CHAPTER NINE
Teen Idle

WARNING: This chapter contains mass death + mentions of violence and mistreatment against Indigenous people. Please read with caution.

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THE DAY CECELIA'S LIFE ceased to be normal started off like any other. That may have been cliché to say, but it was true: it wasn't like she'd seen shadows in her peripherals the moment she'd rolled out of bed. Nobody had been uncharacteristically morose, like they'd known what was coming. And the sky may have been gray, but it wasn't a gray of warning; it was just cloudy.

As usual, they ate pemmican for breakfast—the rations had been particularly low during these past few weeks. The water that ran from their taps was still a muddy brown, so Iná collected water from the well. Até went fishing with the other men, and Cecelia completed her morning chores. There may have been more smoke in the air than usual—so much, in fact, that she worked with a mask tied around her face—but ever since the factory had set down its roots, that had become ordinary. So was the increasing bout of sickness that had ravaged the elders on the reservation; practically everyone above the age of sixty was now prone to intense coughing fits. Cecelia, five years old, barely remembered a time when this wasn't the case. When the sky was blue, and the air was clear.

When she finished her chores, she decided to head to the river. In the past, she'd find turtles within the murky depths, though lately, more and more of them were turning up dead. Once, Unci had accompanied her on this short walk, but when she'd spotted the corpse being carried along by the current, she'd cried. Turtles represented the great Grandmother Earth, after all, and their deaths were certainly something to be mourned.

Cecelia kept going to the river, regardless. Every time she found a live turtle, it was a blessing; every time one was dead, it was a curse. The planet must be fracturing under her feet, fissures branching out from the river. Soon, the entire world would be consumed, and its shattering would be the product of their white neighbours.

She had to squint through the fog to make out the murky water. It was brown as the water that spilled from their faucets, full of dying life. The plants that had once taken root in the underwater soil were wilting. The bugs that had once buzzed on its surface had sunk. The occasional fish, sometimes mutated, floated by listlessly. There was a reason Até and the others now had to go so far. Their own waters could not be trusted anymore.

That was when she saw it. Penetrating the haze of fog was a bright white light, almost like a beacon. It was coming from the factory—she could see the building's fuzzy edges. It shot into the sky, spreading, growing, overtaking the entirety of the plant. Cecelia stumbled backwards, confused, looking back to the rez wildly. "Iná—" she began.

The factory exploded. Cecelia only had enough time to see fires bloom across from her before she was knocked back by a shockwave so powerful, she passed out in the air. It consumed everything and everyone in the West River Sioux Reservation—the houses, the shops, the people.

Even Até, miles away, wasn't safe. He fell backwards, hitting his head on the rocky coast. His skull burst like an egg, and brain matter splattered. His companions met a similar fate.

Iná died after the roof caved in on her. Unci died after she was tossed through the air like a ragdoll. Everyone died—four-thousand people lost their lives in an instant. The entire population of the West River Sioux Reservation was gone, just like that.

Well, the entire population, bar one.

Something happened while Cecelia was flying through the air. An evolution of her cells, multiplying and modifying. A shift in her very being. She couldn't tell you what it was—she'd been unconscious, after all, and only five years old—but whatever it was saved her life. Instead of smashing right into the side of a house in an impact that would've surely killed her, she went right through it. Her body was not translucent, but she may as well have been a ghost, something out of this realm.

She burst through the other side of the house and, suddenly whole again, skidded onto the ground. Here, her head slammed down, chipping away a piece of her skull, and dirt skidded after her. She landed only feet away from a piece of what had previously been her cousin's hand.

Then she lay there, bleeding sluggishly from her head, dirt-streaked and grimy but miraculously still alive.

It took an hour for authorities to arrive on the scene, and when they did, they almost missed her. Everyone was dead, after all. The rez had practically become nothing but a smoking crater, with the factory in an even worse state. But then a man who had decided to go farther in found the girl, her chest rising and falling. Alive. Alive. Alive.

Later, Cecelia would learn that apparently, the men at the factory had used too much power. It had built, and built, and built, until it burst. Everyone inside had been vaporized instantly, crumbling away before they'd even realized how badly they'd fucked up. And, because they apparently hadn't already caused enough damage to the reservation, they'd taken it out with them.

