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A/n: Content warnings in this chapter for a brief depiction of attempted sexual assault. *** THE SHOCKING ADVENTURES OF SPARK  EPISODE 1  ISSUE 5 *** Well, at least Ben at last had his solitude. Chloe avoided him for the next week, and he didn't see hide nor hair of Malcolm, either. Technically, Chloe hadn't revoked his access to her apartment, but the fact that Malcolm was AWAL probably meant the two of them were shacked up together, talking shit while she stuffed him full of donuts. Not that Ben didn't deserve a little shit-talk. He was sitting in a lecture about combat strategy when Dr. Ashe cold-called him out of nowhere. "Mr. Taylor-Moore, do you remember what the Gamma Strategy with regard to multifights is?" He could have called on Felicity; she actually had her hand up. At least Ben knew the answer: "That's when you put your hardest hitter on the front lines while the weaker members of the squad fall back as backups." "I'm sorry, that's not correct," said the professor. Damn. Well, okay. "Anyone else? Miss Cohen?" "He's getting the Gamma Strategy mixed up with the older and more traditional Beta Strategy. Gamma Strategy is when you put your probe up front, so they can predict the enemy's moves and warn the rest of the group about impending danger," said Felicity. "Very good," said the professor. "Can you tell me what critique this strategy has received from experts?" "Gamma Strategy requires the rest of the squad to spend extra energy protecting their front guy," said Felicity, "because if that guy falls, the battle is as good as lost." "Good job on doing your reading, Ms. Cohen. Of course, this is all just theory. The only way to determine what strategy works best for any specific team is to know your squadmates and know your enemy. But we all know each other here...so, how about we put together a demonstration? Ms. Cohen, why don't you fight Beta Strategy. You take center, and your teammates will be Ms. Hiatt and Mr. Murphy. Mr. McCafferey, Ms. Bellefontaine, you'll play Gamma Strategy, led by...well, how about you, Mr. Taylor-Moore? You're an empath, right?" "Don't worry," Felicity whispered to Ben with a wink. "I'll go easy on you." "No WAY you're putting me on a team with Captain Ricochet over here," snapped Jason McCafferey with a pointed look at Ben. "How do I know he won't just get us all killed?" Ben shrank into his seat in a vain attempt to make himself less noticeable, but it was no use. Already, he could feel the torrent of emotions in the room surging. Pity. Ridicule. Same tired old ball game, different day. It began to get hard for him to breathe. That's when Felicity got up in arms. "Hey, Jason, for someone who gets off on cutting others down to size, I've never seen you hold your own in a fight." Jason stood up, knocking his chair on its side. "You wanna go, little girl?" "With pleasure!" In an instant, she flew across the room, taking Jason down with her landing. She assaulted him with a series of full-force punches straight to the face, landing several blows--Ben heard multiple cracks before Jason managed to telekinetically pull Felicity off himself and fling her against the opposite wall. "Shit! Felicity!" Ben ran to her side, reaching for her hand to steady her as she staggered to her feet where she fell. "I won," she panted. "He took more damage." "Class dismissed," declared the professor as he attended to Jason. Even after a knockdown blow, Felicity strode gracefully out of the room, leading Ben alongside her. "You didn't have to defend my honor like that," said Ben. "Of course I did! You're my date to the dance. Besides, it's not like I'll get in trouble. These sorts of scuffles happen all the time. The teachers are desensitized by now." "But he was right," Ben choked out. It was an honest surprise to him he hadn't had an electrical accident for once. "I can't control my power." "You'll get better." "But what if I don't?" "You will." She took his hand and squeezed it. He wished she would dare to touch more than his hand--maybe place her own on his back for comfort, or take hold of his arm. But he knew his weight had only been climbing since the start of the school year. He pulled his hand out of hers and shoved both in his pockets. If only there was a way he could stop the rest of the student body from feeling. *** Chloe rang Malcolm on her