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Consuelo Nunez woke up in the floor. Damn it! Damn it! Mom will be so PO’ed! She’d overslept and paid the price. Already having a bad day, the sixteen-year-old pushed herself up and surveyed the damage. About half and inch deep into the floorboards. With her finger, she felt the sharp edge of metal where she had fell through the old drip pan. It didn’t cut her. Can I even be cut anymore? Standing up, her hair got tangled in the pull-string hanging down from the bare bulb in the ceiling of the walk-in closet she called a bedroom. Cursing softly, she carefully pulled it and squinted in the sudden bright. Not too bad. She looked at the body-shaped impression in the floor. A sheet of plywood could cover it up. But . . . . I’ll need a new pan. Shuffling into some gross old muumuu she’d scrounged at the thrift store, she tumbled out of the closet into the main room of the apartment. To her surprise, her mother, Maria, was sitting on the couch, with a bottle in her hand, and watching TV with the volume turned off. “Mom, what the hell? Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” “F—k that job.” And she turned the volume on for the shopping channel, suddenly blaring, and then slowly turned down to just grating. Grabbing her ears, Consuelo could only say: “Jesus!” Then, remembering how she woke up: “I need another pan, mom.” “What!??! Are you kidding?! For crying out loud, Suelo, those things aren’t cheap! Why do you do this to me?” A toilet flushed, and Darrel came out of the bathroom. Consuelo could barely bring herself to hate Darrel. Sure, he was a douche. But, by the time Consuelo could realistically figure out exactly what kind of a douche he was, he’d be gone anyway. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be at school or something?” “That’s right, Darrel. We’re all failures here.” Consuelo grumpily snapped back at him. Her mom’s loser boyfriend whispered under his breath. “Fuh-reak.” I mean in his defense, he’s completely correct. Consuelo caught her reflection the glass door. Not only was she dressed like a bag lady, but she also had bright green dreadlocks all the way down her back. That, plus everything I touch disintegrates. Darrel plopped down on the couch, and Consuelo edged closer to him, scowling. As she got closer, he became uncomfortable and scowled back. Just like everyone does. A step closer, and her mother made an angry face at her too. “Don’t do anything stupid, Suelo.” “Stupid? I don’t know the meaning of the word.” Consuelo rejoined, with quite a bit of sass. She picked up Darrel’s cap. The annoying one that said ‘Bud Light’ on the front. Space warped and darkened around the offending ball cap, and it crumbled into a few shreds of fabric. “Whoops.” Consuelo brushed the fragments off her hand. “Didn’t see that there.” Consuelo was sure Darrel wanted to say something, but even he was smart enough not to push her. “I need to go to school. You two drink too much.” And Consuelo went for the door. No books, no backpack. Those things never last. “You try me, child,” was the closest her mom got to saying goodbye. Consuelo was so tired of being cold. I need to like, move somewhere where it’s summer all the time. She looked down at the over-sized dress she was wearing, already showing signs of wear. Should I even go to school today? Her stomach growled. Her eyes drifted to the dingy E-Z Mart marquee across the road. Miraculously, there were a few quarters in the pocket of the dress. Maybe I could afford one of those little pecan pie things. The little bell jingled as she stepped through the door into the bodega, and the slightly rancid waxy smell of the place filled her nostrils. Somebody at the counter sounded angry. Right away, something felt wrong. Consuelo stopped in her tracks and looked up at the counter. No way. There was a big dude and a little dude, and they had panty hose over their heads, and they were pointing guns at the clerk, like real guns out in the open. Why are both of them pointing guns? Somehow floated through Consuelo’s mind for some reason. Cash was coming out of the register and being handed across the counter to the taller guy, who was still shouting. I hate guns. As she balled up her fists and glowered at the two robbers, she could almost feel the metal of those stupid weapons. Men feeling powerful because they could pull a trigger and kill someone. I hate them! I wish they didn’t exist! And then . . . they didn’t. The air around the guns the pair were holding wavered and darkened. “What the hell?” Screamed the taller of the two, in a surprisingly high pitch. ”Ouch!” Both men shook their hands as the guns completely disintegrated. They looked at their hands stupidly, for a surprisingly long time. That’s what I’m talking about, yo! For the first time in a long time, a smile broke out across Consuelo’s face. “Hey guys, over here.” And she gave them a little wave. The shorter one pointed at her and yelled: “it’s that mutant freak!” Why does he seem familiar? “Stupid