While Cecelia underwent surgery and spent weeks in the hospital, trying to come to terms with the fact that everyone she'd ever known and loved was gone, the dead were collected, their names tallied, and the reservation was sectioned off. They built a sign on a road nearby commemorating the victims, then dusted their hands off and forgot about the whole tragedy, not once considering that this was their fault, that it had been their blatant disregard for Native American lives to begin with that had led to the tragedy.

But, of course, what else would you expect? Just go back through history to the moment Christopher Columbus supposedly 'discovered' America. Think about the genocide he wrought on the early Natives there. Ever since the people of Europe set foot on this land, Native Americans have been cast to the side. Murdered. Enslaved. Forced to assimilate into European culture through Residential Schools. Thought of as backwards people even though parts of their lifestyle were far more advanced.

It hadn't just been the factory that had ruined Cecelia's life. It had been the government, undervaluing the lives on the reserve, giving them dirty water in their taps and allowing poison to be pumped through their air. It had been everyone who had looked the other way when they'd heard about these conditions—and everyone who didn't bother paying attention at all.

Cecelia might have survived the day her reservation fell. She may have been changed, given abilities with an infinite amount of uses. But she'd also lost her chance at ever being normal. She'd lost her chance at ever slipping from the shackles of peculiarity.

And when there were moments when she thought she might have freed herself? Where she walked forward and was met with no resistance from her confines? Well, it was all a lie. There would come a point in time where she would be jerked back. A time when she'd turn around and realize the chains had been there the whole time.

This was one of those moments.

The protest with Michelle and Christine had somehow been fun. They were three girls with signs and scowls, standing like sentinels in front of an embassy, shouting until their voices hurt about the causes they believed in. But though they'd yelled and scowled, they'd also laughed and bantered, teasing and nudging each other like children. The wind had blown in their hair. The soft anxiety of tomorrow's meet had nudged at the backs of their mind. The deadline to return to the hotel ticked on the watch fastened to Christine's wrist.

When Cecelia stumbled back to her room hours later, her stomach full from dinner and her body light, she was actually grinning. It was such a peculiar sight on her—like a top hat on a donkey—but it managed to work all the same. She flopped on her bed, sending a stray sweater cascading to the floor, and stared up at the stained ceiling, an honest-to-Creator laugh forming on her lips. She just—she felt so normal. Like everyone else. Dad always said that was a bad thing, but Cecelia definitely had to disagree. She'd never been better.

Christine lay back on her own bed, her hair fanning out around her. "See?" she asked. "Isn't it nice to have fun for once? Shed that miserable persona for a while?"

"Yeah, yeah." Cecelia sat up, scrunching her face. "I get it. And I'm not being sarcastic, this time. I've never done anything like that before."

"You've never protested?"

"I've never protested with friends. Unless you count Alex. But even then, it was a lot of him talking to others and me just standing in the crowd."

"Well, girl, you deserve to enjoy yourself every once in a while. Jesus, you've been grumpy and demotivated for so long. It's like you were a zombie going through the motions. So it's nice to see you actually put yourself out there."

"Yeah."

"And Michelle's cool, right? I know she mostly hangs out by herself, but when she wants to be, she's a lot of fun."

"I guess."

A knock sounded at the door. Christine jumped off her bed to go answer it. Cecelia expected it to be Mr. Harrington doing the rounds, but when Christine pulled the door open, she was greeted instead by Liz. She was in a black-and-white swimming suit and had a towel thrown over her shoulder. A mischievous grin was plastered on her face.

"Hey, guys!" she said in a stage whisper. "We're going swimming. Do you want to come?"

"Ooh, really?" Christine asked. "Just the team?"

"Yeah. Um, the pool's technically closed right now because of Nationals, so no one else will be there."

"The pool's closed?"

"Yes. What's the harm in going, though? It's not like anyone here is gonna drown or anything. And it'll be fun. We can raid the minibar, go in the hot tub... rebellious group activities are very good for morale, you know."

Cecelia stood up. "Goodie-two-shoes Liz Allen wants to break the rules? What has this world come to?"

"Ha, ha," Liz responded. "Are you guys in or not? Even Flash is going. It's gonna be a good time."

"Sure!" Christine chirped. "I packed a swimsuit just in case, so I should be good. Cee?"

Although Cecelia would have usually declined this offer, citing her need to study (when really, she'd work on her tech or wait for a text from Uncle), there was something about today that had her reconsidering. Maybe she should go. It would be another burst of normality in such an abnormal life. She could become closer to the team, something she'd always wanted to do but never had time for.