way to her car after the Telepath-Empath Society let out of their meeting for the evening. He picked up after two rings. "Heya big boy, where you at?" "The store," came his reply. "You want anything?" "Yeah, could you pick up some heavy cream, butter...and do I have any eggs?" "We finished the eggs, remember?" Well, technically, he had finished the eggs that morning, when she made (and proceeded to stuff him with) a five-egg, four-cheese omelet before they headed to class. After a week in her care, his gain had kicked off nicely. Soon he'd have to replace his wardrobe; his starter belly was starting to strain the waistbands of his tight jeans. "Oh, yeah." "Gotcha, I'll get the eggs. What are you making?" "I was gonna do my rum cake." "Hmm...in that case I'll have to pick up more rum." "You finished all the rum?" "Of course I finished the pinche rum. There was nothing else to drink in here!" "You need me to CashApp you?" "As if I'm paying for any of this," said Malcolm. "But anyway, how was your meeting? Was it weird, with Ben there?" "He actually skipped this one," said Chloe. "You know, I actually had been hoping to talk to him--" "Why? He thinks you're a freak." "I am a freak, Mal." "But that's not all you are! And he doesn't know what he's missing." "I don't know, I just...I miss him. And what about Operation Rescue?" "Do you...do you think we need him?" asked Malcolm. "The way he made you feel...I keep thinking, I don't know. Maybe you and me, we could do it alone. We know the layout of Rivington better than anyone else." Just then, Chloe became aware of malicious intent on the edge of the parking lot. "Lemme call you right back." She hung up and made a beeline for her car, but the two drunk seniors whose eyes she'd caught gave chase. "Hey, slow down, beautiful. Where ya going?" slurred one of them, catching her around the wrist. "Yeah," said the other, "what's a place like you doin' in a girl like this?" She struggled to pull herself free, but the boy was stronger. "You're from Rivington, ain't ya? That's military school, innit?" said her first assailant. "I bet they don't let you guys have any fun over there. Over here, though? We like to have fun." He threw her against the hood of a parked sedan and pinned down her wrists. "Please!" Chloe begged as she struggled. "If you let me go I won't say anything to the campus police. It's hero school, these scuffles happen all the time, right?" "Quit struggling," said the other attacker, gripping the waistband of her shorts. "We're not gonna hurt ya!" Suddenly, a snapping network of tree roots forced its way through the asphalt. The roots wound their way around the drunk boys' wrists and ankles, dragging them to the ground, where they flailed, now begging in desperation for their own release. "Not a snowball's chance, dickwads," came a triumphant reply from close by. Gasping as she regained her footing, Chloe blinked before gazing into the masked face of her savior, a plump paragon of justice in her leather one-piece and forest green cloak. Even without telepathy, Chloe would have recognized her instantly. "Evergreen?" "Hey there, Chlo," said Heather, grabbing Chloe's hand and squeezing it for comfort. "Hey, sorry I've been such a stranger lately. I've been patrolling campus, looking for trouble." "No worries," said Chloe, squeezing back. "Thanks for, uh, for saving my dignity." "I'd never dream of letting you get hurt. D'you, uh...want a walk back to your car?" Chloe nodded vigorously. "Yes. Please." They came up on Chloe's car and she unlocked both doors. "Hey...I thought about what you said. About loving different people. And...and I think you might be right, and if you are, I'd really like you to be in my circle. And, you did, uh...just save me and everything. And I like, totally get if you were gonna keep patrolling for the night. But it'd really make me feel better if my hero came back to mine with me." Heather let herself into the shotgun seat. "I'd love to. This will be fun! Will I get to meet your boyfriends?" "Boyfriend," Chloe corrected her, taking the wheel. "One of them doesn't think that good about me." "He doesn't know what he's missing." Heather reached over to massage her shoulder. "Chloe?" Just like that, Chloe came apart. She pushed up both armrests to throw herself around Heather, hugging her squishy body for comfort and sobbing into her chest. "I got