little girl!” He rushes up to her, tall and threatening, and slaps her across the face. Consuelo doesn’t move. He punches her full force, right on the nose. Consuelo doesn’t move. Her nose is fine. “Nope.” Consuelo reaches out and puts her hand on the large man’s chest. “Gah!” The large man clutches at his chest as the front of his shirt melts away, and ugly bruises and burns well up across his torso. “Oh, God.” He rocks on the floor in the fetal position, moaning. “Mmmm.” Then his body relaxes, and he loses consciousness. Consuelo isn’t standing anymore. She is floating a couple feet off the ground, watching the man be still. “Oh crap!” the little guy breaks out of his stupor and makes a break for the back door. “You too, shorty.” Consuelo flies up behind him, grabs him by the pantyhose mask, and flies back to stop his escape. It works pretty well at first, but then the pantyhose suddenly disintegrates, sending both Consuelo and the crook flopping down on the floor. Whoops. Didn’t mean for that to happen! Scrambling up, the two look at each other. "What the hell? David? What's wrong with you? You could have killed Sami!" And Consuelo gestures to the EZ Mart clerk with his mouth open wide, yet to move since the fight ensued. "Just stay away from me, Suelo." David had been Consuelo’s friend, once. Before her powers changed her and she stopped having friends. The fear in his eyes would have been enough to break Consuelo’s heart, if it hadn't already been broken a long time ago. As Consuelo looked into David's eyes, it was clear to her that there was nothing she could do to change the terror and revulsion he felt towards her. There's only one way I see any good coming of this. Sorry David. Hovering up above her former friend now, Consuelo stopped holding her powers back. The air around her began to warp and darken. "I don't want you playing with guns anymore, David." She hovered in closer, and David looked like he was trying to shrink into the floor. "Not ever. If I catch you with a gun again, what I did to your friend back there will seem like the good old days." As David cowered in fear, she noticed a tattered piece of her dress fall onto his belly. Oh, crap, my clothes! Better hurry this up. "Where did you get the guns, David?" "Mom? My clothes are destroyed already. And I need some money, to buy another metal sheet to sleep on." "Jesus Suelo! Can't you even try to not destroy your clothes?" "I know, I'm sorry. I got distracted. But I also need to buy a new pan." Consuelo had learned long ago that it was better to just not tell her mom about it when she wore through a pan into the floor. Deep down, Maria just really didn't want to deal with it. Seeing her mom’s purse on the floor, Consuelo walked over to it. "Do you have, like, twenty bucks?" "Stay away from my purse!" Angry, but justified. Disintegrate a person's purse once, and they'll never forget. "One of these days, you're going to have to learn to take responsibility for yourself, Suelo." OMG. I can't even. As Consuelo watches her mom grudgingly move towards her purse, she hears a knock on the glass door. It's Darrel, and his arms are full. "Open up!" through the glass. Consuelo looks at him through the door. He's got a car of light beer in one hand, and some plastic car in the other. "Fine. . . " Consuelo unlocks and flicks the door open quickly. Always touch everything quickly, to cause less damage. "I'm only giving you fifteen, Suelo." "Whatever. I'm used to dressing like a homeless person. Do you have a baggie?" "Mmm-hmm. Somewhere." Maria started opening drawers in the kitchen area. "Why are you giving that kid any money? She's old enough to work." "Yeah, so are you, Darrel." "I work!" Darrel says, somewhat dramatically, as he sets the plastic case down. "Suelo can't work, because of her condition. Finally!" She adds as she finds a box with a few bags still in it behind the Cap'n Crunch. She stuffs a ten and a five in the bag, zips it up, and drops it on the foot rest. "Maria, I've got something important to show you," Darrel says as he hip checks the fridge closed and walks back toward the table. As her mom unexcitedly walks over to see what Darrel is talking about, Consuelo quickly picks up the tiny bag of money with two fingers and drops it on the pocket of what's left of her muumuu. Thank God this actually has pockets. Fifteen bucks - this is gonna be tight. "So, I want you to keep this at the house," Darrel is mansplaining something to Consuelo’s mother. "So this is how you load it." What the hell? Darrel is giving my mom a gun? "How did you get that, Darrel? Don't you, like, have a record?" "What you're saying, right now, is against the constitution." And Darrel looked at her with fierce determination. "OMG, I totally do not have time for this right now!" And she didn't. Consuelo had plans. That's what brought her to the thrift store. When you're poor and you disintegrate things you touch, you go to the thrift store a lot. Consuelo probably would be friends with all the clerks, except