Christine glanced at her expectantly. After the chat they'd just had about Zombie Cecelia, she was definitely expecting her to say yes. And Cecelia was going to. The word was right at the tip of her tongue. Her head was preparing itself to nod.

Then her phone buzzed in her pocket.

"One sec." It was probably a call from Mom and Dad, wishing her luck for tomorrow. Maybe it was Alex. It could even be from Jules, asking to borrow her iPad again.

For the first time in years, Uncle wasn't the first name on her mind.

Which made it all the more depressing when his name flashed across her screen.

Immediately, Cecelia's heart dropped. Why was he calling her? He was in New York, right? He knew she was busy. He knew she was gone. Had something happened? Was he just catching up with her?

"I've gotta take this," she blurted. Then, ignoring Liz and Christine's bewildered looks, she made a beeline for the bathroom. She only answered when the door had been closed and locked, and she was safely perched on the lid of the toilet.

"Hello?"

"Cecelia."

"Uh, hi, Uncle. What's going on?"

"I'm gonna be straight with you. Adrian and I are in Maryland."

"Maryland?" Cecelia did not like where this was going. "Why?"

"We got a tip. A few trucks with confiscated tech are headed for the Department of Damage Control. Considering how difficult it is to get in there—I bet even you'd be caught—our plan is to intercept the trucks before they arrive. Adrian is going, but he's worried that he won't be enough. Which is why we want you there tonight."

"Tonight?" All of the air seemed to rush from Cecelia's lungs. "What—what are you saying?"

"I'm about five minutes out from the hotel you're staying at. If you meet me outside, we'll head over and meet Schultz, Vale and Mason. It shouldn't take us long to get there. You have your suit, right?"

"I—yes. The whole costume. But—"

"Good. I'll update you on the way. If this mission succeeds, my little Tinkerer, we'll have enough material for thousands of dollars worth of weapons. Perhaps tens of thousands. Doesn't that sound exciting?"

"Yes, but—"

"What?"

"You said I didn't have to go on missions while I was here!"

"Well, yes, but that was before I knew you were going to be so close to the action. I mean, come on, how convenient is this?"

"Nationals are in the morning, Uncle."

"So? I know it's important to you, Cecelia, but it's certainly not as important as this mission. You need to stop being distracted by trivial things. First the party, now this? Come on. And besides, if it matters that much, we should be finished before it even starts."

"That's not the—that's not the point! I just wanted—"

"What did you want, Cecelia? To disobey me? You know what happened last time."

"I—"

"Cecelia. You know I don't like punishing you. I just—I have to do whatever is necessary to help you succeed. You know that. And you should know by now that it's easier to obey."

Cecelia sniffled.

"Get ready," Uncle finished. "I'm three minutes out."

Cecelia wanted to argue. She wanted to scream from the rooftops that this had been her one chance, her one chance, where she could have just been a teenager. Not Phantom, masked mutant working under the power of the Vulture. Just Cecelia Olivier, straight-A student, Academic Decathlon member, robotics enthusiast.

But then the memory of Uncle's blows hit her across the face again. Her lip bled. Her cheek bruised. Her whole body shuddered.

She hung her head. The word COWARD might as well have been printed across her forehead when she answered.

"Yes, Uncle."

IT HAD BEEN AN HOUR since Cecelia had arrived at her designated position in a clump of trees by the highway, and she'd yet to hear anything from the scouts. This left her sitting on a particularly rocky patch of ground, stones digging into her skin, constantly shifting in an attempt to get into a comfortable—or at least tolerable—position. Plus, the air was unexpectedly cold, rippling right through her thin jumpsuit, and there was an itch on her nose that wouldn't go away, no matter how many times she sunk her hand through her mask to scratch at it.

All in all, she'd certainly had better stakeouts.

Uncle was in his car a few miles away, though his holographic face beamed out of the watch fastened on Cecelia's wrist. He was typing on his laptop and monitoring her at the same time, even though all she was doing was sitting here. The sight filled her with so much frustration—she'd been sitting here for an hour, an hour in which she might have spent swimming with the AcaDec team and finally getting to know them—that she couldn't meet his eyes.

Instead, she kept her focus on her boots. They were seamless as always, every mechanic working perfectly in tandem with the others. So, just to have something to do, she ran a polishing cloth over them, smoothing away nonexistent dirt and dust until she could see her reflection shining back. Then she finished, and there was still no word from Toomes.