you, Chlo. Just lemme know when you're ready to go home," Heather whispered, smoothing a hand over Chloe's hair. After a few minutes, Chloe regained her composure. "Homeward bound," she declared, righting herself to key the ignition. "I should thank you. Do you want any takeout?" "I...I don't want to impose…" "But if I could buy you anything you wanted from any restaurant in the world right now…?" Heather smiled shyly. "How about pizza?" "Funny thing, that's Malcolm's favorite, too," said Chloe, backing out of her parking space. "And I was gonna bake some cake." "Ooh! Sounds like a perfect evening." *** Ben got the group text from Felicity at the end of his combat thermodynamics class summoning him to an empty classroom in the science building for a team meeting. He arrived a little nauseous, hand trembling around the can of grapefruit LaCroix he'd picked up along the way, hoping it would help his nerves--it didn't. Felicity was already present, sitting atop a vacant desk. In her pink dress and kitten heels, she was a beauty, her glowing aesthetic dimmed only by her scowling expression and tapping foot. "Ben! You look like hell, what's wrong?" "Gee, should I write up a list?" He sighed. "Mostly, I just hate how I left things off with Chloe." "It sounds to me like she and Malcolm are just as much to blame, if not more. They could actually talk to you, instead of hiding like children and holding the whole mission back!" "I don't think that's really fair to her," said Ben. "I really hurt her feelings." "Boo fucking hoo." Chloe was the next in. Upon meeting eyes with Ben in the doorway, she gasped, eyes widening as she took in his inner struggle. 'I'm sorry,' he thought helplessly. "No," she said, "I'm sorry!" 'You can't control what you want.' And he'd been a fool for judging her for it. "And you can't control what you think! I should have been more considerate of your discomfort." "Well, I shoulda been more open minded about your...why don't we call it eccentricity?" he said, aloud this time. "Oh, Ben!" She bounded across the room to wrap him up in a hug. Making up with Chloe felt so natural. So easy. Sure, she felt the hug a little too intensely. But she didn't mean him harm. The feelings he felt coursing into himself from her were only nice ones: comfort, care, admiration. Sure, her outpouring of emotion was pumping glucose into his veins by the minute...but it was all so delicious, he didn't want it to stop. They were still locked in their embrace when Malcolm zipped into the room, a blur until he managed to slow his own inertia. It took a toll on him--once he managed to stop running, he bent double, out of breath. It made sense: he was a little heftier than when Ben had seen him last. "Whoa. So like...you guys are cool now?" Ben didn't want the hug to break...but they couldn't stand there like that forever. Chloe pulled back and smiled. "Yes, Mal. We're cool." Felicity rolled her eyes. "Now then. While you two were off doing, oh, whatever, the kill count at Rivington has risen to forty." "Ay, hold up a second, who said anything about a kill count?" Malcolm interjected. "They're all still just missing...right?" He looked to Ben for an answer. "We...we have no way of knowing for sure," he confessed. "But they're covering the disappearances in the news...if any bodies turned up, they'd show it, right?" "In. The. Meantime." Felicity fixed Chloe and Malcolm with a stern stare. Ben was somehow immune from her wrath--years of history, he presumed--and while he wished his recently reconciled friends weren't in Felicity's crosshairs, he couldn't help but feel relieved. "When are we going to act?" Chloe rolled her eyes. "Felicity, it's, like, just not realistic for us to spring into action ASAP. For one thing, I'm not ready. I need to train myself to be able to withstand all the mental screaming on campus, otherwise I'll freeze up as soon as I step foot there!" Ben was glad she'd used herself as an example; he was unprepared, too, by a long shot. But did his friends need reminding of the fact out loud? "Sorry--sorry I'm late!" came a new voice, as a plump, dark-haired girl dressed in all black pushed her way past the door, ass-first, her arms full of binders and notebooks of schoolwork. Ben recognized Heather Greene from the betting pool. Chloe waved, and even Malcolm gave her a fond nod of acknowledgement. "Who the fuck are you?" Felicity