that, whenever she came up to the counter, the attendant's deep instincts responded to the proximity of Consuelo’s deadly powers. They couldn't help but hate her. Nobody could. But today, not even that would get her down. Today, she was a girl on a mission. A sadly underfunded mission, yet a mission none-the-less. Plus, with the thrift-storing skills Consuelo had, you barely even needed money. She looked at herself one last time in the mirror. Daaaang! I look badass! Black jeans, black sports bra, crop top leather jacket, and the store had even had a little black mask in the Halloween section. The tactical belt she had from the military surplus didn't actually do anything useful for her. But it just makes me look like a superhero. It hadn't been too hard to get David to tell where he had gotten the guns. After all, if somebody that can fly and disintegrate you with a touch really loses their temper, you're probably going to say anything you need to for them to calm down. This was the place, apparently. Another crappy apartment. Basically, just like her mom's. She tried knocking on the door. No answer. She tried again. "Terrance?" Nothing. Was he even home? Am I totally messing this up? Then she heard a phone go off inside. Let's just go! Consuelo put both hands on the metal door, and it rapidly began to decay. Fractures spread out from her two palms, and the material of the door began to crumble and fall like sand. A hole had spread out to include part of the doorframe. So she flew through. A maybe thirty-year-old man, presumably Terrance, was sitting on the couch in the front room. The phone, still ringing, was on the coffee table, along with three neatly placed rows of handguns. Terrance had a gun in his hand too, and he pointed out towards the door as he stood up. "Holy $+#%!" He fired at her, but missed badly. For a sixteen-year-old girl, Consuelo wasn't unusually strong. But she could fly faster than a car could drive, and being immune to her own powers meant nothing really hurt her anyone. So when she slammed into Terrance, he certainly felt it, and went flying over the couch. Too scared to do anything but run, the small time gun trafficker dashed through the kitchen and into the bathroom, and locked the door behind him. The cursing began in earnest as he struggled to get the window open. But Terrance's bathroom door was a lot less durable than his front door, and Consuelo disintegrated that so fast that you could barely see it happening. She caught his legs just as he was squeezing his shoulders through the narrow opening. The material of his black jeans flashed away where she touched him, bruises quickly spread throughout his thighs, and his legs became useless. He flopped back down into the bathroom, hitting his head on the toilet and biting his tongue. Then he remembered his gun. But so had this monster girl, and somehow she had grabbed it first. "Looking for this?" She pointed it at him, and then she made this mocking smile and his gun was hissing and crumbling into nothing, right there in her hand. She pushed him down and his leather jacket got two big holes in it. Hmm. Maybe my costume isn't as cool as I thought, Consuelo couldn't help from thinking. But fashion was the last thing on Terrance's mind. "Who are you? What do you want?" His questions came out like a cry. Consuelo looked down on this hapless merchant of death in the decaying remnants of his clothing. "I'm Rot. I want to know where you get your guns." Terrence's answers were more complicated than Consuelo was ready for. There were lots of places where he could easily get guns. After spending several minutes trying to understand what an FFL was, she had gotten him to finger the worst one he could think of - easiest to buy illegally, highest volume. Warren really liked bourbon. He liked Lynyrd Synyrd. He liked guns, and he liked his safe room. Experiencing all four at once, he was really in his element. It's impossible to truly know the number of times Warren had listened to Free Bird. But this time, through the softening haze of five fingers of Wild Turkey, something sounds different in Allen Collins' guitar solo. At first, old Warren can't quite place it, but then it suddenly comes into focus. "Holy crap! My entry alarm!" The grizzled business owner lunges over to his security camera monitors to see what is going on. Some freak never-worked-a-day in their life antifa terrorist was in Warren's showroom engaging in property damage. Warren squinted at the screen and leaned in closer. What the hell were they doing? They just looked like they were . . . touching all the guns. But all his inventory was getting completely destroyed. Some kinda acid? "The hell they ain't!" All of Warren's heroes, all the real men of the 1980s big screen, with virtually no exceptions, favored the M16 as the buttkicking machine of choice. As Warren held the thing in his hands, everything felt right. "Yeah. Come get some!" Consuelo’s plan was not subtle. Disintegrate her way into the Firearm Emporium and just