that we survived them made our pride greater, but I … I never thought to ask my companions, or … even myself … whether we would have been better off to have never undergone such trauma in the first place.”
Adrian’s brow creased. He glanced at his teammates. Danna, like him, had been born with her gift. But Oscar had become a prodigy after nearly dying in a fire, and Ruby gained her powers after being viciously attacked by a member of the Jackals gang.
In fact, every origin story he knew was rooted in trauma of one sort or another.
“As for me,” Winston continued, his tone growing weary, “I never shared my real story. Not with the Anarchists, not with anyone, for all those years. The story of how I became the Puppeteer brought me no pride. Only shame and anger.” Gone was the easy smile of minutes before. He hesitated, and looked out at someone in the audience. Following his gaze, Adrian recognized the counselor who had been working with Winston after his neutralization. She gave an encouraging nod.
Stooping down, Winston opened a bag at his feet. The journalists near the front tensed, perhaps expecting him to pull out a bomb or gun.
But it was only a doll. Adrian recognized Hettie, Winston’s childhood doll that he had once traded to the ex-villain for information regarding Nightmare.
“This is Hettie,” said Winston, holding the doll up for everyone to see. “My father made Hettie for me for my seventh birthday. A part of me thought I might be too old for dolls, but … there was something about this one. I loved it immediately.” He paused, a shadow eclipsing his expression. “A few months later, my parents were out one night, and I was being watched by a neighbor. A … longtime family friend who often babysat me. He took an interest in Hettie … suggested we play a game…” Winston paused and Adrian could feel his own chest tightening in the horrible silence that followed. Finally, Winston gave his head a shake and set the doll on the podium, as if unable to look at it. The doll’s shiny black eyes peered emptily into the crowd. “I didn’t understand it then, but the game became a foil for him to … to … molest me. For the first time. It … would not be the last.”
There were gasps in the crowd. Hands pressed over speechless mouths. Looks of pity and horror. From the corner of his eye, Adrian saw Ruby squeeze Oscar’s arm.
“I had never felt so powerless. So ashamed, and confused.” Winston was scrutinizing the doll as he told his tale. “I would not know that I had become a prodigy until weeks later when, at school, my anger boiled over, and I lashed out at a kid who was a grade older than I was, who had taken the last slice of pizza in the cafeteria. Before I understood what I was doing, I had my strings around him. I made him…” He paused, clearing his throat. “I made him bash his own face into the tray. It broke his nose.”
A long silence followed this statement.
“My powers began to change after that,” Winston continued. “They changed me inside and out. Since that day, I have hurt more children than I could count. Not in the way that I was hurt, but as victims, powerless under my control. I don’t tell you this story because I want your pity. I also don’t mean to justify the things I’ve done, or to make excuses for the role I played as an Anarchist and … a villain.” He uncurled his spine, no longer bending over the microphone. “I tell you this because many prodigies will insist that their powers are a gift. I believed this, too. My powers were my identity. They were the source of my strength, my control. I didn’t know until recently, until after my powers were neutralized by Agent N, that they were none of these things. They were a burden. A curse. They kept me in the head of a victim for all those years, and they turned me into a monster, too. I know that I will never be free of the trauma I experienced or the memories of all the awful things I’ve done. But thanks to Agent N, I feel … for the first time, I feel like there might be a path forward. For the first time, I feel like I’m beginning to