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Acknowledgements

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Epilogue

Afterword

Other Novels by Drew Hayes

About the Author

Super Powereds: Year 4

By Drew Hayes

Edited by Kisa Whipkey (kisawhipkey.com)

and Erin Cooley (cooley.edit@gmail.com)

Cover by Ashley Ruggirello (coardboardmonet.com)

Copyright © 2018 by Andrew Hayes

All Rights Reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Acknowledgements

This one is for Erin: my dear friend, trusted editor, and the first person to have my back on this insane idea of writing books. I quite literally couldn’t have done this without you.

Additional thanks go out to the amazing beta readers who have helped with this and many other series: TheSFReader, E Ramos E, Ruby, Bill Hammond, and Priscilla Yuen.

Prologue

Coughs and the sound of shuffling papers filled the room as Blaine Jefferies sat patiently staring at the row of people looking down on him. This was not a hearing, per se, and the five people assembled wore no black robes, but there was no misunderstanding the circumstances either. These people were his judges, and what they determined in this room would shape the remainder of Blaine’s life, to say nothing of the Lander Hero Certification Program.

“Dean Blaine Jefferies.” Senator Malcolm was the one who spoke, of course. As the chairman for the Department of Variant Human Affairs, he was at the top of the chain. Short of presidential involvement, Senator Malcolm’s word was law, and no sitting president would touch this mess with a thousand-foot pole. “This task force has reviewed the witness statements, forensic evidence, meager surveillance footage, and affidavits regarding the incident at Lander. Is there anything else you’d like to submit for consideration before we share our findings with you?”

Blaine’s hand tightened at the word “incident,” and he shoved it below the small table before him lest they see his reaction. What had happened at Lander was not an incident in the slightest: it was a tragedy, an attack on the world to which he’d dedicated his life. What Blaine wanted more than anything was to be out there, kicking down doors, tearing Crispin’s location out of his subordinates by force. But there were other Heroes who could do that job, some better than he. This was something only Blaine could do.

“No, sir, I do not. Everything I could submit or say has been presented. There is nothing new to add, so I am ready to hear your findings.”

Blaine had faced death countless times, yet, as the senator leaned forward and began to read from the paper in his wrinkled hands, he still felt a wave of fear try to drag him into despair. He wasn’t afraid for his own career or position; all Blaine cared about was protecting his staff and students from the fallout. If he could be the only casualty, Blaine would consider it an unmitigated triumph.

“The attack by the Sons of Progress on Lander’s campus highlighted many weaknesses and failures in the HCP campus’s defense protocol,” Senator Malcolm began. “Given the fact that Supers with new, unexpected abilities are constantly surfacing, we’ve always known that no area could be designated as completely unassailable. Thus, when the protocol fails, it falls upon the Heroes on staff to react in ways no mere system could. Your reaction failed to capture the man leading the attack, put uncertified students into a combat situation, and cost one of them her life.”

Senator Malcolm paused, taking a sip of water from a nearby glass and moving on to the next page in his hands. There was a tense, heavy silence as the elderly man found what he was looking for in the document. Blaine had been on the other side of authority enough to mark the pageantry for what it was. They were keeping him dangling, reminding him that for all the power he might possess, they were the ones in control.

“However, the actions you took also saved more civilian lives than we are presently able to determine, though the best estimates put it in the hundreds. Your students were technically empowered to act as emergency responders, so we cannot fault you for using them as such. And you did manage to bring down the enhanced Supers employed by the Sons of Progress without losing a single Hero. There is good and bad on both sides of the scale, often so interwoven it’s impossible to tell how things would have fallen if you’d taken different actions.”

Setting the papers down, Senator Malcolm looked at the legendary Hero with stern yet uncertain eyes. “Let me level with you here, Blaine. This is a fuck-up. The Hero world just took one on the chin. Most people want to burn you at the stake for it, lay all the blame on your shoulders and come up with a laundry list of mistakes you made to explain away how an HCP college could suffer such an attack. Your junior wasn’t the only life lost. There are families out there howling for blood. The only thing that’s stopping me from making the easy choice is this: we talked to the deans and staff of every other HCP, and none of them could tell us a better way to handle the situation. Methods differed, since they have their own staff, but at the end of the day, everyone backed you.”

Blaine felt a rush of gratitude for his fellow deans and professors. The spirit of competition between the HCP colleges was no secret, but the bond of fellow Heroes went far deeper than that. Moreover, what meant the most was that Blaine knew if they did see a better way, they’d have told the DVA. They’d have had to. Right now, new procedures and protocols to better protect the students were being drafted. Keeping them safe came before anything else.

“Since I’m not inclined to punish a man for doing nothing wrong, I can’t say that torching you for this sits right with me. More than that, though, things are harsh out there right now. With Crispin still at large, there’s no telling when, or if, another attack might come. Robbing Lander of one its greatest Heroes and most experienced educators when it needs you most… no, if I let that happen, then I become the one who destroyed Lander. Therefore, this task force finds that given the threats you were facing, the actions of you and your staff were well-considered and justified. There is no human fault, and as such, no punishments for any of you. Honestly, I’d offer commendations, but that wouldn’t sit well if it got leaked.”

“Thank you, Senator.” Blaine rose from his chair slowly, only half-certain that what he’d heard was real. He kept waiting for guards to rush him, to take him by surprise and drag him off to a cell somewhere. “I have to ask, though; you said the public needed a scapegoat. I don’t disagree with that assessment, and as much as I’d hate to be it, I can’t sit idle if I know someone else is taking my place.”

“Sit or stand, it’s all the same to me.” Senator Malcolm took another sip of water before meeting the dean’s eyes. “The error was in the protocol that failed to account for powers we should have seen coming. As the DVA chairman, the buck for that stops with me. In a few weeks, I’ll be stepping down from my post with apologies. The public can have someone to blame, and I’ll be free to spend more time with my grandchildren.”

“Senator… you love your post.” Senator Malcolm had fought and clawed his way into his position decades ago and had rebuffed all attempts by others to take it for themselves. He was a tough old man, but he tried to balance the difficulties Heroes faced with the duty owed to the public. While far from universally loved, he was highly respected, which, in the Hero world, mattered far more.

“I do,” Senator Malcolm agreed. “But age is catching up with me. Sooner or later, they’re going to shove me out of here, and I don’t have the energy to fight like I used to. Better to go out on my own terms, I think. Make it count for something. I’m sure I don’t have to explain that sentiment to you.”

“No, sir, you don’t.” Lowering his head, Dean Blaine turned from the five people watching him and strode down the short walkway to the door. With his position secure, it was time to turn his attention toward all the tasks that only a dean could handle.

There was much to be done before the new school year began.

*             *             *

“Another three have fallen, sir.” Sherman laid the file down in front of Crispin, who snatched it up and began to read. “The Sons of Progress are being ripped apart far more effectively than we anticipated. Somehow, they’ve run down nearly every member of our leadership staff.”

“It’s not ‘somehow,’ Sherman; it was the money. It’s always the money. Part of why I never sully my hands with the stuff. Necessary evil though it may be in this world, it’s too sticky. It seems the sources Nathaniel Evers used were not as secure as he led us to believe.” Crispin lowered the file with a heavy sigh. “But we always knew that would be a risk of working with such an amateur. Our ranks have swelled thanks to the prestige gained by showing Lander’s weakness; other members can be promoted to leadership. When the dust settles, I think we shall look back on this venture as a net gain.”

Sherman merely nodded as Crispin reached into his desk and pulled out a laptop that was tethered to an Ethernet cord and connected to the wall—a visual reminder that the small concrete room they were in blocked every kind of remote signal known to man and Super. It was inconvenient for taking calls or staying in touch, but it had the upside of keeping Crispin completely concealed from all the angry Supers searching for him. The tech-genius Supers, especially when given a bit of enhancement, were truly capable of crafting marvelous wonders.

“There’s something else I’d like you to look into, Sherman. I’ve been picking up some chatter here and there since we poked the Lander beehive. It seems that their HCP might be a bit different from the others, with an extra-special secret all its own. This might be nothing but rumor and hearsay, but the way it’s being so expertly squashed makes me a bit curious.”

“Of course. What should I be digging for?” Sherman had followed Crispin for years now; he had complete faith in the man’s hunches and intuition. If Crispin told Sherman to eat a bullet, he’d have trusted it was important to the cause and not given it a single second thought.

“Quite the strange rumor, actually. It seems a bit far-fetched to me—I can’t believe even the DVA and its cronies would be able to keep such a secret. However, if it is true, then this represents an opportunity unlike any other we’ve come across. This could, in fact, finally turn the tides fully in our favor. Sherman, do you know offhand how many more Powereds there are than Supers?”

“It’s hard to get a precise estimate, since many of both groups hide their abilities, but the most educated estimates would say there are two to three times more Powereds than Supers,” Sherman said, mentally pulling up the data from his most recent briefing. This was a skill, not an ability, and one he worked on daily to keep sharp.

