Fact one: Charlotte Storm had no home.
She refused to call her prison a home; people in white coats who injected you with poison and called you Subject Twenty-Two were not your family. Charlotte Storm wasn't even her name- she had created that by herself. Charlotte sounded a bit like charcoal, and Storm just sounded right. And Charlotte was determined to be right in a place that was so wrong.
Fact two: Charlotte wasn't natural.
She had been created, not born. Tested, not raised. She had silver eyes and black hair; an unusual combination. She could make fire blossom in her palm, flames encase her fists. And even more unnatural- she had feathered wings, black as ink, spreading five feet out on either side. And girls with silver eyes, pyrokinesis, and black, ten foot wingspan, feathered wings are not natural.
Fact three: Charlotte was powerful.
When Charlotte was ten years old, she broke open the bars of her cell, shot plumes of fire down every hall, and walked out of the Howard Experimental Research Institute without a scratch, despite the millions of shards of glass that had rained down on her skin. Clad in white cotton pants and a white cotton shirt, she had run for her life, away from her prison, away from her past, away from her life.
Fact four: Charlotte knew how to survive.
If you ever asked Charlotte to describe herself in word, she would say phoenix. You would think she had said it because the phoenix rises from its own ashes, fights through the darkest time.
You would be partially wrong.
Charlotte did rise from her ashes. She did fight through the darkest times. But she would have said it because the phoenix was the fire bird. And that's what Charlotte was; a fire bird. She still had black wings, though she kept them tightly folded under her clothes. She could still create fire, though she always said it was a hidden lighter if anyone asked. And yet, she was no superhero. She lived in the shadows, on the streets, stealing what she could and going without the rest.
Her actions didn't sit well with her, but she had to survive. And this way was the only she one she knew.
Fact five: Charlotte had never wanted to be a superhero.
And then the Order had come along, with their pushy scouts and endless need to recruit. She had seen them, grabbing people who could run faster than what was normal, jumping in the paths of people who could alter soundwaves. And if they're willing to grab someone for that little, she had thought, she most certainly would not let them grab her.
But she couldn't run forever. It had been nearly two AM, long after the city had fallen asleep. It was pitch black; you could barely even see her outline against the sky. She had planned this night for weeks, carefully and painstakingly. Just one night, she reasoned. It was just one night to finally fly, for the first time in six years, since her grand escape. So she had run across the rooftop, launching off the ledge effortlessly.
The flight was beautiful, while it lasted.
It was incredible- air cooling the cramped spots in the joints of her wings, wind making the feathers of her wings quiver and shift. A thousand streaks of light below, cold dampness on her skin from the clouds. And then without warning, an intense heat, crushing her skull... invading her brain...
She woke up in a flat bed that protruded from the wall, under plain white covers, her black wings spread out to their maximum on ether side.
This is where our tale truly begins. In a room with gray walls, thick white covers, and a door that read "Phoenix".
Phoenix: The Fire Bird- The Story of Charlotte Storm
Charlotte rubbed her face, her wings folding in the slightest bit. Raven hair falling in her eyes, clothes torn, and silver eyes wide, she slipped out of the bed and walked around the perimeter of the room. Glancing at the ceiling, she saw a camera. Narrowing her eyes, she sent a thin blast of fire at it. Thirty seconds later, there was a puddle of melted metal, plastic, and wire in the far corner.
She walked (well, jumped, with the assistance of her wings) to the door. She ran a hand over it; it was just one panel, no handles, latches, indentations, platforms.
No way out.
She kicked the door in annoyance. "What kind of door is that?" she hissed, tapping the smooth gray material.
"It's the kind of door the pros use." said a male voice from behind her. Charlotte jumped and whipped around, blasting the back wall with a plume of orange fire. A fair hand reached over the side of the bed, followed by a boy no older than she was, at the very most, seventeen. Charlotte squeaked.
"Jeez! Jumpy much?" the boy grumbled, glaring at the torched wall. Charlotte raised an eyebrow. Clad in black jeans and a gray tee emblazoned with a black "C", with dark grey eyes, and with pure silver streaked through his light brown hair, he wasn't like any of the boys Charlotte had seen in the alleys. She backed up a little, trying to measure out how much force she would need to break through the ceiling.
"You can't break out of here," the boy said, pulling himself up onto the bed. Charlotte's other eyebrow rose.
"Why not?" she asked, glancing at the ceiling again.
"Well, for one, you can't work the door yet. Only the Order can. Two, if you try to fly out, I'll just latch onto your leg. Three, the walls and ceiling are concrete, reenforced with steel. You can't break it."
Charlotte lifted her chin, backed up, and ran straight into the wall. Pain burst in her shoulder, and her eyes flared open. Trying to block out the fire in her arm, she smiled at the spider web of cracks that had bloomed across the wall. Behind her, the boy's eyes had widened slightly.
