Caroline "Carrie" Merson was born on June 29 to Greggory and Sarah Merson. Her earliest childhood was filled with seemingly endless wonder, exploring and doing all those odd and silly things babies love. Life was lovely for the four, the parents, Carrie, and her older sister, Sibyl. Unfortunately, karma has a way of balancing the good and the bad, and their happiness was short-lived. On a late August night when Carrie was 18 months, the family's house burned to the ground. Only one person survived by a combination of luck and a good man. In the minutes between the definitions of a house-fire and an inferno, a neighbor and off-duty firefighter from across the street took notice. With her room closest to entrance and her cries the only audible ones over the chaos, he managed to locate and rescue Carrie from the building; however, by the time he got her to his wife, all the entry points to the house were completely and utterly ablaze. He was unable to return for the others. On-duty firefighters finally put out the flames in the late morning hours, the other family members declared dead at the scene. The police and fire staff deemed the cause accidental; the father had fallen asleep with a lit cigarette in his hand and a spilled bottle of booze. With the house being so old and not quite up to code, it was easy to see why the fire was so quick to engulf everything.

The fireman cared for Caroline until a social worker came; with no other relatives stepping forward to claim her, she was sent to a local group home.

After spending three years amongst other unfortunate children and kindly staff, she was bounced from foster home to foster home. At first, the chosen parental figures didn't quite have the effect that her that her social worker was hoping for; Carrie, while as well behaved as any young child in her condition could be, had many difficulties connecting and bonding with the foster family members. To her ignorant and childish mind, it made no sense to try and attach herself to the hip of anyone, not if they were to come and go as frequently as those in the group home. Such flawed logic became a self-fulfilling prophecy, and she was consequently moved from family to family. As most other foster children discover sometime in their youth, while some of the assigned parents were adequate enough, others were absolutely terrible. It’s a sad result of the latter which caused Carrie, from a young age, to learn how to be far more independent than the other children around her. The two factors intertwined to create a predictable concoction of serial house jumping.

In her 16th year, she was finally sent to her final foster home. The parents were an older couple, empty-nesters, self-righteous and strict; however, as long as Carrie followed their rules and stayed on top of her responsibilities, they proved pleasant enough. As luck would have it, nearly two years of blissful routine passed by with minimal hiccups. It was easy enough to do, most days; nod her head, accept their authority, do assigned chores, go to school, maybe see one of the high school football games with her foster father on a Friday. For once, life was stable and relatively peaceful. All she had to do was please them, and they gave her a place to belong.

Around the first semester of her senior year, a strange phenomena began to occur around the world. A small, dispersed population of people were discovering unnatural powers within themselves, with seemingly no reason or rhyme. Though scientists were quick to act on the alarming discovery, they could find no correlations between the individuals; location, age, gender, ethnicity, culture, religion, lifestyle, and even DNA seemed to play no role in who became "empowered".

Of course, it wasn't long until the discovery and the "super powereds'" stories hit the global media. It also wasn't long until the inexplicable event became a scientific, political, and religious debate. Simply, no one in any field had found answers to the conundrum. As time went on and answers continued to be avoided, some of the "empowered" began to abuse and misuse their new-found abilities; it wasn't long until panic and discrimination began to bubble to the surface. One church rose to the challenge of explaining where science had failed: the individuals in question were unknowingly granted powers by demonic forces, and therefore have not only become an enemy of God, but an enemy of the human race in general; the powers were given to tempt the weak-hearted into a life of sin and debauch and Satanic servitude. As far-fetched, bogus, and controversial as the claim initially sounded, variations eventually spread like wildfire across religious communities, everyday households, and finally onto the note-cards of politicians. Within the United States, these "superhumans" were soon the hot topic of every newscast. To the religious, they were evil. To the average person, they were dangerous. To police and the FBI, they were criminals with an unfair edge. To the military, they were potential threats who would be tempted by enemy nations to exploit their citizenship for anti-American causes. All of the fear only bolstered the religiously conservative, and soon they pushed en masse for legislation on the issue, and a good percentage the fearful public agreed.

Sadly, Caroline's foster parents were part of that biased statistic. There was no doubt in their minds that the church was correct about these "Godless creatures," and with the increased coverage and the hate jargon growing more prominent, it became a common topic at the dinner table. Carrie mostly nodded her head in silence. While it was a horrible issue, she never let it bother her much. It wasn’t her problem. Her problem was centered around her own little world, on finishing out her high school career and figuring out what to do next. She'd like to go somewhere nice after graduation. Maybe she'd go to college in Topeka or Jefferson City; she had never lived long-term in a large city before. Or maybe she could get a scholarship for being a foster child and ship off to the west coast... it would be fun to visit a real beach.

With her second semester finals around the bend, such thoughts continued to drift through her mind at increased intervals. They especially seemed to pop up at inopportune times. One afternoon, while Carrie was helping the fosters do yard work, she became distracted with daydreams of the future and lost her balance. She fell off the old ladder, and on the way down, sliced her arm on one of the bolts. Her foster parents rushed over, only to see something extraordinary occur. Her hand had flown over the gash in pain, and before she could say or do anything to the contrary, her palm began to emit a strange white-green hue, and the wound miraculously closed up beneath it. The couple was shocked to say the least. However, it wasn't until they had contacted their local minister for advice that their disposition had been manipulated into disgust. Words of anger were soon flying about; how dare her social worker send them a wolf in sheep's clothing, a Devil's Pawn, "of all abominations." She was sent to bed with no supper, and her door was locked behind her until morning.