snapped, her patience slipping by the minute. Overhead, the lights began to flicker: Ben was reaching capacity as far as how much of the ensemble's energy he could contain. "I'm--I'm Heather, I'm Chloe's gi--Chloe's friend. She invited me to the meeting. Something about rescuing a bunch of missing kids?" Felicity glared at Chloe. "You didn't think to put this to a vote?" "She's crazy powerful! She'll make a great asset to the team. She's already saved me once. And she already has a supersona and everything!" "Well, then," said Felicity, "show me what you can do." With a crack, the floor underfoot gave way as several tendrils of vine burst forth from the earth and bound Felicity's feet to the linoleum. Felicity just stood there, unflinching, before yanking her left foot free, snapping the vines in the process. Heather recoiled with a grunt of agony, as if Felicity had scathed her physical body and not merely the plants she was controlling. Her pain burned white hot through Ben. Soon, Chloe's panic and Felicity's smug satisfaction entered the mix, sending him over the edge. A crackle of static sounded around him and a sudden jolt racked his entire body. He collapsed on the ground, electrocuted. *** In an instant, Chloe was on her knees at Ben's side. She took his wrist to check his pulse--thank God, it was still there--and squeezed his hand, looking up at Felicity and Heather. "You guys, we all need to calm down or we'll hurt him more!" "Leave him to me," said Felicity, seeming to regain some semblance of humanity as she knelt down to scoop him up bridal style as if his hefty body were no heavier than a throw pillow. "I'll take him to the infirmary. Oh, and Heather: sorry, but you're just not strong enough." Chloe held back her rage, waiting until Felicity and Ben were out of the room and at a safe distance. When she was sure she could do no damage, she let down her pretense of composure and blurted, "Fuck her!" "Yeah, Heather, you've gotta be one of the most powerful bitches at this school," Malcolm agreed. "More useful in combat than me, for sure," said Chloe. "But, like, you already know why she's dismissing you out of hand." The message came through for Heather, but the pudgy fledgling heroine had her doubts on Chloe's assessment. "Are you sure it's that? Ben's a chunky dude, and she seems to care an awful lot about him." "Please. She just enjoys how he worships the ground she walks on. If he ever wises up, he'll be just another misfit to her," said Chloe. "Anyway, she can't keep you off the rescue mission if you really do want to be here." "Yeah," added Malcolm. "She's outvoted." *** "This package came in for 'Evergreen,' announced the RA, holding up a padded envelope in the dining hall as the students ate breakfast. "Anyone know where to find her?" "Yeah, I'll take it to her," said Chloe as she exited the serving line with a heavily loaded tray. She might as well, since she was already taking her breakfast. She let the RA tuck the envelope under her arm and went upstairs to Heather's dorm. There was only Heather's consciousness in there: her roommate had already left for the gym. Chloe knocked. "It's open!" came Heather's reply, though Chloe had known it a second before she spoke. "My hands are full!" A second later, Heather opened the door. Her black hair was tousled from sleep, and her black band t-shirt clung tightly around her full chest and squidgy middle, riding up to expose a pale sliver of belly. Her pajama bottoms were similarly tight: they looked like they'd split down the ass if the fledgeling heroine bent over. Chloe practically salivated. "Rise and shine, sleepy head!" The door fell shut behind her as she crossed the room to set the tray down on the bed. "I know this looks like a lot, but we have to make sure you're, like, well-fed and stuff, so you'll be at the top of your crimefighting game! After all, the safety of the campus is depending on it!" Heather blushed. "Ah, shucks. You know I'm not that big a deal, right?" "Oh, really? Then why are you getting fanmail from…" Chloe took a moment to examine the return address on the envelope before gasping in shock. "Holy shit!" "What, who's it from?" Baylor Elizabeth Sharp: otherwise known as Bailey Sharp, the first name in pop music on a global scale. At only twenty-five, she had a veritable empire of media attention all to herself. Her shows were