“That’s what I found, too,” Crispin agreed. “Now, imagine how the world would change if the Sons of Progress could turn all those Powereds into Supers. Our poor, suffering brothers and sisters would be filled with gratitude towards the ones who set them free, not to mention ready for revenge against the world that looked down on them.”

“It would be quite the boon,” Sherman said. “But no one has ever found a way to turn Powereds into Supers.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought, too.” Crispin turned his laptop around and showed Sherman the screen—it showed a small message board on an out-of-the-way site deep in the internet’s catacombs. “Commit this to memory; it will likely be purged within a day or so. This is what I want you to dig up, Sherman. Find out if they really have cracked the secret. And then tell me how we can steal it.”

Sherman nodded as his eyes quickly scanned the screen. “I’ll get right on it, sir.”

*             *             *

“Sniper.” Roy shoved Vince off the bench where he’d been eating, knocking the silver-haired Super to the dirt below.

Vince stared at him, momentarily dazed, then closed his eyes and let out a frustrated grunt. “Crap.”

“You’ll get there. It’s not supposed to be easy.” Roy leaned down and offered his hand, which Vince gladly accepted. He easily pulled the smaller man up from the ground, then took the open seat next to him and set down his own meal.

Sunlight poured down on them as they ate their cold sandwiches at the communal bench and picnic table. Aside from training with whatever Hero or Super had shown up for the week, there wasn’t really a schedule anyone had to adhere to at their little summer camp. Not anymore. Hank had given them a set number of tasks to complete each day, and so long as they accomplished those, they were free to use the rest of their time as they saw fit. This wasn’t Lander. Here, they determined the best way to better themselves on their own.

“Is Shane still sparring with Hank?” Vince asked as he dusted himself off.

“Last I checked. That guy seems pretty thrilled to have someone he can fight without hurting. Can’t say I blame him, either.” Roy tore into his ham and turkey sandwich with gusto, despite it being chilled from a morning spent wilting in a cooler. “You’ve got the afternoon shift booked, right?”

“Yeah. I like an invincible target as well. How about you?”

“Resistance training with Alice. She worked on stopping-power last time Titan visited, and now I can barely reach her. All that sparring with Mary probably helps a lot, too.”

As the discussion continued, Thomas walked over, quietly scooping a sandwich of his own from the white ice chest full of the things. As he headed to the table, he took a quick detour, grabbed Vince by the shoulder, and shoved him off the bench once more.

“Sniper,” Thomas announced.

“Crap!” Vince hurried to his feet and did his best to dust off the well-worn clothes he had been training in, but it was a losing battle. On the upside, at least his lunch wasn’t going to get any colder, no matter how much time he spent on his back.

*             *             *

The old man walked carefully between the headstones, making his way through the graveyard as the midday summer sun burned overhead. He didn’t search as he walked; this was a journey as familiar to him as the path home. If anyone was watching, they might have noticed he was a bit spry for one so advanced in years, but, as is often the case in a cemetery, everyone present had more pressing matters on their minds.

He arrived at the headstone to find someone already standing there, a beautiful woman with sharp features and short blonde hair. Seeing her, he let out a long breath, then walked over and stood next to her, staring down at the name on the headstone.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he muttered at last.

“I was going to say the same to you,” Clarissa replied. “There’s still a manhunt on, even if the Sons of Progress momentarily stole the spotlight.”

“I needed to come. After everything that happened… I just feel a bit lost.”

Clarissa reached out and took the old man’s arm, wrapping her own around it. “You did everything you could.”

“No, Shims. That’s the problem. I could have done—I should be doing—so much more.”

The image of the old man rippled, and then disappeared. Clarissa was familiar enough with Globe’s power to know when he was stretching an illusion. If anyone else looked upon them, they’d still see the old man and beautiful woman mourning at a grave. Only she could see his real face, and the grief etched into it.

“I could have saved so many of them. I could have stopped the Sons of Progress dead in their tracks. But I didn’t. Because if Globe came to the rescue, that truly would have killed Lander. All because the world sees me as a monster. If only… I just can’t bear the weight of many more deaths. I’m so tired, Shims. So many years spent like this. So many people I could have saved, lost because I was in the shadows. I can’t take much more.”

“You won’t have to.” She pulled him close and wrapped her arms around him, wishing she could squeeze him hard enough to make him see himself the way the others did. “George is close. Maybe months, maybe weeks, but he’s close. We’ll find the lab, and when we do, you’ll have all the proof you need.”

“And what a joyous day that will be.” His voice was hollow as he stared down at the marble marker in front of them. “Some days, I still think I can reach him. That there’s something I could say or do to bring him back from whatever abyss he’s fallen into. I know it’s crazy, though. Chuck is gone—at least the version of him that could be saved. He still sends flowers, though.”

The world-renowned villain nodded to the tasteful bouquet set just in front of the tombstone. It had been delivered earlier that day, a date that matched the final one on the headstone. A fresh bouquet came every year, as did ones adorning the two other gravestones Charles Adair ensured were properly decorated on their anniversaries.

“What do you think Jack would say if he could see the way things went?” Clarissa asked.

“If he were around, I doubt they ever would have gotten this far in the first place. But if he could see us now, he’d probably tell me I was trying to take on too much. ‘Supers aren’t gods’ was one of his favorite ways to remind me that even I had limits. Then again, maybe he’d say I was on the right path. He always did try to make sure I understood that power came with duty.”

“Sounds like, either way, he’d think you were doing what was right.” Clarissa released her embrace and went back to holding his arm, supporting Globe in ways even he didn’t know he needed.

“I hope so. I really do. I’ve set this course, and I’ll see it through no matter what. All I can do now is pray that it will turn out to be for the best.”

Slowly, Globe turned away and began to walk back down the cemetery path, Clarissa still gently holding his arm. Behind them, a gust of wind caught the fresh bouquet, blowing a few delicate petals against the headstone marking the grave of Detective Jack Reynolds.

*             *             *

Nick sat atop the remains of what had once been a water tower, watching his friends as they trained, ate, and scurried about. He’d found the place on his second week at their makeshift summer camp, and since then he’d scarcely let a day pass without climbing up to think for at least a few minutes. It kept things in perspective, reminded him that while training in the dirt with the others was fine, it was his responsibility to keep an eye on the big picture.

Things outside their little camp were bad. Worse than the others knew. Getting them away from all forms of media had been a smart call—none of them needed to hear the sorts of accusations being bandied about regarding Lander. At least Dean Blaine would still be around; hearing that news had lifted a tremendous weight from Nick’s shoulders. Of course, Lander, along with every other HCP campus, would likely be crawling with the DVA now, and perhaps for good reason. Being taken off guard was one thing—any opponent with sufficient time, money, and planning could overwhelm even the best defenses—but not learning from it, failing to tighten security in the wake of what had happened, now that truly would be a mistake to lay at the HCP’s door.

They’d have to deal with all of that soon enough; summer was already winding down. Only a little while left to live in this sprawling, dusty oasis before they had to go back. Months of healing might be undone simply by walking on campus. That much, unfortunately, Nick couldn’t help with. It was up to each of them to decide if they were willing to walk back into that world, now that they really understood what it entailed.

And it was Nick’s job to watch over the ones who stayed, whether they wanted it or not.

*             *             *

Mr. Numbers ducked a shower of sparks flying from the nearby crew, hopping so close to Mr. Transport that he nearly bowled the taller man over. Mr. Transport took the cue and swung wide, giving Mr. Numbers enough room to steer clear of the men working tirelessly on the lift system.

“Do we know where they’ll be going yet?” Mr. Transport asked.

“I’m sure someone does,” Mr. Numbers replied. “The only thing I’ve been told is that the exits had to be moved—at least all the ones that were used for civilians.”

“I imagine it will still be quite difficult for the students to slip away, now that their classmates know the system they’re using to vanish from plain sight.” Mr. Transport flipped through the pages stacked on his clipboard. “No helping it, though. Not unless Lander is willing to spring for a full-time teleporter.”

“Even then, there’s no way to coordinate so many students’ schedules,” Mr. Numbers pointed out. “But don’t be surprised if they try and get you to fill in on occasion.”

“Sadly, I fear that’s already begun. I’ll have to make sure to start turning them down more. The last thing we need is for them to depend on me while we’re on assignment.”

The two men, still wearing their usual suits, continued down the hallway of Lander’s underground campus, carefully avoiding more contractors from the Department of Variant Human Affairs. On top of redirecting the lifts, they were also incorporating emergency escape routes to various points both on and off campus. Similar renovations were occurring at the other four HCP campuses, as no one wanted to be caught in a situation where they were pinned down again. Mr. Numbers had even heard rumblings that the backup security designed to test whether a campus had been cut off from communication was having its frequency increased from every hour to every fifteen minutes. No one was taking any chances with the HCP or the Heroes it produced looking vulnerable again.

Once had done enough damage.

“Any news on the dorm situation?” Mr. Numbers asked.