start destroying weapons. What would the ultimate longterm effect be? Had she even considered that? She wasn't sure. But there were about to be several fewer guns that could make it into the street after tonight. That she knew. What she didn't know was what the heck to do when a red-eyed, foam-spitting defender of second amendment rights burst through the back door like a geriatric Rambo, machine-gun a-blazin'. "Die, snowflake ecoterrorist, die!" Oh crap! I'm going to die! Consuelo curls up into a fetal position and rapidly begins to reconsider her recent life choices. Will anyone even miss me? Man, this is so messed up! What the hell am I doing? Thirty rounds spend pretty fast at full auto. So that's why Warren brought the second clip. And he emptied that too, right into the back of that cowering punk that messed up his store. Consuelo had never before in her life heard so many shots fired at once. But then it was all over. She didn't feel dead. She didn't even feel hurt. Warren didn't know who this freak was. But he did know they had several dozen holes in them. It felt good. Warren pumped his fist. "Yes!" And kissed his gun. It was nice and warm. But Consuelo wasn't dead. In fact, aside from all the bullet holes in her leather jacket, she was fine. She got up on her knees. "Impossible," said the old gun dealer. She stood up. "No!" She lifted into the air. "You can't!" Consuelo shrugged as she looked down at Warren. "Apparently, I can." And then they heard the screeching of tires and the blaring of sirens. Red and blue light flooded the room, and the reality of what she had just done sank in for Consuelo. Oh crap! I really didn't think this through. I didn't gather evidence or anything on this guy. I just busted in and started destroying stuff. She looked around the room at all of the smoking craters left by the user of her powers. Oh man. Police were streaming into the building. “Drop your weapons! On the ground! Hands on your head!” Oh man, am I going to fight the police? Consuelo lowered herself down to her knees and put her hands on her head. “I surrender.” The arrest and the booking had not gone well. Already predisposed against her, every cop that handled her became outright hostile as soon as they got near or touched Consuelo. It’s a miracle none of them shot me. Not that it would have mattered, I guess. In her nervousness, she had accidentally disintegrated a pair of handcuffs and her seat belt in the back of the squad car, not to mention making a total mess of the seat. None of that had made her any friends. Eventually, they had transferred her downtown, to some kind of cell for supervillains. She had been told her powers would be neutralized by some kind of high-tech nullification field there. Maybe it was working, because the pair of handcuffs she was wearing seemed to be in excellent condition still, and she didn’t seem to be able to fly. Oh crap, this is not how I pictured this going down! Am I going to be, like, locked up for life now? Am I going to be disappeared to some black site to have my blood taken to make like and army of super soldiers now or something? Should I have ran from the cops? I’m like, the worst superhero ever, yo! Consuelo heard a loud buzzing noise and a voice came in over the intercom. “You have a visitor.” In stepped a man in a suit. No, not a man. “Dude, are you a robot?” “Greetings Miss Nunez. I am RoboLawyer3000. My client believes in you and has been successful in arranging your release. Miss Nunez, you are free to go.” And the well-dressed humanoid robot gestured with a sweep of its arm towards the open door of the cell. “Um, okay. . . .” Consuelo walked tentatively out of the cell with RoboLawyer3000 just behind her. As soon as she excited, a burly plainclothes detective with an apparently permanent scowl on his face addressed her: “Hands.” When Consuelo just looked confused, he clarified. “Put out your hands, so I can remove your cuffs.” Consuelo complied. As the man released her, she caught his eye. She couldn’t help believing that the angry looking man was pretty sure he’d be putting them right back on her, soon enough. “We have a car waiting out front. Miss Nunez, if you’d be so kind. . . “ And the robotic counsel lead her out the front door and down the steps to a black luxury sedan, still running. He opened the passenger door for her, and she saw a lead apron, like from a radiology clinic, had been placed on the seat. “Ooh, that’s a good idea!” RoboLawyer3000 said nothing, and closed the door after her, then took the driver’s seat. “As I said before, Miss Nunez, my client has faith in you. That is why, it has been arranged for you to attend Clairmont Academy for the super-powered. There you will be trained to use your powers in a safe, understanding environment. It is a boarding school, and it will be required that you reside there, starting this afternoon.” “What? But, um, well, uh . . . “ “Do not worry. I will take you to your mother’s apartment to say goodbye, right after we pick up a few items.” And the