What do you expect from the future?
Your future?

If only Devon knew. What simpler question could Munroe have asked? A year ago it would have been easier for her to find an answer, but now.

Last year, when Devon hadn't been blessed with this shit, the teachers had already said that it was never too early to start worrying about your future and to deal with it. The sooner the better.

More time to find out what you want and don't want. To find out and try things out. Eventually the day would come when it would be too late and a decision would have to be made or, what no one wanted, someone else would decide for them.

"Osborn." Devon muttered to himself, lost in thought, his eyes darting back and forth, from right to left and back again, over her pad of notes and marginalia or remarks.

"Excuse me?" Munroe asked kindly, having heard but not quite understood Devon's words, causing Devon to look forward abruptly, "You said something? What do you remember?"

"Osborn," Devon repeated, but everyone in the room didn't know what to make of that answer, "I want to see Norman Osborn. His science and research in the field of genetics is leading the way. I want to go there."

"Understanding," Storm nodded knowingly, "so you're interested in science."

"No," Devon replied, which was definitely not what surprised Munroe, "I'm only interested in what happened to me and to what I owe this shit. I can't control it, much less understand it. Nothing's changed since I got here. I'm still at the beginning."

Progress is zero.