That night, her social worker called and pleaded with the foster parents; high school would be over soon, and she would be eighteen a few weeks after that. If they could just bear with her and the turn of events until her schooling was done and she was no longer a legal liability, things would work out best for everyone. Uncertain, upset, and begrudging, they agreed. Carrie was sure social services only fought for her to stay so they wouldn't have to deal with her ever again.

The next few weeks felt like years; the parents ignored her as best they could, and when they couldn't get away with it, she was treated no different than a second-class citizen. Some nights were particularly bad, and they acted as if they could barely stand to sit in the same room, much less breath the same air as her.

Things only got worsened as gossip about her began to seep throughout the close-knit town. Soon, it wasn’t only her parents avoiding her and treating her like a monster; the townspeople soon fell into step. Her fosters took her car keys as a precaution, but she couldn’t take the bus to school... at least not without taunting, cruel names, spit balls, and shoving. She was late more than once trying to walk the distance from her house to the school. Even teachers showed a bias, grading her work lower than it should have been; which, in turn, did nothing for her favor in the eyes of her foster parents and the town.

As graduation came and went and she was awaiting her birthday, the townspeople began to hold protests against having a "Devil's Pawn" in their hometown; some were close to all-out riots. Though her fosters were slowly growing aware of such commotion and the possible danger, it didn't deter them from their own disdain towards the pitiful girl. Alas, one night, in feeble attempt to regain some sort of good grace, she walked to the market to pick up eggs and milk. However, a group of protesters, out for a drink after picketing, caught sight of her. They gave chase all the way down into a large cornfield, not stopping until their booze-ridden bodies gave out and until she ran far away into the thick maize. She had narrowly escaped and with minimal injuries; there were some scrapes, scratches, and a couple bruises from tripping and falling. Her knee was sliced open when she tripped over farm equipment. Dirty, pants torn, and grocery-less, she trudged home, too embarrassed, ashamed, and guilty to use her powers to heal.

That night as she lay in bed, she decided she had to leave. The way things were going, she might not be alive by the time her birthday finally rolled around. Fearing for her well-being and life, she packed up everything that she owned, stole her keys back from the foster father's not-so-hidden place in the office cabinet, shoved her bags and bedding into the old, rickety, hand-me-down van she received for her 17th, and left. After examining the wadded cash in her pocket, she knew could only afford to fill up the tank twice; she decided she would drive until the second round emptied, stopping in the farthest town or city it would take her.

As she drove, her mind began to race: where exactly would she go from here? What would she do when she stopped? Would she even make it to civilization when the tank ran dry? She didn’t have much in the whole wide world except a worn-out toy poodle and a rickety old van. And now she was saddled with this unwanted ability--- no, liability, one that labeled her as a threat, regardless of how pathetic she truly was.

Perhaps she could start anew, never use her power, hide what she was. But where? And how?

As the hours ticked on, her mind settled on some images, ones from forgotten daydreams; the Golden Gate Bridge, Ghiradelli Square, China Town... San Francisco. A liberal city where so many people would come and go, she wouldn't see the same face twice. It if truly was as large as she imagined, there would be plenty of jobs. She could get one. Maybe two. Forget school and focus on finally living, making her own little nest and place of belonging. Or maybe she could do some part-time classes. Either way, Those thoughts filled her with hope and even determination. Yes, she’d get to San Francisco one way or another, she’d live on her own, and she’d live peacefully, but most importantly, happily.


The gas light flicked on and shook her from her thoughts; she had reached mid-Kansas. The sign indicated she was located in the small town of Kiowa.

This is where she’s currently settled, living alone (aside from two new pets: a fish named Tony and a rat named Ramona) in a small, old studio apartment, working as a secretarial assistant for a local newspaper (The Kiowa News), as well as waitressing at a local diner. She prides herself on blending into the background, making sure no one learns of what she truly is, and is currently saving up to be able to make it to San Francisco.


Explanations:

The power itself

Her power is a means of reversing organic tissue damage. Through a process of placing her hands over a wound, an ionic light (much like a flashlight) is emitted, through which the injury reverses its condition. The organic tissue returns to the physical state it held before the wound occurred. However, this process cannot reverse the presence of bacteria, viruses, toxins, or parasites which may have entered the wound beforehand. In such cases, an infection is still possible, if not deadly. This power also cannot reverse cancers or mutations of any other sort. She cannot control it on a mass cellular level, meaning she can't undo any cell damage caused by a pathogen, poison, or toxin in the blood. As a result, she cannot cure illnesses and is still prone to them herself.

Currently, she only uses this her power on herself if she’s at home, and only if she’s sure no one will notice that the cut or scrape is gone.

On a cellular level, the thin layer between the muscle and the fat on the palms of her hands contains millions of specialized cells; some use both the Calvin and the Krebbs Cycles to anaerobically produce the energy, others store it, and the remaining convert it to ionic light, which shines through the fat and skin and onto anything she aims it at. These cells first formed in the few short weeks before the ladder incident.

Behind the power

These sudden and inexplicable powers are caused by an annual shift in the universe. Imagine the universes of different realities like tectonic plates. When they shift every couple thousand years or so, for a split second, two realities scrape over into the other, leaving some sort of mark before settling down and quieting again. It happens so quickly, no living creature can take notice of it. Thus, within the blink of an eye, features of a reality are changed for life. This time around, in Carrie's universe, it's leaving people with the abilities their alternate universe counterparts have.

Each person affected by the shift also switches one physical feature with their alternate counterpart. It can be any physical trait, from lactose intolerance, to a change in skin tone, the appearance of freckles, the loss of a mole, etc. In Carrie's case, she's both fortunate and unfortunate enough to have switched eye colors with her counterpart; fortunate in that it's subtle, unfortunate in that it only gives greater evidence to the "demonic" connotations of receiving powers (also in that her driver's license says "hazel" and she's now toting a blue).