sedan pulled up to a loading bay in an apparently abandoned warehouse. “Here we are.” Continued the robot in its almost-but-not-quite-convincingly humanlike voice. More-or-less in a daze, Consuelo got out of the car. RoboLawyer3000 undid a padlock and opened the bay door. “Inside you will find a special bodysuit and mask designed to redirect the effects of your powers to adjacent materials. As long as you have some amount of other clothing over this outfit, the damage resulting from your powers should affect that other clothing first, and a reduced rate, leaving this specialized outfit intact, indefinitely.” “Seriously? OMG, you have no idea how tired I am of all my clothes disintegrating off me! RoboLawyer, this is awesome!” “RoboLawyer3000,” the machine corrected her. “Also, you will find a duffle bag full of clothing selected for you based on camera footage of your shopping habits at New Hope Thrift.” “Wait, you’ve been spying on me?” The robotic lawyer does not answer. “Whatever. Wait for me to get changed.” As Consuelo enters the bay, the robot shuts the door behind her. She finds her black bodysuit folded on a table, along with the mentioned duffle, and a body length mirror standing beside. I am so pumped for this makeover! Removing her current outfit is more of a peeling than a true undressing, here powers having left so little of the clothing intact. It’s like the best Christmas ever as she holds up the super suit and then puts the thing on, mask and all. Hmm. I think the outfit I came up with myself looked a lot more badass. But, if this really doesn’t disintegrate, I’m pretty sure it’s my favorite outfit ever! Looking through the duffle bag, she selected an oversized brown sweater-dress and put it on. You’re smart enough to spy on my and get me out of jail when I go crazy, but you’re not smart enough to figure out I only picked this kind of clothing because it takes the longest to break down? OK. . . . Her visit to her mom’s seems almost useless. Both Maria and Darrel are so drunk they can barely figure out what is going on, and don’t show a lot of interest in it, either. Damn it. Like, would it kill her to be proud of me, like, just once? The mysterious robot says it can’t answer any of Consuelo’s questions about who its employer is. The drive to Claremont Academy takes about forty-five minutes. About five minutes of that are taken up by RoboLawyer3000 explaining the basics of her new arrangement: room and board paid, she was staying in Room 513 in Kord Dormitory, allowance of $200 dollars per month, attendance at Claremont compulsory. As they pull up to Claremont, it’s quite a scene. Parents are dropping off kids. Everyone is hauling in a bunch of luggage. RoboLawyer3000 opens the trunk and pulls out two large drip pans. “Here is a starting supply to protect your sleeping quarters from the overnight effects of your powers.” And then the robot moves to re-enter the car. “Wait, will I see you again?” Asks Consuelo? “I do not know. My employer has instructed me to wish you good luck. Good luck.” And that’s it. Consuelo turned to face the school. It’s kind of a cool building. Steel pans tucked under one armpit and duffle bag dangling from a thick steel chain in the other hand, she floated up the stairs, trying to keep a bit of space between her and everyone else floundering in. She floated up to within relatively easy speaking distance of a group of girls talking to each other. “Uh, um, excuse me, uh, which building is Kord Dormitories?” The knot of girls parted to reveal a beautiful, golden, glowing angelic figure in the middle. The girl next to the glowing girl, who appeared to have hair made out of ice, leaned in to her. “OMG, Angelica, like what kind of failed counter-cultural statement is this supposed to be? Are you, like, the hero of the oppressed and under-represented or something? Like, what even is your hero name?” “Um, Rot . . . “ “Ha! No, like seriously, like, wait, you are serious? Oh my god!” “Cool it.” Says the glowing one to ice-hair. And she’s immediately silent. The glowing student, apparently ‘Angelica‘ flies up to Consuelo. For a minute, it looks like she might give her a chance. But then she gets close, and the revulsion kicks in. “You don’t fit in here. Stay in the corners and out of sight. Got it?” Her tone leaves no room for disagreement. “Uh, that was kind of the plan anyway. . . About Kord. . . .” But the circle has turned their back on her and is completely ignoring her. “Great.” “Hey.” A tap on her shoulder. Uh oh. Was someone going to attack her? Every once in a long while people reacted to her presence with outright violence. She turned to see someone under a big black umbrella and completely surrounded by a black veil hanging down from its edge. “Kord is that way.” A finger pointed, poking the veil out but staying within the veil. “She’s an idiot.” “Thanks.” But her guide seemed to have disappeared. “Uh, okay.” Grabbing up her few meager possessions, the hero calling herself Rot flew up the stairs and into her new life.