PRODIGY // RENEGADES

P I L O T

I was two years old when I started learning to speak. A late bloomer, I guess you could call me. I'd understood a few words before that, such as Momma and Papa, no, and I want. My parents never stopped talking, nor did my friends and their parents. My teachers and fellow classmates were quite the talkative type, as well. When I say never stopped talking, I mean that they never. Stopped. Talking.

As I grew older, I became sick of the constant chatter and confronted my mother about it. I remember staring at her lips the entire time she spoke to me, and realized that she'd mouthed only a third of what she'd said. People talk, my love. They have the right to speak for themselves, as do we, she'd explained. And then... she sealed her plump lips, but her voice still continued. Goodness, Hope may need new friends. 'Talking too much' isn't normally what a child would complain about, right? Right. What would normal kids say? Something trashy about broccoli, perhaps. Although, Hope isn't a normal child, is she? Is she...?

The beautiful woman turned her gaze from the seasoned salmon that would soon become our dinner, and unto my small, six year-old figure in my Tsunami-themed nightgown. Curiosity brewed in her hazel brown eyes, as did uncertainty. Wiping her slimy salmon hands on a nearby dish towel, she brought herself down to her knees before me so that we were eye-to-eye.

"Hope, baby," she began, addressing me with her usual choice of nickname. Sometimes it was Girlie, and sometimes it was Stinkerbutt, but it was mostly Baby, and I was alright with it either way. "I'm going to think of a word, okay? Can you guess what the word is? Can you tell me?" Momma asked, her lips parted ever so slightly. I nodded, and waited for her to continue with her stream of words. Pra- Gen- Bea- Ren- Renegades.

"Renegades," I said. Momma just stared at me. And for once, she was silent. Everything was silent.

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I could hear Momma and Papa talking about it through my bedroom wall that night. Their room was on the other side of it, so I was able to hear them most times. Papa kept repeating words such as mind reading, amazing, and Renegades. Momma, on the other hand, was repeating quite the opposite. School, normal childhood, and powers. I knew that they were arguing again. It wasn't too much of a surprise, but there were some times when they got along swell. I could tell that they didn't like each other as much as they did when they were first married, because things had changed. Papa's work had taken off when the Renegades had started investing in his line of weapons and technology development, so he wasn't around as much as he used to be.

I was okay with this, as long as he let me go with him when he delivered packages to the Renegade's tower. By packages, I mean 3D holographic screens, DNA-Paired hand guns, smartwheels, UHF Single-Digit Sonic Agitator Units, cloaking devices, etc. Half of the things he'd told me about the gadgets sounded like gibberish; his thoughts more so, but he eventually narrowed it down to things like this makes things look like they're there, this only shoots with this person's thumb print, this can drive on water and rubble, and this makes things look invisible. Simple enough, I should say. Momma didn't like that I had a fascination with his weaponry and tech, so she and I would do little 'rainy weekend things' around the house.

Read old books in the blue armchairs beside the window that overlooked our small garden, sketch on canvas in graphite crayons, or have a mini dance party in my room. We would invite Papa every time, but he always gave up an excuse. My hands are gross! My back hurts! This will explode in a blast of white-hot fire and kill everyone withing three blocks of us if I leave! Good ol' Pops. Everything seemed great then, and it only got better the next day.

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"Can you hear me, Hope?" Papa called through his helmet.

"What!" I screamed.

"Never mind!" I couldn't hear him over the helicopter blades slicing through the air. I sat beside him in the co-pilot's seat, wearing a black cotton tank-top, blue leggings, and my favorite pair of sneakers. My helmet was much too large for my small frame, so the brim of it fell over my brow heavily. Momma had braided my hair for my and Poppa's meeting with the Renegade team, and I was afraid that the helmet would mess it up.

I tilted my head as Papa reached over and adjusted something inside of the helmet, and suddenly everything was muffled as if I were listening through earmuffs. "Can you hear me now?" Papa repeated, louder than before. I gave him a thumbs up, and he gave a small salute before pulling us into the air by the steering rod in front of him. I watched eagerly as we lifted from the ground, and the cables below us taught under the weight of the massive crates they were tied to.

        This is one of the big orders, Papa had told me earlier in the warehouse. He'd let me peek inside of the crate before we departed, and what I saw left me in awe. Three large motorcycle-looking vehicles stood tied next to each other, glistening under the faint light. All three were painted black with a shiny coat of red paint, and the glass of the small windshield was left without a scratch. They were polished neatly, each in perfect condition.

"Can I ride one, Papa? By myself?" I'd begged. The grey-haired man had only laughed and shaken his head.

"When you're older and know how to drive, Little Prague," he offered. I pouted.

The deep blue of the bay passed underneath us as we soared over it, towards the large building that towered over the rest at the end of the harbor. Two small specks hung over the tower: Tsunami and Thunderbird. Two of the original Renegades. My cheeks flushed pink at the sight of Tsunami; raised tall over the helipad by her spinning stream of water from the bay far below her. She wore her usual supersuit; a blue dress cut at the end with light leggings that hid themselves underneath her dark boots. I'd imagined that her entire outfit was waterproof. This woman was my idol. As we grew closer to them, I could see a red R embroidered into the fabric of her dress. Her brown hair billowed against the wind our chopper created, whipping around her face. Thunderbird's wings didn't do much different; shuddering and jerking.

I watched as the orange-armored angel swooped out of the way as we carefully lined up over the helipad. The winds helped guide the crates and chopper to the platform, thanks to Thunderbird, and the crates were taken into the grasp of three different arms of water from Tsunami's mini tornado. The wires unlatched from the stuffed wooden boxes as my favorite Renegade took them by the ends and carefully set them down by the walkway. There, more people stood, waiting. From my view through the window, I could see the other members of the Renegade team. Hugh Everhart, otherwise known as Captain Chromium, with Simon Westwood at his side, and arm wrapped around Hugh's shoulders.

        Oh yeah, I thought. I forgot that they were gay. I bit back a smile as a little boy poked between them, staring up at us in awe. He looked to be around my age, considering how short he was. Tan skin, big glasses. I found it hard to make out any identifying features with all of the movement that the helicopter provided. Next to the three was Evander Wade, AKA Blacklight. We landed effortlessly on the helipad, thanks to Papa's flying skills. Eager to get out and show them my Papa's cool bikes, I popped the helmet off of my head and dropped it in my warm chair.

Papa came around the side of the helicopter and helped me down from the high seat. "That was so cool," I said, causing him to laugh.

"Watch your step, kiddo," he advised, setting me down on the pavement. The little boy with the glasses that stood between the Captain and Dread Warden smiled at me, and waved. I sent him a wild grin, and he bit back a laugh.

Later, I would learn that his name was Adrian. Adrian Everhart. And Adrian Everhart would soon become my best friend.