“The school board was set to pass the new regulations quietly, but it seems a student activist group brought the issue into the public eye. Heaven only knows how they found out about it over the summer.” While Heaven might have known, Mr. Transport had no doubt how they’d found out. He’d been the one to send the emails and place a few careful fliers, not that any of it would trace back to him. “Looks like they’re rallying the students who remain in town over the summer and refusing to let the issue go uncontested.”

“Good. After we finish today’s meetings, let’s swing by and see if there’s anything we can help with. Discreetly, of course.”

“Of course,” Mr. Transport agreed.

Turning a corner, they arrived at the door to Dean Blaine’s office. Inside was the rest of Lander’s teaching staff, as well as a few representatives from the DVA. These lackeys were at least the silent type, here to observe and report, not interfere. Both men considered them a pleasant alternative to dealing with Ralph Chapman, though neither said it out loud.

After his help last year, Lander’s most bothersome DVA agent had earned a small, begrudging kernel of everyone’s respect. It didn’t mean they enjoyed him, but it did halt them from being quite so vocal with their dislike.

*             *             *

“Senator Malcolm, if I may—”

“Ralph, your arguments have been heard, logged, and noted,” the senator snapped, turning to face the younger politician head-on. “Now, I may only have a short time left as the DVA’s acting chair, but I’m still in charge, and I say the exemption is allowed.”

Around him, the room of agents, assistants, and general help watched silently from their seats at the conference table. An old projector whirred gently as it struggled to keep the image up on the white screen. Everyone waited to see if Ralph Chapman would let the matter pass, or keep pestering like he had on so many other occasions.

“I just worry that it sets a precedent,” Ralph began once more. He’d barely gotten the words out before Senator Malcolm replied, his voice no longer as controlled or cultivated.

“You’re goddamned right it sets a precedent, and I’m glad it does. If some crazy sons of bitches storm an HCP campus, killing civilians and targeting our students, then they get to have a break on the cuts. Or is it your opinion that after being attacked by madmen and burying one of their own, we should have forced the students to take their final exams?”

Senator Malcolm turned his gaze from Ralph to the stenographer who was dutifully recording the session. It was a not-so-subtle reminder that this meeting was on public record, and anything said in it could be used freely in the future. Senator Malcolm was on his way out, he could swear and take stands as much as he liked. Ralph Chapman, on the other hand, still had ambition. His words mattered, to his future self if no one else. And coming down hard on people who’d gone through a tragedy was a risky stance to take, Super or not.

“No, sir,” Ralph said at last. “I was just advocating some extra testing at the start of term to get their numbers in compliance with the other programs. If people think Lander is getting special treatment, it’s only going to hurt them in the long term.”

“The graduating number is still the same, and at the end of this year, all the classes will be cut back down to regulation size. Given what Lander’s been through, I’m not going to ask more of them than we do from the others.” Senator Malcolm looked down at the papers in front of him and carefully checked a few figures.

“Besides, with the way we’re getting hammered out there, classes being too large might be the opposite of our problem.”

*             *             *

Her blonde hair was matted to her skull, the twin terrors of effort and heat drenching the long strands in copious sweat. Alice shoved a section back, making sure she had a clear line of vision, and focused on the boulder. It began to wobble, then plummeted several feet down before its descent slowed to an eventual stop. Taking a deep breath, Alice turned the area’s gravity up even higher, and the stone began to wobble once more.

Seated roughly fifty yards away, Mary was staring at the same boulder. Unlike Alice, her job was to try and raise the thing as high as she could. They’d been undertaking this same exercise since the first week of summer, Hank pitting them against each other to create a resistance workout. At first, Mary had easily been able to negate Alice’s gravitational warping, but with every passing day, the fight got a little harder. Now, with summer drawing to a close, the matches went on for tens of minutes. They both knew they’d grown in power—though without something outside the camp to test themselves against, neither was certain of how much. The others were no help either: Hank had them on their own training regimens that were yielding exceptional results.

Five more minutes passed before Mary was finally able to pull the boulder so high it appeared to pass the water tower, the marker they’d set for a telekinetic victory. Letting out a long sigh, she lowered it back to the ground while Alice rose from her seat, floating up from the ground rather than bothering to get up under her own power. The blonde walked over, meeting Mary just as the rock settled.

“Thought I had you that time.”

“You say that like you haven’t already won several of these,” Mary pointed out.

Alice met her friend’s accurate memory with a shrug and a mischievous smile. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to rack up a few more. Besides, you’re way ahead of me in terms of overall score.”

“As one of our professors would no doubt say: where we were when we started is irrelevant. It’s only where we’ve reached that matters.” Mary hauled herself off the ground, using her actual arms and legs, and headed back toward the cabins. Hank had made it clear that they needed to rest between bouts, at least ten minutes, and that rehydrating was always crucial. Going to fetch some water would fix both issues.

“I feel like that’s an easier philosophy to embrace when you’re the one in the lead,” Alice said, falling into step next to her friend. “You up for two more before we start working on finesse?”

“Let’s do one, and I’ll see how I feel. Plus, we need to see if Alex is free.” Mary scanned the area for Alex’s thoughts as they walked, quickly locating him amidst the relatively small number of other minds. Compared to life on Lander, this was like sitting in a quiet room listening to a refrigerator hum.

Alex was training with Roy and Chad, a fact which was hardly surprising. Since they’d arrived, he’d focused almost exclusively on mastering his ability in melee confines. Alex had even declined joining them in the boulder matches. It was curious, given how hard he’d tried to catch Mary in terms of power before, but after what Alex went through, he was entitled to a certain degree of curious behavior.

“If he’s not, we should see if Violet is up for some aerial work,” Alice suggested. “I hate to admit it, but she’s nearly as good of a flier now as I was when I first got to Lander. The sparring has gotten downright decent.”

“She’ll probably be with Thomas, but it’s worth a shot,” Mary agreed.

From nearby, crackles of electricity and blasts of exploding flame could be heard. Vince, no doubt training with Hank again. Mary had been a bit skeptical about their trainer’s claim that his shield could stop any attack, but after months of easily taking everything they could dish out without so much as a scratch, she conceded that his words had turned out to be true.

Everyone took turns working with Hank, having their progress and form checked, but Vince and Shane seemed to grab every available moment the man had. Finally being able to attack without restraint must have been freeing for them in ways Mary could only imagine. It would be good for them, too. Knowing their limits would make them all the more effective in combat. Mary had only been exposed to a few stray thoughts about the state of Lander, but she was keenly aware that they’d need to be very strong if they wanted to make it through the next year.

A set of knuckles rapping lightly on her skull pulled Mary’s mind away from thoughts and speculation, bringing it back to the matter of the blonde woman knocking on her forehead.

“Hellooooo. Mary? You in there?”

“Where else would I be?”

“Dunno. You were definitely drifting off, though.” Alice finally ceased her light attack, though the gaze in her eyes had turned uncharacteristically serious. “Anything you might want to share with me?”

“No news about the school, if that’s what you’re wondering. Aside from the fact that Dean Blaine and the staff are coming back, of course. But I told you that weeks ago.”

“And yet I can’t help but get the feeling that you’re still holding out on me.”

“People have their own fears and concerns, and I’m overhearing them; however, I wouldn’t call protecting their private worries ‘holding out’ on you.”

“I would agree, assuming that’s all it is.” A mild sliver of accusation slithered through Alice’s words, but she looked back at the cabins they were heading toward and let the matter drop.

Mary did her best to keep a neutral expression as Alice’s scrutiny ended. The truth of the matter was that her friend was right; there were things Mary was keeping to herself. Most of them were just what she’d claimed: personal fears and thoughts of others that she had no right to share. But some of it was a touch scarier—bits she’d gotten from Nick about how the world was processing the events at Lander.

And the deepest secret she had, the one Mary hoped the hardest that no one would learn, was a worry that belonged solely to her. Sooner or later, she would have to tell Alice and the others. But not yet.

Not while there was still so much work to do.

*             *             *

“You know, normally I bill by the hour. Do you even want to guess how much this mystery guest of yours running late should cost?” Hallow leaned back in the stiff, government-issued chair. Senator Malcolm’s office was moderately sized, but he’d never taken the chance to spruce it up much during his tenure. Some thought it was because he spent so little time in it that he saw no point, while others believed he preferred his guests to be uncomfortable. Very rarely were people called to Senator Malcolm’s office for positive reasons.

“Sure, go ahead and tell me. Then we can discuss how many flight plans that plane of yours is going to have turned down by the FAA, the tax records I think the IRS needs to do a full audit on, and every other petty inconvenience I can foist upon you.” Senator Malcolm smiled from his own, far more comfortable chair, spreading his arms out across the wide desk. “I’ve got two days left, Hallow, but I’ve also got more people here who owe me favors than you can count.”

“Here’s hoping your replacement is a little less free with abusing his power,” Hallow muttered, half under his breath.

“Whatever happened to you, anyway? I read up on your files; you used to be one hell of a Hero. Selfless, giving, devoted to your team. How did that guy turn into the greedy, self-involved jackass I see before me?” Senator Malcolm didn’t seem accusatory, despite the harshness of his words; he came off more as simply curious. The man had been dealing with Supers and Heroes for a long time; he’d mastered the gentle grandfatherly persona he used to grill them.