On the way here, Uncle had briefed her on the mission. Like most of the missions Cecelia went on, it was simple—Schultz, Vale and Mason would notify her when the trucks were nearing, and she and the Vulture would each intercept one. Toomes would use the Matter Phase Shifter manufactured by the Tinkerer (with Cecelia's help), while she would simply use her abilities. It was a quick and easy job, with no casualties involved. Perfect for Phantom.

Any other day, Cecelia wouldn't have minded. But she'd been told she would have a few days to herself. She'd been told the company would manage in her absence.

Apparently, she'd made the mistake of believing Uncle.

If she was braver, she might have refused. But the warning in Uncle's voice when he'd called her had been too obvious to ignore. And, if she was being honest, she really didn't want a repeat of what had happened two days ago.

Parts of her face still throbbed.

She twitched in place, the peeled-away bark from a tree digging into her back. One of her boots knocked into a rock, and it went skittering onto the highway as a car drove by. At the noise, the holographic image of Cecelia's uncle finally looked up.

"Quit your squirming, Cecelia," he lectured, eyes narrowing. Cecelia narrowed hers right back.

"I'm bored. Why did we have to get here so early?"

"Really, are you a child? Stop your whining; it's pathetic. This is what we do. You know stakeouts take hours. You've sat through far longer ones without complaining before."

Well, I didn't have any other plans before, Cecelia thought bitterly, crossing her arms. Maybe she was being childish, but she wanted to go back to the hotel. She wanted to pull on her bathing suit (it was dark purple, which apparently went well with her complexion) and engage in a splash fight with Alex. He was still self-conscious in the swimming pool, and often wore shirts to cover his chest, but it was a step up from when he was younger and vehemently refused to go anywhere near water.

She wanted—why did she want so much? Why couldn't she just grit her teeth and deal with this, like she'd done so many times before?

Suck it up. Come on. At least you're going to be back before morning. At least you still get to do Nationals.

Fortunately, Cecelia needn't wallow in her boredom for much longer, for just then, her watch buzzed. Mason's tinny voice piped through Uncle's end. "Green light, green light."

"Go!" Uncle ordered, his image flickering before fading entirely. Cecelia sighed and sprung to her feet, engaging her boots to carry her into the air. It didn't take long for the three trucks to come roaring by. She snapped into action.

As she flew, a distant hiss above her head told her that the Vulture had joined the action, latching onto the brigade's caboose. That left Cecelia with two options; as the front truck was too conspicuous, she chose the middle. She cut through the air like a bullet, then landed with a thud that rattled the tin roof. Crouching down, she held her watch up to her face.

"I've touched down," she reported.

"Good," Uncle responded—voice only. "Get in there."

"That was my plan," Cecelia said, then swiped the watch's screen to turn it off.

Come on. Let's get this over with.

She melted through the roof with ease, landing in a perfect crouch on the truck's floor. When she stood up, she was greeted by the sight of crates and crates full of confiscated technology, all glowing tantalizingly in the darkness. Even at first glance, it was obvious that some of it would be perfect for weapons-making, while others could work for her side projects.

Okay. Maybe Uncle had a point. This was pretty enticing.

Cecelia slung her duffel bag off her shoulder and headed for the first crate. Prying the lid open, she filled her bag with as much material as she could, stopping only when it nearly burst at the seams. Then, for good measure, she shoved a few more pieces into her pockets, knowing that in this case, quantity was preferred over quality. It was only when her pockets were also bulging that she was satisfied.

Another mission gone well. Maybe this wasn't so bad. Sure, she'd had to wait in the woods for an hour, but she'd be finished this actual assignment in five minutes. It was probably why Uncle had wanted her here. Because he knew that it wouldn't be much of a hindrance.

As usual, you're in the wrong, Cecelia, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Uncle whispered in her mind. Cecelia pursed her lips.

I know.

Bending into a crouch, Cecelia prepared herself before leaping into the air again. Halfway up, her boots engaged, and she rocketed through the roof and back outside. She landed on her feet this time, a gentle landing, and looked down at the fruits of her labour. Totally worth it.

But then—

"Hey, Big Bird! This doesn't belong to you!"

Now if that wasn't an infuriatingly familiar voice.