"I," she grunted, slamming into it again, "am," She slammed again. "stronger." She punctuated her sentence with a harsh slam and a splintering noise. Black sparks flew across her vision, and she swayed. The boy jumped up, arms out, but Charlotte had already brought one foot around to catch herself.
She rolled her head around and turned, so her undamaged shoulder was facing the wall. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she backed up, took a step, and was pulled sharply to the floor. Something was latched around her middle, something very dense and very heavy.
Glaring down at her stomach, her eyes were met with two rods -no, arms- made of... metal? To see if her eyes weren't betraying herself, she tapped her nail on the arm.
"Yes, it's actually metal," a rather husky voice said, directly next to Charlotte's ear. With a cry, she leapt up, striking the boy who had brought her down- the same one who had snuck into her room, with the silver-streaked hair and grey eyes.
"Y-you-I-metal-right there-" Charlotte's words were chopped up, small sparks bouncing from her hands.
"Couldn't have you breaking down the wall, now could I, Char? Could I call you Char? I think it fits. Like, char as in burn, and you use fire? I think it works just as good as Phoenix, actually. So-"
"Well, now you're just being a chatterbox." Charlotte said, her voice finally under control.
"Actually, I'm being Chris. You can call me Chrome- everyone else does." Chris went on. His metal casing seemed to turn to liquid, draining off like water wiped off a window.
"Well, Chrome. Why am I here? Can I leave?" The last three words were spoken with a tinge of hope, despite the answer she knew was coming.
"Er, no. See, we recruit heroes."
"We? ... And heroes?"
"Yes. Anyone who's significantly above average, and seems to have good intentions."
"And I fit?"
"Char, you have wings and tried to make me into a Chrome-kabob."
"Eh... What about good intentions?"
"Well, we have a girl who senses vibes. Good, bad, angry, ditzy, hungry, the whole nine yards. She sensed you were good."
"And the word 'phoenix' is on the door because?"
"Name. Not a word."
"What?"
"Your hero name. 'Charlotte' doesn't exactly strike fear into the heart of villainy. Phoenix? That's a load better. Came up with it myself. And it's your door now. This is your room. Don't worry, you can redecorate."
"So, essentially, I'm trapped in this gray room-"
"I said you could redecorate!"
"-for as long as I live, and I'm going by the name you gave me."
"Not entirely. You get to go on missions, and the room feels like home after a few days. And I, at least, will call you Char, not Phoenix."
Char smiled a bit. "Missions?"
"You know, big rescues, fighting bad guys, making bad puns after you win. And you're not imprisoned here. You can walk around headquarters."
"Headquarters?"
Chrome's face broke into a smile. It was a nice smile, Charlotte noted. The left corner of his mouth rose a touch higher than the right. "Yeah. This is just one room. There're dozens -hundreds, maybe- of other rooms, and then tech rooms, lounges, cafeterias, weapon rooms, meeting rooms, the control center..." Chrome's voice trailed off as his eyes wandered.
"Tell you what. You come with me. I'll get you food, and some new clothes. And I can show you around, get some new stuff for your room- maybe show you mine." Char nodded and got up, helping Chrome to his feet. Keeping his hand wrapped around her wrist, Chrome put a hand on the door. It lifted aside, which Char chalked up to his power. Leading her out to a wide hallway lined with the flat gray panels that served as doors, Chrome kept on chattering, occasionally pointing out a certain door, or shouting a greeting to someone else ambling down the hall.
Char, on the other hand, looked ill at ease. Eyes darting as if she were tracking a hummingbird, body rigid as a frozen sheet of steel, staying as close to Chrome as she dared; the very epitome of uncomfortable. She nodded silently as he chattered on, the steady gush of explanations and facts often punctuated with "Look at that, Char!" and "Oh, you'll have to see that one day."
As Chrome continued in his quest to explain every detail of his beloved Headquarters, Char eased up. The flat paneled walls, the same brushed steel found in Char's room, seemed less sinister, and more bright and sleek. The vaulted ceilings and white lights above less intimidating, more grand and elegant. She began tugging her wrist out of Chrome's hold, which he hadn't dropped in their tour. Her hopes of being unnoticed were dashed.
"Oh! Was I hurting you? I'm so sorry, I tend to do that, I'll be careful next time." This, like all of his words, came out in a rush; had they been visible, they would've been a blur. In his effortless jump from excitedly pointing out the main conference room to apologizing, his arm slung around her shoulders with equal ease, Char's wrist having been dropped. The skin on skin contact was odd, to say the least, and spiked her adrenaline, though why was left to be debated.
An odd character he was, Char decided. He seemed to be at peace with the entire world, not caring a speck if people thought his incessant chatter annoying, or apparently custom t-shirt strange. He talked like his words were of utmost importance, to be delivered to the nearest set of ears immediately. He seemed to know everyone that passed, and the rare person with whom he was unacquainted wasn't left a stranger for very long. He was, to Char's great surprise, acting as the first friend she'd had.
And with that thought, Char decided she would strive to be the best heroine to walk those halls. In due time, she thought firmly, she and Chrome could become the greatest pair of young people to ever serve in the order.