Sadly, Hallow didn’t get the chance to answer, as a sharp knock came from the door. Without waiting for permission, it opened to reveal an old man—at least a decade ahead of Senator Malcolm—with a large cane. He entered and shut the door behind him, taking care to turn the lock as he did. Only when the entrance was secure did he face the senator, his attitude anything but gentle.

“All right, I made the damn trip here—last minute, I might add—so tell me what the hell is so important that I had to fly all the way to D.C.” The man moved with more speed than his age and the cane would indicate, helping himself to the other free chair in the room, directly next to Hallow. If he was bothered by its lack of comfort, he didn’t show it, which made Hallow feel a touch insecure about how annoyed he’d let himself be by the minor detail.

“Graham, I’d like you to meet Hallow; Hallow, this is Graham DeSoto,” Senator Malcolm pulled a piece of paper from one of the drawers on his desk and slid it across to Hallow. “As you may recall, you’ve signed a nondisclosure for all work done for the DVA. I just want to remind you of that, because trust me when I say that if a single word of today’s meeting leaves this room, I’ll do a lot more than give you a few small problems. You will be leveled, all that money and opulence you’re so fond of traded for a cell. You’d still get to wear white, though, so that’s something.”

Despite the warning, Hallow merely rolled his eyes. “I’ve done DVA work before. You can skip the threats. Even I know there are some mistakes money won’t buy me out of.”

“That’s nice and all for you, but it still doesn’t tell me why the hell I had to fly out here,” Graham interrupted.

“Well, you’re partly here for my going-away party,” Senator Malcolm replied. “Seemed only fitting, since you were so instrumental in helping set up the DVA back when things first began. Wanted you to be here for my ending. And I decided to give you a little present while I was at it, just something to say thanks for all those years you spent helping us, and me. The man next to you is a healer unlike the world has ever seen. He’s so powerful that he can actually heal the damage from the cell degeneration of growing older. One touch, plus a bit of effort, and you can be back in your prime again.”

Graham raised both of his gray, bushy eyebrows, staring back and forth between the senator and Hallow for several long, silent seconds.

“This feels less like a gift than it does you trying to get me back into the field.”

“We can’t force you—you helped draft the very legislation that makes compelling a Super into Hero-service illegal—but we damned sure would do everything we could to convince you to put the mask back on.” Senator Malcolm looked out his window onto the sprawling green ground bathed in sunlight. “Things are bad right now, Graham. Dangerous. Hard. That attack on Lander kicked up a lot of unrest, gave the wrong sort of people too much hope. Folks need to be reminded of why they believe in Heroes, of the trust they have in them. The return of Captain Starlight would put a lot of people’s minds at ease, mine among them.”

Hallow, for all his practiced nonchalance, nearly tipped all the way back and fell from his chair. Captain Starlight. The Captain Starlight? The original Hero. The first publicly acknowledged Super; the one who had paved the groundwork for all of those who came after. That he was still alive was shocking enough, but to discover that the old man sitting across from him was the most famous Super to ever don the mantle of Hero… it was all he could do not to grab paper from Senator Malcolm’s desk and ask for an autograph.

“The chance to be young again?” Graham DeSoto looked at Hallow with renewed interest, then tipped his head back as if he were picturing how it would feel to have his strong, powerful body under his command once more. “It’s a kind gesture, and I truly appreciate it, but I’m going to have to take a hard pass on that one.”

“If you’re worried about getting back in the swing of things—”

“I’m not worried about jack shit,” Graham said, cutting off the senator. “If I took this offer, I’d be knocking people on their heads and kicking up a storm in no time. I’ve spent my whole life either fighting or teaching others to fight—getting rusty was never an option. But as much as I could do, I’m not going to. The time of Captain Starlight has passed. My own granddaughter helped me see that. There is always going to be trouble, always going to be danger circling the tenuous peace we’ve built between humans and Supers. It’s up to this generation of Heroes to keep it safe, just as all those who came before them did. It’s not my place to fix things. All I can do is pass on what I’ve learned and put my trust in the Heroes of today.”

“Guess that’s about as firm of a no as I’m going to get.” Senator Malcolm shook his head, though his disappointment was more for the sake of form than genuine. “I knew it was a long shot from the start, but you can’t blame me for trying. Hallow, I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“Now, hang on a minute. I said I didn’t want to go all the way back to my prime. Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to squeeze a few more years out of this old body.” Graham smiled, looking down at his cane. “I’ve hated this goddamn thing since the day I picked it up. Besides, I think I’d like to see how my grandkids fare. Something tells me they’ll have a few proud moments I’m going to want to be there for. Can you do that, Hallow? Can you just take me down a couple of decades?”

“Sir, it would be an honor.”

“Well, not a total bust then,” Senator Malcolm said. “And you know, if you ever want to share all that experience with more than just the ones who come to you for training, we can always use another teacher in the HCP.”

“Teaching, huh?” Graham paused, clearly rolling the idea around in his brain. “Maybe. I suppose that wouldn’t be such a bad idea; though, to be honest, I sort of had something else in mind.”

“Do I even want to know?” Senator Malcolm asked.

In response, Graham gave a wide grin as Hallow reached over and rested his fingers gently on the older man’s hand. A light glow began to spread from the point of contact, enveloping Graham DeSoto only moments after he gave his reply.

“I thought I might try my hand at politics.”

1.

Campus was nearly deserted as Vince stood outside Melbrook, watching the sun journey higher into the morning sky. Always an early riser, his time at camp had made sleep an even more infrequent activity than it previously was. The others seemed similarly affected; Chad and Hershel had already gone for their morning run, darting off into a campus where one could scarcely see any proof of the chaos that had transpired mere months before.

Every bombed and burned building was completely rebuilt so thoroughly that, unless one was looking, it was hard to spot the difference. This wasn’t the first time large-scale damage had occurred as the result of a Super battle, and the DVA—or, more accurately, the Supers they employed—knew how to handle cleanup quickly when there was proper motivation. Just by looking at it, Vince would never have been able to tell that this was a place that had been brutally attacked in the night. Lander had been wiped of its scars. The only ones remaining now lingered in its students.

Few of those students had arrived yet, as classes weren’t set to start for another few days, but those who had didn’t move with quite the same level of apathy about their surroundings as they had before. Eyes darted, nerves tensed, and any loud sound was cause for a sudden burst of adrenaline. Some handled it better than others; the worst were those who’d been present for the fight. For as many as had been on campus, that group still represented only a small percentage of Lander’s total students. Though, that was less true now.

Enrollment at Lander had dropped significantly, as Mr. Numbers had told his charges last night when they arrived. All HCP schools were seeing downward trends, but Lander had been hit the hardest by far. Former students were too scared to return, and relatively few new applicants wanted to come to the school now most famous for being attacked by madmen. Vince didn’t blame any of them; if he’d been looking at the world through their eyes, he very well might have made the same choice. Being a Super in the world of Heroes was terrifying enough; he couldn’t fathom what it would be like to step into it as a human.

At least the campus was peaceful, though soon it would liven up. They’d returned from camp a touch earlier than needed, wanting a few days to settle in to a world that was both familiar and completely foreign. Tomorrow would be the day when most students started arriving, as well as the day of orientation for those in the HCP. No one knew what it would—what it could—possibly entail after everything that had happened, though Vince was betting it wouldn’t be the usual meet and greet. They might have to go right into testing, since last year’s finals had been cancelled. It would be rough, but fair. And after a summer of hard training, part of Vince was slightly curious about where his skills now stood in relation to the rest of the class.

Several buildings over, Vince could make out a pair of students with a paper map clutched in their hands, weaving about between buildings as they navigated the unfamiliar landscape. It was hard to imagine that only a few years before that had been him. Well, him and Nick, stumbling about, trying to find a cafeteria that Vince could now shut his eyes and walk to. They looked so young, though. Had he been like that when he first got to Lander? Seemed likely. Heck, he was probably worse. A life on the road, followed by months in a hospital bed that he could barely remember. It was amazing they’d ever let him into the HCP in the first place, let alone that he’d managed to last a week.

Vince smiled to think that perhaps these kids would be down there tomorrow, wearing black uniforms and looking terrified about the prospect of fighting one another. They had come to campus early, and anything was possible. One never knew the coincidences that might happen in a school full of Supers. Even on his first day, he’d seen Sasha in the cafeteria, noticing her before he knew they were both in the program.

The thought of his lost friend conjured a dull ache in the depths of Vince’s heart. Their time away had done little to numb the pain of losing one of their own, but it had given him the chance to find a measure of peace with it. Thoughts of her corpse no longer filled him with the slow, burning rage that had taken hold that night. Now he largely felt only sadness, and that was, he imagined, as it was supposed to be.

