Hours. That's how long it feels like it's been. But, looking at the clock, it's only been ten minutes. Maybe it's because I don't want to be here, don't want Papa explaining how to use the suit. Sure, I'm taking all the information in, but I don't think I'll ever use it.

"Your suit works very differently to mine," Papa says.

"How so?" I ask, actually intrigued for once. Peter sits to the side: I can see him out of the corner of my eye.

"Well, my suit's main power is the arc reactor stored in my chest - the one that keeps me alive. Your suit's main power comes from your mind."

"How the fuck does that work?"

“Well basically, as long as your brain is functioning properly, the suit will work. If you’re brain dead or dead, it won’t work. Another difference is that you can make individual parts of the suit appear. Mine stems from the arc reactor, so I can’t control where it goes. Since yours is connected to your brain, you can choose what appears.”

As much as I hate to admit it, what Papa’s telling me is pretty interesting. The suit is connected to my mind. I physically control it, inside and out. Maybe this suit won’t be too bad. Papa gestures to me to stand up, and I do so.

"Obviously I'm not going to start you with the whole suit, so I want you to just thing of getting the helmet on."

"How do I do that?"

"I believe it should be as simple as thinking about it."

Should be simple enough, I guess. Helmet on, I think while hoping it works. I feel movement around my head and squeeze my eyes shut.

"Hello, Blythe," I hear F.R.I.D.A.Y. say, and slowly open my eyes to find that it worked perfectly. There are little screen displays that follow the movement of my head. This must be what Papa feels like.

"Yes, good job Blythe," Papa cheers quietly. "Now I want you to think of getting the rest of it on."

Arms on. I feel the tech creeping along my arm. Legs on. Up my legs. Torso on. Around my back and front. In roughly a minute, I’m standing in a completed suit. I take a few moments to look at it, how much effort Papa put into it. The suit’s design is both simple and complex, and it includes my two favourite colours: light green and light aqua. All in all, the suit is beautiful. I can’t believe he worked so hard on it even though I didn’t want it.

“Now I want you to get it off, all at once. No ‘arms first, legs last’ stuff. All at once.”

I close my eyes, concentrating. Suit off. I feel it retreating, and open my eyes to find an unrestricted view.

“Now on and off, fast as you can.”

Suit on quickly. “Faster.” Quicker. “Faster.” Quicker.

“How fast do you want it to be on? I’m rarely gonna use it.”

“As fast as possible. Nobody who fights you is going to wait minutes for you to set up. If you want to protect yourself, you need to get it on and off quickly. Now, get it off as fast as you can.”

Suit off, quickly as possible. The suit melts away, but seemingly not fast enough for Papa.

“Again!” He yells.

--

It has been an hour. Not figuratively, literally. An hour of Papa ordering me to get the suit on and off. He’s been satisfied with the speed – only a few seconds – for around ten minutes, but he refuses to let me rest. Wants me to make sure I keep hitting the speed, apparently.

I give in to my tiredness. “Can I have a break, Papa? We’ve been at this for an hour. I’m tired and need to rest.”

His hand massages the bridge of his nose, but he sighs in faint defeat. “Fine. But only for a few minutes. It isn’t enough to just be able to get the suit on. You have to be able to fight in it.”

Papa leaves the room, and I go to sit down next to Peter. He hands me a water bottle, and I take it as I sit next to him. “I thought you did OK,” He says softly, staring at the floor as I drink.

“Thanks,” I smile back as I finish, placing it on the floor. “Hey, look at me. You don’t have to be worried. I’m gonna be OK.”

“I know, it’s just…” He trails off. I get it. I really do. My arm seems to move on its own for a few moments, reaching up to feel the cut left by Dylan’s claw. It’s only now that I realise it’s got a patch on it – I hadn’t even noticed. It must be due for a change by now.

My hand falls between us as I use them to keep me on the bench, feeling like I might fall forward as I feel overwhelming emotions. I feel a weight on it, and I look to see Peter has placed his hand on top of mine. “It’s going to be fine.”

“I know. I really do. It’s just hard to think that when it’s all happening so fast, you know?”

At that moment, Papa walks back into the room. “Time for repulsors,” He says, and I groan as I stand up and walk over to him.

“OK. How does this work?”

“To be scientific: they take excess electrons and turn them into muons, and those can penetrate deep into atomic matter. And that happens in your hands.” I have a look of confusion on my face, but I can tell that Peter understands. I’m not smart like Papa, I don’t get this shit. “Basically plasma beams.”