explosive, extraordinary, out of this world--even without all the pyrotechnics, her voice would have ensnared crowds, but the special effects budget her success afforded turned her into something truly spectacular. From just some sweet country blonde from Texas, she had built her image into something extraordinary, recognizable at one glance no matter who you were, and this recent year, amidst a flurry of press releases, she had moved to a penthouse in uptown Blackwater City. She'd even written a song about it, and it had topped the charts for twelve weeks running, only to be usurped by yet another one of her singles. And now, apparently, she had business with Evergreen. Breathlessly, Chloe handed Heather her package. Heather turned it over hands and read over the same handwritten text Chloe had only seconds before...but she was markedly underwhelmed. "Bailey Sharp? As in, the pop singer? She wants to talk to me?" she said, rolling her eyes. "Aren't you going to open it?" "This is wasting my time and delaying my breakfast." "Come on, it might be worth the read!" "I don't even like that preppy top 40s music," Heather groaned, tossing the envelope onto her nightstand. She sat down on the bed with a heavy plop and pulled Chloe's tray of offerings into her lap: it was piled with plates of eggs and sausage, biscuits smothered in butter and then gravy, and, to cut through the savory feast with some sweetness, an array of fruit and cream cheese danishes. "I was kind of hoping you'd...you know...stuff me to bursting this morning." Chloe flushed red hot...but her curiosity burned even hotter. "In a second; if you won't open it, I will." "Ooh," said Heather, "is this baby's first felony?" Growing impatient, she picked up a biscuit and tore in, demolishing it in three huge bites before throwing Chloe a seductive sideways glance, sucking the gravy off of her fingers one by one. "Felony--what?" "It's a felony to open someone else's mail." "Well look at you, knowing the law, Little Miss Hero." "Excuse me! There's nothing 'little' about me." "But you'll look little compared to your future self some day soon if I have my way!" Chloe tore into the envelope and unfolded the letter within. *** Dear Evergreen, News of your heroic acts at Bellvue has been causing quite the stir on Twitter. On behalf of the city of Blackwater and all its townspeople, I wish to extend an invitation for you to patrol the streets and defend the innocent from evildoers, if you would so desire. Please find enclosed a token of my appreciation for your work, along with a check--I hope it will cover your expenses and free you up for vigilante work. Should you choose to accept my offer, the checks will continue to arrive biweekly. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me via email and we can arrange to speak in person. Hoping you are well, B.E. Sharp. *** Chloe blinked. "Holy shit." "What?" Chloe handed Heather the letter, along with the rest of the envelope's contents: a set of car keys and a check for ten thousand dollars. "What the fuck?" asked Heather. "This...this has to be some sort of prank. Sure, I'm getting some attention on Twitter...but it's all bad. People think I'm some big fat lardass who's destined to fail." "Bunch of ingrates," said Chloe. "Come on, though! We have to see the car." "Chlooo," whined Heather, "my breakfast is getting cold." "Then be a good girl and eat it faster," said Chloe, reaching over to pluck a raspberry danish off the tray and shove it forcefully in Heather's mouth. With any other feedee, she'd feel bad, but she knew Heather liked to be played with rough. Heather swallowed a huge bite of pastry and washed it down with a gulp of juice. "So good! The chefs here really don't fuck around. It's surprising you don't have more fat people here." "You literally just received ten grand and a car, and all you're thinking about is the quality of the food?" Heather put the tray in Chloe's hands. "Tell you what: since you want to see the car so bad, why don't we go downstairs and break her in? We can sit in there, crank the AC, and pretend like you're stuffing me in a drive-thru parking lot." "Ooh, I love role play!" "Figured as much. You did join musical theatre club." They walked down to the parking lot, where Heather hit the 'unlock' button on the car key. A sleek, forest green, absolutely sexy hotrod blinked to life, its paint job