She would become the Phoenix.
"Yo. Char. Char? Earth to Charlotte!" Chrome's hand was waving in front of Char's half-lidded eyes, traces of metallic gray still on the lines of his palm. With a few blinks and a mumbled "What?", Char tilted her head.
"What happened?"
"You zoned out, like, completely. Mumbled Phoenix, locked your jaw- someone's been thinking!"
"Guilty," Char said, a shade lower than her normal volume.
"Char, seriously. I can practically see your wheels turning. What's going on in your head?"
Char's voice rose an octave. "Oh, you know," -she swallowed- "stuff."
"Uh huh. Stuff. Char, c'mon. You just had an epiphany, I can tell. Spill."
She rolled her eyes. Chrome didn't look or sound like he was anywhere near letting the subject drop. "Fine. I just decided I'd... I'd try this out, see how being all superhero works out for me."
Chrome's face was cracked with a grin. "I knew you would. Well then, we'd better get you civilian clothes. There'll be a fitting later- Helen's been dying to make a new suit-"
"Wait, what? Suit? Fitting?"
"Yeah! You know, your..." His voice dropped. "... super suit?"
Again, Char's eyes rolled to the ceiling. "Right. Super suit. Forgot."
"But civilian clothes come first. Come on, third door on the right, Helen'll get you set up."
And then he was pushing her towards another panel, engraved with 'Civilian Wear' in black block letters. The door slid aside, and Char thought she saw the metallic lines in Chrome's palm thicken and twist, just for that second. Then she was inside, overwhelmed by the scent of laundry detergent and soft fabrics, bright colors popping out from rows of grays, browns, navies, and blacks- a giant wardrobe closet.
"Helen? We got a new arrival!" Chrome shouted, still holding Char by the wrist. A young woman with very curly hair, mocha skin and a scarf tied around her head peeped around a rack of clothes, holding a hanger delicately.
"The winged girl?" Insert a nod from Chrome and an eyebrow raise from Char. "Well, right this way, chica. I'll hook you up with a suit after this. Chrome, you know the drill- stay. Browse. Whatever. Don't touch the number pad, or I will personally make sure Minerva knows about your last battle."
Chrome went pale.
"Atta boy. C'mon chica, you are in desperate need of a new outfit. Street chic isn't working out for you like... this." Helen went on, taking Char by the arm, patting Chrome's arm, and leading Char off into the labyrinth of clothes.
The first outfit Char was given was the only one she accepted. Just a pair of ripped up jeans and a black tee shirt that was imprinted with the outline of a red bird with its wings spread.
"Closest thing we have to a phoenix. Sorry, chica."
"It's fine," Char mumbled, already halfway into the outfit. Seconds later, she was lacing up the neon green canvas sneakers and looking a little happier.
"Chrome's probably waiting for you. Best you go ahead and let him finish his tour. And I almost forgot- your uniform." Helen dropped a folded up black something in Char's arms. Letting it drop open into its regular shape, Char couldn't help but think Helen definitely knew what she was doing. It was a little one piece outfit with elbow length sleeves, almost unreasonably short shorts, and three dark red slashes across the chest, like a bird's claws.
"I know the shorts are short, but long pants wouldn't... look right. And here, the mask." Helen handed her a simple black masquerade mask, covered in equally as black feathers. "I thought, since the phoenix is a bird, you needed feathers. Right?" Helen sounded rather manic.
"Yeah, I think it's brilliant." Char said quickly.
Helen visibly relaxed. "Thanks. Come back after Chrome's tour, and we'll get it fitted, okay?"
"Okay."
"Good. Nice meeting you, Charlotte, right?" Char nodded. "Well. Welcome to the family," Helen said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
Welcome to the family.
As Char walked back to Chrome, the black outfit folded up and hugged to her chest, she felt tears prick the backs of her eyes. Thankfully, they didn't fall, but they held weight. Just like the words she'd wanted to hear ever since... ever since she could even remember. Family- she was part of a family. Not the dark and confining prison that had been the labs, not the heavily tensed and haphazard safety the gangs had offered, not the cold and basically nonexistent family she'd had in her painfully long solo days.
A family. A real, loving, welcoming one.
Char coughed to cover the little strangled noise coming from her throat and nodded at Chrome. "Have fun in the... area?" She gestures to the maze of clothes. Chrome nodded slowly and shot her a sarcastic thumbs-up.
"Can I see your suit?"
Char hugged her folded square tighter. "No." she said, rather quickly. Chrome nodded slowly again.
"So. Wanna see the conference room?"
"Sure. I mean, I'll be staying here, so..."
Chrome looked pleased. "Really? You're not going to slam your way out in the dead of night?"
Char cracked a smile. "Not unless some guy with gray eyes goes psycho-annoying on me." Chrome shoved her shoulder.
"Oh, whatever. Conference room's this way."
And that, reader, is how the Fire Bird came to be.
PM me if you have any questions.
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