“Welcome back,” the familiar accented voice said as I entered the large testing bunker.

“Good to hear you, Henri,” I replied.

It had been a few days and classes were finally getting started again, though the classes were incredibly small and a number of the elective classes were cut since there weren’t currently enough students to fill them.

“Are we cooking today?” I asked as I looked around and saw the various workbenches covered in knives, cutting boards, and food stuffs.

“How very astute of you,” Henri chimed back. “A lot of fine motor skills will be practiced today. Try not to waste any of the food since it will be used in this evening’s stew. You will find the instructions on the nearest workbench.”

With that, I stepped up to the workbench. There was a basin of water and soap there and I washed my hands before touching the food. The hand towel got shredded when I dried my hands off.

“Sorry about the towel,” I said.

“That’s why we practice,” Henri replied.

The recipe was handwritten and called for all the vegetables to be chopped into one inch cubes or smaller. Not too difficult in general. There were a variety of knives to choose from and I grabbed a medium sized one. The wooden handle crunched in my grasp but didn’t completely fall apart. Since it was still usable I carefully slid an onion over to me.

“Make sure you use the cutting board,” Henri reminded me before I could cut the onion.

Even though the workbench was plenty strong to be used as a cutting surface I reached over and grabbed a cutting board. It snapped in half. The two halves were still large enough to be usable so, rather than trying to grab either half again, I just slid one of them across the workbench until it was in front of me.

I figured an onion was probably a safe vegetable to start with. Like the cutting board, I slid it across the workbench rather than try and picking it up.

“Nice technique,” Henri said. “Don’t use it again, though. I want you to get comfortable picking things up.”

Nodding, I gingerly placed my thumb and middle finger on opposite sides of the onion to hold it in place while I chopped. The onion depressed beneath my fingers and I relaxed a little, then began chopping ever so slowly. I couldn’t even feel when the knife touched the onion. It just went right through as though nothing was there. The knife even went through the cutting board before I realized I’d gone too far. I pulled the knife back out and the blade was bent slightly. The handle also began crumbling out of my closed hand.

“Looks like that knife’s done,” Henri said.

I probably could have continued to use it, but only out of stubbornness. Instead, I set it down and grabbed the next knife. This one was slightly larger than the first but still fine for chopping vegetables. I wondered what would happen if I was forced to use the tiny paring knife.

For better or worse, I didn’t have to wait long to find out. I made it through two onions and a potato before I was out of reasonably sized knives. The smaller knives had me giggling as they bent, shattered, and generally fell apart in my grip.

“The key,” Henri said as he had me move to the next workbench and a fresh set of supplies, “is to learn how to gauge your grip and keep your hand in that position so you don’t exert too much force. Also keep an eye on how deep you’re cutting so you only cut what you want to cut.”

That was easier said than done but I gave it a try nonetheless. By the fourth workbench I was getting to where I wasn’t cutting through the cutting boards every time and most of the knives survived at least two vegetables before I had to switch.

“Tell me,” Henri said as I moved to the fifth workbench, “how did you fare while you were alone on the island? Did you break many things?”

“I don’t remember,” I answered truthfully. “I was stomping through the forest most of the time and didn’t have to worry about not breaking things.”

“But you searched all the other buildings, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you break any doors? Damage any rooms or furniture?”

“There was one door that I needed to pull to open and I pushed instead,” I admitted.

“But that’s it?”

“I think so.”

I wasn’t sure where he was going with this. I really hadn’t been paying much attention to what I broke so there probably was a fair amount of damage that I was simply ignorant of.

“That’s impressive,” Henri said after a short pause. “You still have a ways to go with your fine motor skills, but the fact that you could get around campus so well speaks highly of your ability and how quickly you’re learning.”

“I must have a good teacher.”

“Ah, but then every super who comes through here would excel like you, would they not? What does it say about me for those supers who never master their powers, eh?”

I was just turning back to my work with the vegetables when a different voice came over the intercom.

“Misha, you’re needed in Cain Hall, Director March’s office.”

“Oh, okay,” I said, setting down the knife. “Right now?”

“Yes, as soon as possible.”

I waved at the camera.

“See you later Henri,” I said.

“Good luck,” Henri replied.

It wasn’t until I was out of the bunker that I thought back on his response. Good luck? Was I in trouble? Or was something else going on that I wasn’t aware of. Maybe Henri said good luck to everyone and I was looking too much into his words.

The main doors to Cain Hall had been removed and the work crews were pulling out the broken masonry and replacing it with new, undamaged stone. New doors would be arriving soon. In the mean time everyone was using the side doors to go in and out. They led straight into the cafeteria which was still serving as a sort of hub for coordinating all of the repairs going on. The grounds outside were particularly damaged from all the rockets they’d fired at me. The line of craters was, for better or worse, coming to be referred to as Misha Lane.

Harding was handling a lot of the logistics so it was no surprise to find him in there. When he saw me, he hurried over, looking flustered.

“Listen,” he said quickly, “I want you to know that Director March and I have nothing to do with this, but word travels fast when something this big happens. Just go in there and–

“Am I in trouble?”

I couldn’t imagine what I might have done. Were they upset about the damage I’d caused?

“No, no, nothing like that,” Harding said at once. “Quite the opposite, but it’s a bit sooner that I expected and, well, you’ll see.”

“Who is it that I’m meeting?” I asked.

“The Director of the Protection Forces is here to recruit you,” he whispered.

“Oh.” I stood there a moment, shocked. “Aren’t they, like, a bit busy? Why would they come here for me?”

“You forget that you’re the strongest person alive? And possibly the toughest? Not to mention what you did here.”

“What do I do?” I asked, suddenly overwhelmed with worry.

“What do you mean?” Harding asked. “Just go in, hear him out, then give him your answer.”

“What if he doesn’t like my answer?”

“What’s he going to do about it? If he’s smart, and I think he is, he’ll accept whatever answer you give. And maybe keep asking you from time to time.”

“Great,” I muttered. “Okay, well, wish me luck.”

Harding patted me on the back and I strode off towards Director March’s office.