In the end, Sasha was gone, but the rest of them still had much to do before their journeys were over. Vince turned his gaze from the searching students to the sun, which was still rising ever higher over Lander. One year left to go. One year to prove he deserved to wear the title of Hero. One year to learn, to struggle, to survive, and to make his way to graduation—hopefully. If the previous three years were any indication, things would only be harder this time around. To his surprise, Vince found himself glad at that realization. He wanted it to be harder, to push him up to and past every limit he had. After seeing what was living outside the protective shell of the HCP, Vince needed to be educated, to become as strong as he was capable of being.

Next time he was in the field, when the stakes were real, he wouldn’t falter. He would be prepared, be trained, and be strong enough to keep a level head. There would be no mistakes. He would be powerful enough to do what was necessary and controlled enough to do nothing more. Vince wanted every bit of training Lander could throw at him, every bruise and cut and pain it could impart, so long as it made him stronger. He’d seen what the Hero world was like, and Vince was determined to be ready.

Next time, there would be no funerals after the battle.

2.

Dean Blaine walked slowly down the concrete hallways, examining every nook and scratch in the remodeled corridors. It was the day before his students would return, and he was determined to assess every inch of the place where they would be educated. Deep down, he knew that this was merely a way to keep his mind distracted, to quell the need for control that had been blooming in his chest since the attack, but he kept at it anyway. Better this than peering over his staff’s shoulders, making them just as nervous as he was. Besides, there was something to be said for a detailed inspection, regardless of what motivated it.

“If you’re wondering: yes, you do look like you’ve lost your mind.” Professor Pendleton had approached silently in the way that only Subtlety Heroes could and had clearly been watching his boss, his friend, stare at the walls.

“Minds were made to be lost,” Dean Blaine replied. “It’s how Heroes stay sane.”

“And now you’re quoting Dean Merrick, so I know you’ve really lost it.”

Dean Blaine chuckled slightly and turned away from the wall. “The longer I do this job, the more I understand why that curmudgeon was as surly as he was. Especially given the handful our class turned out to be. If I had to deal with another Victor and you, I’d likely lock myself in my office with a full bottle of scotch nightly.”

“Which, for all we know, Dean Merrick did,” Professor Pendleton pointed out. “And don’t go leaving yourself out of that statement. You raised hell on more than one occasion yourself.”

“I suppose I might have allowed a bit of youthful exuberance to run wild.” A smile flitted across Dean Blaine’s face, dissolving almost as soon as it appeared. “What I wouldn’t give to worry about nothing more than students and pranks.”

“Who says that’s all Merrick had to worry about?” Professor Pendleton silently walked over and put a careful hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Things were rough back then, too. That’s our world. That’s the life. It’s never perfect, or safe, or peaceful, but it’s the dean’s job to let the students feel that way. At least while they’re here. Truthfully, I can’t imagine why you took on a job like that in the first place.”

“Why do any of us do anything?” Dean Blaine replied.

It was a rhetorical question, one to which Sean Pendleton already knew the answer. Still, he replied all the same, not because he felt the need to prove himself, but because it seemed like Blaine would do well to hear the words spoken aloud.

“Because we can. Because we have the ability, and sometimes, we’re the only ones who do.”

“Look at that. Seems you didn’t entirely sleep through Dean Merrick’s lectures.” Dean Blaine glanced down at his watch, slight creases forming around his eyes. “Speaking of which, I need to finish getting my materials prepped. In light of last year’s events, I’ve added several new discussion points to the syllabus.”

“For the freshmen or the seniors?”

“Both, though largely the latter,” Dean Blaine said. “While I would be remiss not to talk about what happened with those entering the program, it’s with those who lived through it that I feel the most pertinent discussions can take place.”

“At least they’ll learn from it, if nothing else.” Professor Pendleton glanced down the hall, noting a few of the final DVA workers heading to test the lifts. The DVA would have a continued presence at Lander—and every other HCP school—for some time to come. It didn’t exactly fill Sean with warm fuzzies, but he didn’t hate it either. So long as it helped protect the students, he was on board with whatever changes needed to be made. “How’s the freshman crop looking this year, anyway?”

“It’s… interesting,” Dean Blaine admitted. “As expected, several of the ones to whom we offered admission chose instead to accept offers from the other HCPs. However, several of our top-tier candidates did opt to come here. In fact, after the events of last May, it seems many of the applicants switched from their originally desired school to apply here. We’re seen as more dangerous, and while that deters some, it also lures in others.”

“So, we’ve got a freshman class that’s smaller than normal, but filled with people who are either brave or stupid,” Professor Pendleton surmised.

“Yes, but also quite strong. Word of students helping turn back the attackers has given many the impression that Lander has the strongest crop around. Some want to be trained here, others want to test themselves against the students we have. Either way, it brought in a few legacies from other schools I’d never have expected to get. Looking at averages, this may be one of the more powerful classes we’ve had in a while. Coupled with the brave and stupid aspects, I imagine I’ll have my hands quite full once the semester begins.”

“Stronger than the ones we’ve got now?” Professor Pendleton was half-skeptical, half-curious. He’d taught surprisingly powerful Supers in his two years of freedom, but living in the Hero world had shown him how quickly one’s idea of strength could change.

“Comparing seniors to freshmen is like comparing butterflies to caterpillars. These have potential, which is more than I was letting myself hope for after what our school endured.” The sly tug of a smirk pulled at the edge of Dean Blaine’s lips. “Though I will say, Dean Jackson sent quite the email when he learned some of his choice picks had come here instead of Sizemore. I daresay they’ll be out for blood at Intramurals this year.”

“Let’s hope not,” Professor Pendleton replied. “At the rate these kids are growing, if they come looking for blood, they just might get it.”

“That’s why it’s our job to teach them better.” Dean Blaine headed back to his office, Professor Pendleton still following a few steps behind. “Don’t you have your own work to do?”

“Why? My syllabus hasn’t changed. Besides, you mentioned scotch earlier, and this is our last day not officially on duty as teachers…”

Dean Blaine rolled his eyes but made no verbal objection to the idea. Having Sean around helped him take his mind off everything else threatening his sense of sanity. One glass of scotch was a relatively small price to pay for such a luxury.

3.

“I would like it noted that you two are here against my formally registered protests.” Despite his un-neighborly words, Nick still held the door open as Jerome and Eliza strode through, the latter immediately settling onto his couch while the former stood in the center of the room.

“Your protests were heard and overruled,” Eliza replied from her sprawled position on the sofa. No sooner had she landed on it did she spread out in a way that made her seem more like she’d been spilled there than sat down intentionally. “The Evers family is making nice, and it seems like the incident is going to pass without reprisal, but you know as well as we do that it could all be a front.”

“Somehow I doubt even the Evers are foolish enough to start a war between Families in the current climate.” Nick shut the door soundly behind him, engaging each lock it had with a few precise flicks of his hand. “The Heroes are stomping down everything that pops up at the moment. The last thing anyone in Vegas needs is attention being drawn to us.”

“Which is why Ms. Pips only sent us.” Eliza pulled herself up into a half-seated, half-reclined position that Nick was certain could not possibly be comfortable. “Normally, in this situation, you’d never be allowed to leave, or if you were, it would be with at least a dozen people to watch over you.”

“Or perhaps she thought you two would benefit from being around my intellectual graces,” Nick countered.

A wry, dangerous look danced across Eliza’s face. “Don’t make me tell Mary you’re being a pompous dick.”

“Your threats hold no power here.” Both Jerome and Eliza noticed that, despite his assertion, Nick did seem to pull himself up a bit straighter at the mention of the telepathic powerhouse. “Anyway, what are you two going to do with yourselves? There’s no Nathaniel to track, no overt threats against my life, and hopefully no more amateur sleuths. Seems like you’ll have an abundance of free time on your hands.”

“We do have classes,” Jerome interjected.

“Ms. Pips is making you get that deep undercover?”

“Actually, she’s making us get degrees,” Eliza said. “Since she’s already paying room and board for us to be out here, she told us she may as well get something to show for it. I’m sure we’ll have to transfer to a college in Vegas after you graduate, but for now, we’re Lander students in actuality. I’m going to get an art degree!”

“I expressed fear that we were too old, but she assured us that plenty of people get a late start on their higher education,” Jerome said.

“She’s not wrong; you’ll be older than most freshmen, but nowhere near the most ancient person in any given class.” Nick looked his two cohorts up and down more carefully. It wasn’t something she advertised, but Ms. Pips had required many people in the Family to get various degrees. Having subordinates with appropriate qualifications let her fill positions without arousing too much suspicion from outside parties. Even Gerry had a Bachelor’s in Statistics. Still, it wasn’t something she did often, and generally the ones she sent to college were those she had bigger plans for down the line. Given that last year Jerome and Eliza had been watchers and this year they were students, it was clear Nick hadn’t been the only one to impress Ms. Pips with how things had gone down.

“Just remember, you’re not eighteen-year-olds, so you don’t get to make the usual freshman mistakes. No passing out drunk in the hallway. Get inside your apartment like an adult.”

“Hey, being an adult means I’ll pass out wherever I damn well please,” Eliza shot back.

