“What would you like to be called?”
The girl can’t be older than 14, and she has gaunt cheeks and stringy hair and unfocused eyes. But worst of all, muck-brown power flickers between her fingers. All of this, Simon notes, and grieves.
“I’m Crusher.” She says. Her voice is flat and dead. Anger flicks in Simon’s chest, and he crouches down in front of her.
“No.” He says, gently. “What would you like to be called?”
Uncomprehending, she merely stares.
“Crusher was your name when the Mastermind controlled you. Now you’re free. You can have a name now.”
“I’m Crusher.” She repeats.
He exhales slowly as he rises to his feet. When he takes her hand, it’s limp in his.
“You can see why we brought her to you.” Megan says.
Megan is good people, one of the few in the international hero agency who openly supports him and pushes for him to be recognized as legitimate. Her efforts are why he can do what he does, and he thanks God for it every single day.
“Yes,” Simon says. “I do. She has no family?”
“None we can find. We’re still searching.” It’s not looking good, is what she doesn’t say. She doesn’t mention that the the Mastermind has a long penchant for kids who won’t be missed, for finding little powered children squirreled away in obscure orphanages.
She doesn’t say that nobody will ever look for this girl, the same way nobody ever looked for Simon.
Simon’s hand tightens around the girl’s.
“Dawn.” He says. “Can I call you Dawn, Crusher?”
“Yes.”
“Let me know if you change your mind. You can be called anything you like. Now, come along.” He begins to lead her into his house, Megan trailing after them. “Let’s find you a place to stay.”
The House is a mansion, technically - quietly gifted to Simon by an eccentric ex-vigilante and old friend of his. He thanks God for it daily. Without it, he couldn’t do his work.
He leads Dawn into the House slowly, letting her absorb the sheer size and beauty for it. Her tiny, limp hand continues to spark in his grip. He ignores it, hoping that it’ll stop in time.
Simon and Dawn make it to the elevator with no problem. He glances at her as they enter and notes that she doesn’t show any fear at the closed in space. He squeezes her hand all the time.
“It’s all right.” He assures her as the elevator chugs into motion.
One of Omar’s inventions, the elevator doesn’t move unless Omar presses a button and makes it move. He even has a camera in the elevator so he can see who’s in it.
The man is a pristine example of someone who’s not paranoid because there really is people after him.
When the doors open, it reveals a completely pitch black room. The only illumination is from screens, casting shadows on the ground and showing dirty food packages.
“Dr. Omar?” Simon calls.