shiny and immaculate, its seats spacious. "This...this is not real," Heather breathed. "You know you have to talk to her, right?" *** Heather pulled up to the parking meter and walked up to the small Italian restaurant where she and Bailey agreed to meet in her full Evergreen regalia, mask up for identity protection. "Hey, I know you!" said the hostess. "You're Evergreen, right?" Heather was taken aback by the woman's welcoming smile and cheerful disposition. "I didn't think people liked me this much." "Oh, baby doll, I've seen the mean Tweets. But here at Contini's, we don't discriminate. You can be a big girl and fight crime, that's great! Or you can fight crime by em-biggening other people, that's fine, too. D'you know, Bombshell keeps our family afloat? Swell dame. All her work keeps my uncle and his forklift business running. Anyway, where can I seat ya?" "Um...if you have any quiet tables in the back…" "Right this way." Heather wasn't waiting for long before the blonde, suntanned princess of pop turned up and helped herself to a seat across from her. "Evergreen, I'm so glad you decided to meet. Order anything you'd like, my treat," she insisted. Heather perused the menu--it was tempting. Everything looked so rich and decadent...but she didn't have the familiarity with Bailey yet that she had with, say, Chloe. Eating in front of strangers was always a challenge: risk the humiliation that would come with the exposure of her secret, or play the part of the good fatty? Sadly, the second option was always the only viable one. Feedism got such a bad rap for a harmless personal choice. So, when a nervous waiter came and Bailey ordered a garden salad with grilled chicken, Heather ordered the exact same thing. "I imagine you must have a lot of questions." "Yeah, for one thing: why is our waiter wearing a Rolex?" asked Heather. She was pretty sure she'd seen Swarovski crystal around the hostess' neck as well. "I was told this is the place to do business discreetly. I have a feeling we shouldn't dig too deep into what that means. Anything else?" "Why me?" "Your heart's obviously in crimefighting, and I'd hate to see another promising young heroine pipelined into the military, as they so often are." "But there are so many people trying to make it as heroes out there. You could have picked anyone." "But not anyone is as good as you are. I've seen you on video, and pardon my French, but you're a badass. Not to mention that the superhero scene needs more representation for plus-sized women." Wait a second. Why would a slim, successful pop star even care about fat acceptance? Unless…? No. Heather couldn't dare bring it up. It was too risky. Then again, she could always act like she'd learned the lingo while being propositioned by a few fat admirers and that was where it ended. "Ms. Sharp...if I said the word 'feedism' to you, would it mean anything?" "Hmm...pretty and clever, I should have predicted it." Bailey pulled a stack of papers from her oversized bag, along with a pen, and slid everything across the table. "I'm going to need you to sign this NDA. Simply put, it says you agree that we never had this conversation." "Right, because it would be devastating for your reputation if it got out you'd hired a fat girl to fight crime, right?" "We all need to keep the lights on," said Bailey with a guilty sigh. "The record label is very strict about my curated image. But do you accept my offer?" "Twenty thousand dollars a month to live the biggest dream of my life? Duh, of course I accept! I just want to understand." If this was some sort of fetish thing--if she was expected to slut up her costume so some blubber-loving pop star could watch her jiggle while she fought bad guys on the local news--she wouldn't turn the offer down, not for all that money on the line. She would rather just go in informed. Bailey looked from Heather's eyes to the dotted line on the form in front of her. Out of sheer, burning curiosity, Heather picked up the pen and signed herself into secrecy. "Thank you, Evergreen," said Bailey, taking back the paperwork. "And as for the true depths of my motivations...let's just say I hope you'll accept envy as a form of flattery." Could it be? The global darling of the pop music scene, a closeted wannabe gainer? Perhaps the famous Bailey Sharp wasn't so unrelatable after all. "I look forward to our partnership, Ms. Sharp."