“Aside from class, our jobs are similar to last year. We do security sweeps, keep the perimeter secure, and make sure no unexpected threats catch you off guard.” Jerome, as he often did, pushed the conversation forward, ignoring the sniping between Nick and Eliza. He’d long ago learned it was the only way to get through a discussion in any reasonable length of time.

“Yeah, after what went down last year, I highly doubt anyone who isn’t suicidal is going to be quite so showy,” Nick said. “This whole town is on high alert. If anyone tried even half the crap Nathaniel did last year, they’d have Heroes on them before they could even scream. Angry, worried Heroes that are very concerned with keeping the HCP schools safe.”

“You say that, but there are more threats out there than just the Evers. While The Sons of Progress have lost a lot, their head is still out there somewhere. Plus, now that the world knows HCP campuses can be attacked, there are mutterings in the criminal world about new possibilities.” Eliza’s smirk vanished as she spoke, the severity of the situation more than even she could chuckle through.

“Perhaps, but I predict there will be at most two attempts to replicate what the Sons of Progress accomplished. After they are handily—and forcefully—crushed, such idiotic notions will quickly dissipate. The Sons were well-prepared and likely spent years planning that assault, one which even now would no longer work. I’ve been in the belly of the Hero beast, and I assure you they are not to be taken lightly, especially now that they’re on guard. Anyone who comes after an HCP is going to deeply regret it, if they’re unfortunate enough to live that long.”

Nick pulled back the curtains on his window and gazed out at the Lander campus, still largely empty in the early morning light. It was unspoiled, strangely serene to look upon. This was how Lander was supposed to be. This, not that nightmare Nathaniel had helped conjure upon it. It was his home—as much, if not more so, than Vegas and the casino.

“And on the nearly infinitesimal chance that the Heroes don’t see things through, then I’ll just have to step in.”

4.

The uniform hung in her locker just like the ones in all the previous years had. In terms of cut, there were slight differences, as her body was still growing and changing from year to year, but these were relatively minor alterations. On the whole, it was indistinguishable from the uniforms she’d donned previously—except, of course, for its color.

“I honestly wasn’t sure the day would ever come that I’d wear a white one.” Alice slowly pulled the uniform out of her locker, cradling it as if it were made of glass instead of incredibly durable woven fibers. HCP uniforms were built to take punishment, a necessity to keep them from being replaced after nearly every class.

Around her, the other senior women in the combination showers and changing room were taking out their own uniforms as well. Three years they’d all been working toward this, and now that the moment had arrived, no one was entirely sure how to feel about it. All they knew was that the uniforms felt heavier than they’d expected.

“It’s weird, right?” Violet added. “I mean, since getting here, we’ve always looked at the people in the white uniforms as the all-stars, the people who definitely had their shit together. Sort of figured that by the time I got my hands on one, I’d feel a little more sure of myself.”

“Perhaps we only saw them as confident because of our own insecurities,” Mary said. “Try and remember how it felt being a freshman. As uncertain as you are about what this year holds, is it even remotely close to that feeling?”

Britney Ferguson chuckled to herself and began to remove the uniform jacket from the pants. “Holy shit, no. I thought I was going to be out on my ass before the first day was over. Much as I love my power, I was shocked they allowed a girl with just invisibility into the program.”

“Oh, and having the power to sing made me feel like such an unstoppable champion,” Selena Wilkins added.

“Sound is more powerful than most people think,” Amber Dixon said quickly. “Besides, you two both kicked ass as soon as the first real test came around, so it was clear early on that you both belonged here.”

“Maybe it’s just easier to see the strength in others than it is to see what lies in ourselves,” Camille Belden said, her voice much louder than it would have been freshman year. While by no means a pushy or aggressive person, Camille no longer forced herself to fade into the background as she once had. Having come to peace with the fact that her life would be lived in the public eye, she’d fought her shyness just as hard as she’d pushed against her physical limitations.

“Or maybe it’s easier because we’ve all kicked the shit out of each other at one point or another, so we know how strong everyone is,” Jill Murray pointed out. Unlike the others, she had moved away from her locker only seconds after snagging her uniform. It was located next to a locker that now had no owner, but that in previous years had belonged to a speedy girl with pink streaks in her hair.

Sasha’s absence hung heavy in the room, felt by all and commented on by none. They knew she was missing, but they’d all mourned her in their months away. This wasn’t the time for more tears. If they wanted her loss to mean something, then it was time to get back to work.

“Are we going to be overseeing matches?” The thought slipped out of Alice’s mouth as quickly as it had popped into her head, but she didn’t mind. Here, she could speak freely amidst others who knew what it was to wonder about the path ahead. “You know, since we had seniors watching ours first year?”

“Dean Blaine will probably address it at the assembly,” Britney replied. “But my guess would be yes. There are a lot of freshmen and only so many professors. Plus, the newbies don’t get to meet any of the teachers outside of Professor Fletcher and Professor Pendleton.”

“Ah yes, the first-year coaches.” Jill tilted her head, thinking back to the horrendous, grueling workouts they’d endured at the start of the HCP. “Is it insensitive to say that I’m a little envious Alice and Mary got to punch that robotic son of a bitch?”

“Just a touch,” Mary replied.

“From what I’ve seen, Professor Fletcher isn’t any nicer, though he does yell less.” Violet finished slipping on the last piece of her uniform and buckled it into place. It fit her just the same as her gray ones had, yet it felt completely alien. “Much as it sucks, all that training does get results. Any one of us could smoke a freshman workout now.”

“Which is why we get harder ones.” Alice buckled her jacket into place and ran a hand down the edges of her pants to smooth them out. “Worse every year. I can hardly wait to see what they’ve got in store for us as seniors.”

“We’ll probably have to spend all of gym fighting Sims,” Violet speculated. “Or the professors. Oooh, or Sims and the professors, mutated together into some mechanical monstrosity that can breathe fire and eat powers.”

“Violet and I may have caught a monster-movie marathon last night,” Jill said, more in reply to the strange looks her housemate was getting than to the actual words Violet had spoken.

Mary finished donning her uniform, then did a quick scan to make sure the others were done as well. Camille finished last, slipping her boots on hurriedly and buckling them tight against her feet.

“Whatever it might be, I assume we’ll be getting some hints soon. Time to head out for the first assembly of the year. And remember, keep your heads high and walk with confidence. The freshmen are going to be watching us.”

The other women nodded. They hadn’t needed the reminder, but it was still nice to have. After everything that had happened to Lander, it was their job to seem as their seniors had: indomitable bastions of power with neither fear nor doubt. The younger ones needed to see that, needed to believe they could become that.

Even if it was a false image, it was still an important one.

5.

The freshmen were the final group to arrive, a small sea of black uniforms spilling into the auditorium and spreading across the open seats. To the older students, they looked so young, so worried in spite of the brave faces most of them tried to wear as they rooted about for open chairs. No judgment was passed on the HCP’s youngest members, however, because everyone in the gray and white uniforms was keenly aware that, once upon a time, they had been the scared rookies doing their best to look like they belonged.

Dean Blaine waited patiently behind his podium as they filed in, Professor Fletcher on one side and Professor Pendleton on the other. The rest of the professors were off somewhere else, no doubt preparing the day’s plans for after the meeting, but the freshmen hadn’t reached the point of dealing with them yet. That would come after they’d proven themselves and earned the right to learn more than just the basics.

Only when the final freshman had slipped into her seat did Dean Blaine clear his throat, a sound that rippled through the underground auditorium and silenced every other noise it encountered. The new students hadn’t learned this behavior quite yet; they merely followed the lead of the older, more experienced students. For a moment, Dean Blaine let the silence hang thick in the air as he scanned the room, noting all the faces he was keenly familiar with, as well as the ones that were no longer present.

“Welcome to Lander University’s Hero Certification Program. For those of you who do not know me, I am the dean of this school’s HCP, and you can call me Dean Blaine. The man on my left will be known as Coach Fletcher to you, and the one to the right will be Coach Pendleton. In a few minutes, they will take the freshmen to another room and explain how today’s combat trials are going to work, because, yes, you will all be fighting today.”

A slight swell of whispers rose up from the freshmen, but Dean Blaine simply stared at their uneasy faces until the noise died away.

“Before that begins, I felt it only appropriate that I speak to our program as a whole. Many of you are no doubt wondering what this next year holds for Lander in light of last May’s attacks, and those are very fair questions to have. I shall do my best to answer them, at least the biggest ones, before sending you off to your tasks for the day. The first and most obvious issue at hand is that some of you have no doubt noticed that there are more of you here than there should be.”

The freshmen didn’t speak, though they did turn slightly in their chairs to look up at the older students. Even among those in gray, there was a bit of swiveling and head-counting. No one in white was surprised by the news, however. Their numbers were already so small, it was easy to tell that there were more than fifteen of them.

“Every year, we eliminate students after their exams, promoting only those we believe to be most capable of reaching graduation,” Dean Blaine explained, eyes on the freshmen who hadn’t gotten the talk yet. “But exams were canceled in light of last year’s events, leaving us with no fair way to accurately determine who should be cut. The Department of Variant Human Affairs has acknowledged the extraordinary circumstances Lander faced and allowed a one-year reprieve for class size. This will not impact how many of you pass on to next year or graduate; however, you will have slightly larger classes for the duration of this year. No one was cut from the HCP, though some of your fellow students have elected not to return.”