“And how does that let me fly?”

“If you balance on them, it holds you in the air. The repulsors on your feet propel you, the ones on your hands stabilise you. And obviously you can fire shots. And I’m gonna show you how to do that in the training rink. Not here.”

“OK….”

--

So by training rink, he meant the battle simulator. Great.

“I’m not setting you up in a battle yet. This is just a virtually indestructible room, and therefore the best place for you to learn.”

Papa double taps the triangular arc reactor in his chest, and his own red and gold suit spreads over his body. I do the same, and soon both of us are standing in our suits. I guess it’s probably safer for him if any haywire blasts go towards him. Peter waves from the viewing room, and I wave back.

“It should be simple,” Papa says to me, drawing my attention back to him. “Hold your hand up think blast.”

Ok…I think it’s weird but do it anyway. I hold my right hand up and do what he says, thinking Blast. A short beam flies out of my hand, and I barely feel that it’s happened. It hits a wall and dissipates.

“Awesome. Now the other hand.” I do that. “Perfect. Now I want you to point them at the ground and think beam. That should hopefully create a steady stream of plasma.”

I face my hands towards the ground, palms parallel against it. Beam, I think, and the suit does the right thing. Except, I’m being lifted in the air. I guess it’s because I didn’t specify that I only wanted my hands, so it did both. This wasn’t as hard as I was thinking.

I fly around a little, picking up on how to do it quickly. It’s definitely easier than what I thought it was going to be. Papa makes it look easy, and I guess it kinda is. He looks up at Peter in the viewing room, waving him down.

“Peter! Come here for a bit!” As Peter is coming down, I come to a stop on the ground and my helmet melts away. “I want you two to train in a makeshift battle,” He explains once Peter is standing with us.

“So that’s what we’re here for? Not just so I can learn, but so I can battle? I guess it’s not a real one, but you’re pushing your luck a bit Papa.”

Papa rolls his eyes, then takes himself up to the viewing room, holding the button on the microphone. “You know how the simulator works. While you’re in it, there’s no barriers. The simulation moves with you, so you’re not going to go anywhere. It’s highly realistic, and I just want you to focus on the battle.”

He clicks a button, and the rink itself melts away, putting Peter and I into a makeshift New York. A few robots appear, trying to knock us out. I blast them with my repulsors. I knew he was going to make this easy on us, but not this easy. As if on cue, a large wave of robots comes through. We knock them out one by one, making our way through them.

This makes me see how well I work with Peter. We’re barely talking to each other, yet we know exactly what the other is doing. I stop to stare at him, appreciating him. A robot takes this opportunity to strike me down, knocking me to the ground. The simulator powers down, and I know it’s Papa. He comes running in.

“Why did you stop it? I’m fine.”

“I worried.”

“See, this is what I talk about all the time. I can handle myself, I only got knocked to the ground by a fake robot. No bruising, no cuts, no concussion. When will you see that I’m not your baby girl anymore?”

I run out, suit dissipating as I do. The only place I can think of going is to the gym, so I head there. F.R.I.D.A.Y. seems to know what’s on my mind, as the AI half deploys my helmet and then turns it into earphones, playing music. I didn’t know it could do that, but I’m glad.

No one’s in the gym, which is perfect. I walk over to a punching bag, but I can’t be bothered to pull some gloves on. My gauntlets appear – you know, the hands. I’m gonna call them gauntlets. Sounds cool.

With my music playing and the boxing glove distracting me, time moves weirdly. I barely notice when a minute has gone by, don’t even realise that it’s been half an hour straight of me going at it. I hear something from behind me, but I ignore it. It’s quiet and I don’t make out what it is, so I just leave it.

Then it comes again, slightly louder and closer. In my moment of response, I turn around and throw a punch. When I see who it is, I’m glad that Peter is Spider-Man. Without being able to sense that punch, he might have a broken nose.

“Sorry, Peter. You shouldn’t have come up behind me like that.” I turn to start punching again, but he grabs my arm. My earphones fade away into the triangle on my back as I turn around to face him, looking into his eyes.

“Hey, Blythe. I just want to ask if you’re OK. I reckon you don’t get asked much, and you look like you’re having a tough time. So, are you OK?”

I stare at him, not knowing what to say. Then I promptly burst into tears.