When Cecelia whirled around, she was met by the sight of the Spider-Menace on the third truck, clutching a duffel bag that he definitely hadn't brought along with him. His lenses were narrowed in an expression that was meant to be menacing but just made him look stupid. His red and blue costume was absurdly out of place in the sea of darkness.

Cecelia stared. And stared. Then an incredulous laugh broke free of her lips.

How was Spider-Man here? He was a New York vigilante, not a Maryland one. And he mostly stuck to Queens, anyway—friendly, neighbourhood Spider-Man and all that. So how had he—how did he—

Toomes shot towards the pest, wings extended, but the infuriating arachnid leaped over the attack. He attempted to shoot a web at the Vulture, but it fell far shorter than expected. Toomes just tilted his head at him.

As the two of them continued to exchange blows, Cecelia finally decided to let herself be known. Getting her stunners ready, she bounded onto the third truck, duffle bag slamming against her ribs. She ignored the pain that came with it and shot her first blast at Spider-Man. Unfortunately, his weird senses warned him of it, and he dodged before it could connect.

He whirled, ducking under another one of Toomes's swipes, and paused. "Oh, you're here, too! Well, isn't this just my lucky day!"

"I can't say the same, vermin," Cecelia responded, aiming at him again. He managed to dodge a second time, still holding the Vulture's duffle bag.

"Aw, come on, I know you missed me." Spider-Man attempted to launch a series of webs at her, but, just like the one he'd aimed at the Vulture, they all fell flat. There was certainly something going on with his shooters. "We didn't really have time to get to know each other the first time we met. You wanna tell me your name? Age? Address? You know, for business reasons?"

"You think you're so funny. I'd really love to shut that mouth of yours."

"At least take me to dinner first!" Spider-Man quipped. Like the idiot he was, though, he was so focused on Cecelia that he almost completely forgot about the Vulture. Toomes swooped towards him like a real bird of prey and seized hold of the duffle bag, trying to wrench it out of the vigilante's hands. Spider-Man teetered on the edge of the hole Toomes had made in the trunk's roof with the Matter Phase Shifter, desperately trying to hold on. Then, almost to himself, he cried, "What? No, just set everything back to normal."

Cecelia aimed another stun-blast at him, but before it could connect, Spider-Man fell through the Phase Shifter hole, duffle bag still in hand. He landed with a distinct crash on the ground, and, before Cecelia could follow him, the ceiling closed above his head.

Fortunately, that wasn't much of an obstacle for her. But just as she was about to melt through this roof, Toomes held out a hand.

"Just leave it. We've already got a bag of supplies. And I don't want you to engage in such a close-combat scenario with him."

"Seriously?" Despite what Toomes said, the idea of a close-combat scenario with the idiotic arachnid was incredibly tempting. "Why not? I bet I could finish off that little pest."

"It's not worth it, Phantom. You know our primary goal here isn't violence. Now, come on."

Cecelia scowled. "Fine. At least now I can get back to the hotel." She shoved the duffle bag at his chest. "Here. To make up for the one you lost."

She couldn't see his face underneath the mask, but she imagined Toomes was smiling. "Good girl, Phantom. Good girl."

"Whatever." Without waiting for confirmation from Toomes or her uncle, Cecelia ran along the edge of the roof and sprung into the air. Her boots caught her, blasting her back the way she came. Back to the hotel. Back to normality.

The mission was completed; she should've been thrilled. But as she surged above the highway, her arms spread out, all she could think about was Spider-Man. Spider-Man, Spider-Menace, super-pest, who'd somehow known they were here.

I'm gonna figure you out, Spidey, Cecelia promised, letting the wind blow off her hood. Your secrets aren't going to stay secret for long.

I promise you that.

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HAVEN: although i did exaggerate the first part of this chapter for the sake of the story, everything that happened to cecelia on the reservation is based on things that actually happened and are still happening in real life. as of 2021, an estimated 1/10 native americans do not have access to clean drinking water, with navajo nation residents in particular being 67 times more likely to live without running water. additionally, in the united states, native americans are the singular ethnic group most at risk of toxic exposure, as historically, reservations have been a target for toxic waste disposal. so, unfortunately, what i wrote happening at the west river sioux reservation is not too far from reality.

...sorry for the bummer chapter. but these kinds of issues need to be discussed, otherwise, they'll just be thrown under the bus. i promise the next chapter will be a little more lighthearted.

i love you all <333