Whispers didn’t bubble up this time, but a sense of discontent quickly rose within the older students. Glares hardened as counts were taken, mentally tallying who had run away. In that moment, friendships that would have lasted lifetimes were irrevocably severed.

“I urge you not to judge too harshly those who have chosen to leave us,” Dean Blaine said, despite knowing the words would be futile. “Many lives were lost that night, and while one was in this program, some of the others were doubtlessly friends of our students. Coming back to a place with lingering memories of loss is a difficult task, and some people would prefer to move on with their lives than face it.”

Dean Blaine paused, appearing to check a paper on the podium, but in reality giving his words time to sink in. Losing friends from the program was hard enough; hating them for leaving would only make letting go tougher for the students who remained.

“Aside from that alteration, this year will function largely as the previous ones have. You may notice some new faces down here, as the DVA has expanded its presence in an effort to tighten security at all HCP schools. Please treat them courteously, but know that they have nothing to do with the day-to-day program. You’ve all been briefed about the fact that many of the lift locations were moved, and we’ll be implementing new protocols for when to engage them. Using them to keep civilians safe was the right choice. Still, there are consequences to every action, and now many on campus know how we get down here. Let’s see, that just leaves… ah yes, the dorm situation.”

Confused looks spread across many of his students’ faces. They’d already moved back into their old dorms—at least, those who hadn’t gone off campus and the freshmen who were supposed to have gotten settled on the day prior had. No one wanted to repeat that process, especially those who’d had the same abode for all their previous years.

“This does not technically impact any of you, but I felt it pertinent enough that you be made aware of it: over the summer, Lander tried to pass a rule banning any HCP student from residing in the dormitories. The reasoning for this was that our people staying in those dorms put the regular students at risk, as it meant that everyone was targeted when the attacks last May occurred. It likely would have passed without issue, save for the fact that the regular students got wind of it and protested tirelessly to keep you in the dorms. They pointed out that having you nearby saved countless lives and effectively shamed Lander into killing the proposal. As I said before, actions have consequences. Had that rule gone into effect, it would have been vastly easier to determine which students were in the HCP and which were not. We’d have fought it as best we could, but Lander does have certain rights, especially when it comes to housing and safety. What saved you all was the fact that you saved them. Each of you protected one another. This, better than anything I will ever be able to teach you, illustrates the relationship humans and Supers are meant to have.”

Many of his students, mostly the older ones, were nodding along by the end of Dean Blaine’s point. The freshmen didn’t pick up on it quite as quickly, but that was to be expected. They didn’t understand yet that they would need protecting, too. That realization would only come after their youthful arrogance and belief in their own invincibility was forcefully ripped away. Which, for most of them, was about to occur.

“That concludes the general points for everyone. Freshmen, please follow the coaches into the next room. Sophomores and juniors, report to the gym for class selections. Seniors, please stay in your seats. We have more to discuss.”

6.

Only after the sound of softly scuffling feet had finally faded did Dean Blaine speak again. His audience now tremendously reduced, his demeanor seemed to relax slightly, the stern authority figure shifting into the overseer they’d all come to know and respect. They were not freshmen; they knew their dean was only human, and likely a very tired one at that.

“First and foremost: today, you will all help the rest of the staff and me oversee the freshmen’s initial ranking matches. We carefully pair them off so that accidental deaths are unlikely, but it’s still important to have an experienced watcher just in case things get out of hand. You’ll be given a rundown of each student’s powers, along with some of the immediate stoppage systems built into the cells, before each match. I’m sure you all have questions about that, but there will be time to go through it with the other professors, so please hold your questions until then. We have much to cover today.”

No one made so much as a peep, nor were they surprised by the announcement. After three years in the program, they’d learned that whatever they saw the older students doing were tasks that would eventually fall to them. Everyone had expected to watch the freshman matches, though the off-handed comment about “stoppage systems” did pique a few students’ curiosity. If not for Dean Blaine’s edict, they would have investigated further, but instead they merely stayed silent as he continued.

“Secondly, after the matches today, we’ll have individual meetings to determine what major you’ll be going forward with. Since only Subtlety was able to have its final before the attack, your professors will utilize grades and performance throughout the semester to determine whether you qualify for their major or not. If one of you wishes to proceed in a major that you are deemed unfit for, we will hold a private testing session to determine if you are indeed capable. Normally, your final would have filled this role, but given the circumstances, we have a bit of leeway. Come prepared to choose your Hero path and to defend that choice if challenged.”

Again, none of the students were especially surprised. They’d been told since sophomore year that they would eventually need to select a discipline. Every student still in the auditorium knew the path they planned to follow, even if some were less sure of their choices than others.

“This next statement is more a precaution than an actual announcement, since, if I don’t tell you about it, I’ll inevitably have students coming up to me saying there was a mistake on their schedule.” Dean Blaine allowed himself a slight grin at the memory of all the confused seniors who’d tracked him down, certain they were accidentally put in a first-year course. “You will all be taking a second Ethics of Heroism course this year, and once again, I will be your teacher. Important as the first one was as you familiarized yourself with the HCP, this one will deal with the world beyond it. Most of our students have no frame of reference for what comes after this, and while that’s not as true for your class, there is still much to discuss and many questions to answer.”

Dean Blaine paused to run through his mental checklist. The final piece of the agenda would steal their focus so thoroughly that nothing said afterward would stay with them. It was imperative that he get all the lesser announcements handled before he told them about the enormous event looming in their future. There were small things they’d still need to know, minutia that could be handled in a less formal setting. Save for the big announcement, there was nothing else on Dean Blaine’s docket, so he pressed forward, a touch of excitement in his stomach. No matter how many years he’d presided over the program, this part never stopped being fun.

“Today’s final topic is one that I’m sure some of you have found out about through friends or family that came before, in spite of our efforts to keep it secret from the younger students. Every year, each of the five Hero Certification Program schools come together, bringing students for a friendly competition we call Intramurals. Each school may choose three of its seniors to represent them, save for the hosting school, which is given a fourth slot to even out the numbers. Those students will fight in a tournament-based system, earning glory for their school and perhaps intern opportunities for themselves. This will take place before graduation, and winning is not a guarantee of making the final cut, though there has never been an instance of Intramural champions who weren’t also considered fit to wear the title of Hero.”

All of the restraint and quiet the seniors had been exercising up to this point vanished in a sea of frantic whispers. Dean Blaine allowed it to continue for several seconds, enjoying the wave of enthusiasm from his eager students that washed over him before he cleared his throat in the microphone once more. Silence quickly retook its stronghold, though the bright eyes and fidgeting showed that it wouldn’t last for very long.

“Intramurals are a long way off, and we have work to do today,” Dean Blaine said. “Still, I know how exciting it is to get that news, so if you would like to confer amongst yourselves, I will answer three questions before sending you to go prep for the freshman matches. You have two minutes to choose your questions, starting now.”

In no time at all, the remaining eighteen seniors had circled together, chatting amongst themselves. After only a single minute, they all dispersed back to their seats, except Chad Taylor, who remained standing. Speaking calmly but loudly, his voice carried through the auditorium with their first question.

“What determines the students who are chosen?”

“That’s what every class asks out of the gate,” Dean Blaine remarked. “And the answer is: you do. Your class, anyway. This is a contest to bring glory to your school and to your class as a whole. We feel it’s best to let the students decide who should represent them, as they have the most invested in victory. Whether you are chosen for strength, wit, or skill is irrelevant. The class determines its own champions.”

Chad nodded, either unsurprised by the answer or taking the reply with his usual stoicism. “Do we get any information about the opponents?”

Now that was one that few classes thought to ask. Dean Blaine was a bit impressed, though he should have expected it with so many solid tactical minds amongst the seniors.

“You are allowed to watch the other matches. It’s up to you to collect information from that, just as they will from seeing your fights. The exact lineups are chosen randomly, so who you battle next will be unknown until the Intramurals begins.”

What Dean Blaine didn’t tell them, what they would have to see on their own, was that hiding their own abilities was almost as important as figuring out what their opponents could do. Depending on whom the class chose to send, it might be a lesson this year’s crop learned through failure.

“Our final question is simple,” Chad said, speaking over the small din of conversation trying to crop up around him. “Will these be simple fights, or could other elements be at play?”

Dean Blaine repressed a grin. Normally, this was something he had to brief them on when Intramurals were drawing close. Few classes considered the possibility that they might be facing more than a straight-out brawl, at least when they first heard about the event.

“Match conditions, as well as participants, are randomly determined. Some will be straightforward fights. Others… less so.” Dean Blaine turned off the microphone and stepped away from the podium, signaling that the meeting was officially over.

“That’s three,” he said, easily filling the room with his well-trained voice. “Which means it’s now time to get you ready for the freshman matches. Everyone, follow me. We have violence to watch over.”

