When you sign up to join the Federation there’s this really adorable icebreaker they run you through. Candidates are broken into two groups -- those with powers and everybody else. If you’re normal you get a tour of the ‘campus’. A trip up to the central tower, a basic layout of Bastion, maybe a cake and some downtime so that everyone can get to know each other. I heard it’s actually pretty nice.

If you’ve got powers, if you were considered ‘gifted’, that’s a different story. They’d group us up in small teams. Five or six, depending on what kind abilities we had. Variety was key. They didn’t want a whole team of flying badasses that would get picked apart without ground cover.

We all meant to be like some kinda special ops squad. It didn’t matter if we were going to hunt down terrorists or provide aid for hurricane relief. Every man and woman had to perform a specific job in concert with the unit.

You were lucky if you got grouped with someone you knew. Most of the time it was you, a group of total strangers, plus a marketing rep from the Federation. They were there to guide the icebreaker dinner.

See, in the early days of the Federation everyone got to pick their own code names. Some got them from the media. Helios, Titan, Miracle. That whole trio got their name from a bunch of journalists who probably worked as a team. A superhero marketing division or something like that. Then the standard was set.

The second wave had to be just as interesting. Just as exciting. Breaking Point, Mindbender, Dynamo, Daybreak. There were a ton of people that just broke stuff.

So what happens when you get two people from two completely different parts of the country who both want to be called “The Drillinator”? Welcome to the third generation. Helios would have none of that on his watch. We had to look professional.

Orientation was just that. We would gather together in a room, sat down at some crazy fancy dinner, crack a beer, and just talk. About family, where we were from, what we were going to miss most. Then we’d talk about our powers. How we discovered them. When they manifested. It would go around the room, one at a time, and once you were done telling your story everyone would take turns trying to find a name that fit you

Sometimes it meant everyone coming up with a name like Southern Bramble, or Wick. Maybe you didn’t look like an Egyptian god, or maybe your name didn’t quite match your posture. It didn’t matter. That name was yours. Completely and absolutely, you owned it. I can’t speak for everyone, but for me the icebreaker was a cathartic experience.

It’s funny thinking about it now. But I guess that’s what people do, right? Once everything comes crashing down you try and go back to the parts of life that seemed to really make sense.

I first discovered my gift in high school. They say that a full manifestation can occur any time during puberty, but there are always signs when someone starts showing a talent for the extraordinary. I could always tell when storms were coming. Bad ones would keep me up all night, like I had eaten a bag of sugar. Mom used to call me her little thunderbolt because I’d be off the walls anytime the sky got dark. I tried pitching that one, but LeAnn from marketing told me it was already taken.

It was math class, and I lived in a pretty good school district. The kind that had enough money for tvs in every classroom, and not just ones that are strapped to those wheel-in tables. My friends and I used to fight to sit closest to this old, spare tube tv near the front of the room. The kind that would make that digital clicking noise anytime to turned it on or off. Sitting in your desk, if you leaned in close, your palm could touch the screen and sweep the static electricity off it.

Most of the time you’d sit and try not to get called on to answer some crazy quadratic equation, but if you sat in that special chair you were only worried about one thing: the perfect shock. You had to time it right. One or two hand sweeps would do, but it had to be when the teacher wasn’t looking, otherwise it would just be a waste. Then you couldn’t touch your desk, or you’d lose the charge. The stakes were about as high as you can imagine for a 10th grader, but if you could navigate the risks the reward was a static shock so bad it felt like a bee sting.

One fateful day the stars seemed to align for me. I got the seat. I swept my hand across a few times. Felt that bristle of static against my hand. Didn’t touch the desk. Even ran my shoes against the carpet a few times for good measure. The girl beside me, Carla, knew what I was up to. She was bracing for it, I think.

The first thing that hit me was how awful the air smelled. That’s what I’m reminded of now. Burnt flesh.

The first electrical shock I released tore through her body faster than I could see. But you could tell where the initial burst of lightning traveled. It left a spiderweb of burst blood vessels up her arm and through her neck before rupturing her eyeball. I wish I could tell you that’s where it stopped.

Twelve students were hospitalized from my little episode, mostly with superficial cuts or burns. Some had suffered scalding from superheated metal. Necklaces, earrings, bracelets, or anything metal that was touching skin. A few had to undergo cosmetic surgery to remove shards of glass that had been blown into their face. Electrical discharge across the building affected computers, televisions, appliances; basically anything plugged into a wall socket exploded or was shorted out.

Carla died. She took the brunt of every bolt of lightning that I couldn’t control. It all passed through her, again and again. I think if it wasn’t for her more kids would have died that day. Not that it’s any consolation.

I thought I had put that life behind me, but here it is happening again. At the gates of Bastion, alongside friends and family, I’ve lost control. It happens in slow motion. I can feel each bolt pass through me and through everyone around me. I try my hardest to control myself, but the focus and self discipline I’ve learned from years of training all seem so far away. I am a danger to those around me, but I cannot stop. Somewhere in the back of my mind I realize that no one is standing close to me anymore. They’re all so far away, or laying down.

Please, let them live.

Then the pain hits me. It feels like I’m being peeled apart, layer by layer. My skin is on fire, until it suddenly isn’t anymore. I open my eyes and can see my arms wither and scatter to the wind like ash. I’m blinded as another white streak of light erupts from within me. I can no longer hear the crack of thunder that sounds off from every bolt. The ringing in my ears fades to silence. I know that if I can still make sound, I’m screaming.

If this is what death feels like, it’s fitting. A tremendous amount of pain, followed by blackness. Did Carla experience this? Was this the last thing she felt before I killed her? It was an accident, but it doesn’t matter. I understand if I still deserve this.

Somewhere in the distance there’s a thunderstorm. I know because I can feel it. The magnetic tug of ions in the air that used to make me feel so refreshed.

I don’t know how much time has passed since it all went dark.

I think I’m still alive.