Rescue's Classroom Thoughts

Tick, Tick, Tick.

The clock on the wall moved its hands forward in staggered steps. Each movement a reminder of what's left to come. Every sound beating into his mind that class is not yet over. Just a few more periods before he could finally get out of here. James let out a quiet sigh to himself.

He knew that it was all the heroics, the thrills of saving people and taking down villains that was making him restless. He was built for speed, to get out there and DO something. He lifted his hand to his mouth before looking down at it and stopping. Bad habit, should stop doing that, he thought. He instead opted to grab a pencil off his desk to twirl in his hands, as much of a test of his motor skills as it was a way to keep his body busy.

It wasn't like he'd be missing anything from this lesson, he always picked up on everything being said even if he wasn't fully focusing on it. It helped him get good grades but sometimes it was a little too much. A side product of his powers gave him his fast rate of thoughts, able to adapt and memorize new information quickly, but it made dull moments almost unbearable and seemingly stretch on far beyond what it should be. If he didn't have some sort of focus disorder before then he definitely did now. He didn't mind too much, in many ways it was much better then what he was before.

He flipped the pencil up in the air, catching it and setting it back down on his desk in a rapid motion. He didn't want to make his teachers suffer through his short attention span and his attempts at distracting himself, so he learned to try to move when they weren't looking. Something he incorporated a bit into his line of work. As Rescue he would be zipping past criminals, sweeping the area within minutes and cleaning up the streets. As James McGregory he's just a normal, albeit slightly isolate, high schooler whose only achievement is flipping pencils and getting average grades of B's and above because he didn't put enough effort into it. There was nothing really stopping him from getting flawless papers simply by the virtue of his accelerated mind but his heart wasn't in it. He had to make it his own or ended up procrastinating until it was too late.

James shook his head, his thoughts were running away from him. It was a slightly welcome distraction but this much introspection usually just led down a rabbit hole of his own doubts and trying to unearth reasons behind them. A little too much to fit in one school day. He'll always take it as a blessing instead of a curse though, never lonely when you got your own thoughts to work through. Especially not if you have a guardian spirit watching your back. He looked down at the hand he was resting on his desk. With a small bit of focus, he could see a faint shimmer where his ethereal projection was starting to manifest.

He quickly banished it, gently placing his other hand over his arm as if he was pushing it back in.
"Slipstream", he called it. The name just felt natural with the way he used it. Always using it to protect him and propel himself at nearly impossible speeds, letting it guide him while he trailed behind. Though the name lost a bit of its meaning as he began to hide it behind him. Too many people had gotten spooked by what they thought was the Siberian. Dredged up too many bad memories of what the Slaughterhouse Nine had done to cities in the past, and even now with their recent attempts.

James didn't even realize he was clenching his fist until he became aware of the pain in his palm. He let out a sigh and unfurled his fingers, laying his hands flat on the desk and closing his eyes.

He wasn't there that day, for the raid on the school. It ate at him. He took a call from Search to take care of a small time robbery, just a small time villain. Something quick to boost his public image, trying to elevate his name from other capes. By the time he got the heads up about the movements of the Nine heading to the school, he was too far to make it in time. He felt like he let his classmates down trying to gain recognition. It's hard to be noticeable when you move as fast as he did, and in the crowds eyes the most lasting image for a cape is their actions, movements that they make connections to. Connections to other mover capes who did far more despicable things with their kind of speed.

He knew that his feelings were illogical and pure folly to try to handle. What could he have done against the S9, a collection of some of the most powerful and dangerous capes in the world. His mind still tells him could have done something, even if right now he didn't know what. The Nine's raid attempt had ended up a failure with casualties being contained, and even some reports of members dying at the hands of local capes. Even still with as good of news as you can get with these events, something was telling him that if he interfered right then and there, there might have been a few more lives saved. Just by being there, taking action a split second sooner then the rest. Frustration came at him in multiple angles.

He hated his shallowness, for chasing his own image so that he wouldn't be confused with villains. He hated the fear people initially have when he shows up because of the misunderstanding. He hates those who made these people fear for their safety and caused all of this. And he hates that he is too weak to change the outcomes, just like when he wasn't there when the Slaughterhouse Nine showed up.

He lifted a hand over his eyes, using his thumb and index finger to message his eyes. He had to stop thinking so hard about these kind of things. It wasn't healthy, just another one of his trains of thought taking him down the wrong path. Forgive and forget. He could try to forgive himself but he would never let it happen again.

He felt Slipstream's presence as though it was bubbling right beneath his skin. It reacted to what he felt, to what he thinks, whether he's aware of it or not. It's why he always has to be careful with his actions, having to be certain he has full control over it. He felt that he could push their limits further, but he always held himself back. Too afraid of becoming like the other movers he was getting associated with.

No need to go down that line of thought again, he thought, mentally chastising himself. Channel it into something constructive, there's always a next time. He let his mind clear and let his focus return to the class at hand. James propped up his arm on the desk and leaned his head onto his hand, turning to look at the clock. Three minutes had passed.

Tick, Tick, Tick.