples to alleviate the annoyance and bubbling insanity from the past hour of this. A part of me can't help but wonder what all the people that pass by think of me. A teenager with a sour expression, sunglasses indoors, and a glare pointed at anyone who dares to meet her eye.

Maybe mum was right to send me here. I know things have been rough since the incidents, but I suppose this was her best option. It's just hard to process. I haven't exactly been myself lately—and I'll be the first to admit my power is out of control. But that doesn't mean I'm not doing my best—especially under everyone's expectations for me and my abilities.

Everyone thinks I'm going to be a hero—that I'll be something exceptional. They all think I'll live up to the names created for people like me. Names like ExtraOrdinary, inhuman, mutant, and—my personal favorite—Remarkable, but somehow, I don't think those terms quite describe me.

I tolerate Remarkable, or REM as most people call it for short, but it's the only one that feels a little bit right. Nothing about me is 'normal,' and I don't mean it in the way most people do. I'm genetically different from the majority of humanity. Even the ones like me were born with abilities or had genetic markers that later enabled a scientific phenomenon to make them one.

In a way, both of those happened to me. My entire life, Mom always told me I'm special, which is one way to put it. Mostly because from the day I was born, everyone knew that there was something different about me, and not just because of the eyes that seemed to see everything and nothing all at once. I could barely see a thing most of the time, and any and all forms of light would cause me to screech in pain. Even now, I still have to wear the stupid glasses in most lighting, but that wasn't all.

Of course, as a kid, I didn't quite understand. I thought that every kid could do what I could. The first day of pre-school was an abrasive life lesson on that matter. Because while other kids played with imaginary friends, I played with the shadows that molded into whatever I wanted or dreamed of.

Then the accident happened, and everything was turned upside down. I lost control. I lost control over everything and myself somewhere along the way.

It sends a deep ache in my chest and brings me back full circle to thinking maybe this is why mum sent me here ahead of time. She knows how much Dad has been helping me these past few months. Even with not meeting until I was almost eight, we've become thick as thieves—especially recently.

He has been the only one who I feel like understand me and that I can talk to. It's hard to talk to someone about the nightmares, the haunting feelings, and the lack of identity. There's no one else who has been through anything remotely similar to me except him.

It took a while. Mostly because there's always been this distance between us. He didn't even know about me for most of my life, and when that changed, he already had a life and business. It took time for us to really connect and have time together.

Now, I'm sitting in the lobby of Stark Tower waiting to be picked up. Dad told me on the phone yesterday he had some big surprise waiting for me after I got in. I can't stop the panic rolling through my chest that he's not gonna show up at all. My feet keep tapping out a beat that interacts with the receptionists keystrokes.

Anxiety keeps running through my veins with every minute that passes. Dad was supposed to be here half an hour ago. Yet, time keeps ticking by with no sign of him. I keep glancing at my phone with a desperate hope that he'll call or text to say everything is perfectly okay. But each time I find nothing, my heart drops a little more.