7.

“This one is going to be a pain in the ass,” Professor Blake Hill said, laying a white index card down on the wooden table. “How the hell is she supposed to fight someone without using lethal force?”

“If they’re smart with their power, there’s always a way.” Professor Esme Stone mentally lifted the card from across the table and brought it over until it hung before her. A slight frown crossed her face as she read the name and power listed there. “Or not. Damn, I forgot about her.”

“Is it the boomer?” Professor Sonya Cole asked. The table in front of her was already covered in carefully paired sets of index cards.

“I pray that’s not what we’re calling her, but yes,” Professor Stone confirmed. “Ariel had one set aside for that.” Professor Cole turned her cloth-bandage covered face across the room, where a redheaded woman was rifling through the small pile of cards in her hands.

“One sec, I know I saw it… here we go!” Professor Baker produced a white card with a folded corner and handed it to Professor Stone. “That should get her through the first round, at least. After that, we’ll have a better idea of how much control she’s got and can choose an appropriate opponent.”

Professor Stone looked over the card she’d been given, examining the words carefully. “Is this a fair match, though? We’re pitting Transmute’s daughter against a girl with no documented training whatsoever. She made it in on ability alone.”

“Which is why we need to send her against a skilled opponent for the first round,” Professor Hill said. “She’s got power, and until we teach her how to control it that makes her dangerous. Judy inherited her mother’s ability, and she’s been trained since it manifested. She won’t let herself get hurt.”

“Just to be safe, maybe one of us should watch the match,” Professor Baker proposed.

“Let’s have Professor Fletcher on hand. He can get in there the fastest,” Professor Hill agreed. “But put one of the seniors on it, too. Someone with a bit of brains. It might be good to get multiple eyes on the fight. Plus, we can see just how well these kids know how to break down a match.”

“Sean has a pair of Subtlety students that passed the final; either of them is probably smart enough.” Professor Baker had turned her eyes back to sorting her own pile, making sure none of the other matches were so lopsided that they wouldn’t provide useful information.

“Perhaps it would be better to choose someone from a different major,” Professor Stone said gently. “It’s a good learning opportunity, especially with Intramurals ahead of them this year, but you know how rarely a class elects to send Subtlety majors to the event. Besides, they already receive that sort of training in class.”

“Smart, but not in Subtlety.” The bandage across Professor Cole’s face spread, signaling that she was smiling under her cloth coverings. “You know, I actually think I’ve got the perfect kid for that job.”

“Then let’s consider the matter settled.” Professor Hill reached over and took the two cards from Professor Stone, setting them on the table next to a Post-it with a combat cell number written across the top. “Next up, does anyone have a good fight for an acid-spitter?”

*             *             *

Mr. Numbers finished scribbling the last few notes down on the form and slid it across the small table to the waiting DVA agents. While Lander had agreed to make room for the DVA as it tightened security and evaluated protocols, there were only so many spaces to use in the underground area. Combat cells were needed, training facilities were a poor fit, and classrooms were obviously dedicated already to a different purpose, so most of the makeshift DVA offices were renovated storage spaces made as habitable as possible. It was for this reason that the form had a very short journey across the narrow table, arriving quickly in the hands of Ralph Chapman.

“We thank you very much for your input, Mr. Numbers. Your expertise is considered second to none.” Ralph was the only one who spoke in these meetings—his two underlings had firm instructions not to say a word. This was less a power play to make him seem more important than it was a concern for privacy. Mr. Numbers was indeed renowned for his mind, and a single slipped word from the other agents might betray information he wasn’t meant to have.

“Anything to help make the school safer,” Mr. Transport said. He stood at Mr. Numbers’ side, since there was inadequate space to fit more than the single chair. “We’re happy to do our part to keep these students safe, so long as the company permits it.”

“No worries there. Senator Malcolm spoke to Isaac Lamont personally. He’s pledged as many resources as he can spare to help shore up defenses.” Ralph skimmed the document Mr. Numbers had handed him, skipping the more complex parts entirely. Ralph Chapman was a multitude of things, many of them bad, but he was not a man who pretended to be more than he was. The Super in the dark suit with blue eyes had a brain that could do things no human would ever rival. There was no shame in not understanding his work; that was for the DVA’s more intelligent personnel to handle. “Most of the changes I can understand look fairly simple.”

“They are,” Mr. Numbers confirmed. “My goal was to make small alterations to the protocols, ones that were easily executable and which slightly narrowed an enemy’s chance to attack us. Each is a small piece, but using them all will make it fourteen percent less likely that a successful sneak attack can occur.”

“Only fourteen percent?” The DVA agent who spoke immediately slammed his mouth shut and grew a few shades paler as Ralph glared up at him.

“That’s on top of the reductions we’ve already made through the larger changes,” Mr. Numbers said. He resisted the urge to smirk at one of the silent duo finally speaking, managing to keep a neutral demeanor. The time for chuckling would come when he and Mr. Transport were on their own.

“I’ll run this up the channels, though I doubt there will be any contention,” Ralph said, slipping the form into his briefcase. “Once we make the changes, I’ll get you fresh data to check over. Same time next week?”

“Certainly,” Mr. Transport said. “We look forward to it.”

Without another word, he and Mr. Numbers vanished, leaving Ralph Chapman and his two underlings in the room, one of whom was already braced for an extensive tongue-lashing.

8.

Hershel followed Professor Fletcher up the small set of stairs then stepped into the viewing room above the cell below. The clear, plastic-like material that separated him from where fellow Supers would be slugging it out seemed almost flimsy, belying the number of matches that had safely been watched behind it. It wasn’t the plastic that felt weak; it was Hershel himself. Despite taking a more active role in their education since last year, this felt firmly like something Roy should be handling, which made the fact that Professor Fletcher had told him not to shift all the more confusing.

“As we covered downstairs, these are your deterrent controls,” Professor Fletcher said, gesturing to a small panel on the right side of the viewing window. “The blue lever will send electricity coursing through the entire room, the yellow will fill it with gas, the white one will start lights that blind everyone, and the red will do all of that at once. Given the power sets of the two students we’re about to watch, the yellow lever is most likely to be the one you’ll pull if the need arises. Both are physically durable enough that the other deterrents might not work as well.”

“Do you really think I’m going to need to stop their fight?” Hershel had already memorized which levers did what, and even if he hadn’t, there were small drawings positioned below each one. While it was nice to know he wasn’t expected to break into the match personally, the responsibility of making such a call was still heavy on his shoulders.

“It’s possible, but not likely,” Professor Fletcher admitted. “This fight is one where both sets of powers are strong enough that there’s a fair chance of injury, which is why I’m on hand to watch it. If someone needs to take action, I’ll be the one to make that judgment. That said, I might need a little assistance, which is why you’re here, too. Just watch the fight carefully, and be ready to act if I give you an order.”

“Yes, sir.” Hershel turned and looked into the cell, noting that the door had opened and its combatants were walking in. One of the young women was medium height, with tawny brown hair in a braid that fell halfway down her back, while the other was tall, with dirty-blonde hair that was chopped short. Just from watching them step into position, Hershel could see the difference in their training. The blonde walked like someone who’d spent years learning to be aware of her movements, while the brunette with the braid merely plodded along, trying to appear bigger than she was.

“Ashley Beck,” Professor Fletcher said, pointing to the girl with the braid. “And Judy Bush.” This time he motioned to the blonde, who was already carefully examining her opponent’s stance. “Ashley has the more dangerous power, though it’s assumed that Judy will take the match.”

Hershel nodded absentmindedly as he continued staring through the window. “She’s clearly the more skilled of the two. Prior training, I assume?”

“I can’t say from whom, but yes, Judy Bush has been extensively instructed in combat, as well as the use of her power,” Professor Fletcher confirmed.

“Yet you’ve got her going against someone who’s obviously an amateur.” Hershel studied them both carefully, trying not to let the sense of nostalgia overwhelm him. Thinking back too closely would take him to when Roy had been down there, and for this, he needed to be fully in the moment. “Which means Ashley has a power suited to doing lots of damage, but not to being precise. That’s why you’ve put her against an opponent who can hold her own.”

“Spot on.” Professor Fletcher spared a glance away from the window to look at Hershel, who was so engrossed in watching the freshmen that he didn’t even notice. Dealing with Roy so often, it was easy to forget that his counterpart possessed quite a capable mind. It was why he hadn’t briefed the student on the combatants’ powers; he wanted to see how well Hershel could break down a situation just from observation. So far, Professor Fletcher was impressed. If Roy could learn to think as tactically as Hershel, he truly would be a nigh-unstoppable force.

“Hershel, whenever you’re ready, they’re waiting for you.” Professor Fletcher pointed to the only button on the wall, a large gray one that most people had to lean into to hold down.

Hershel pressed his hand against it, and the soft crackle of static filled the air. The intercom was engaged. “Please introduce yourselves.” Hershel tried to sound more sure of himself than he felt, though he doubted there was any chance they’d sense his nerves over their own.

“Ashley Beck. Here to take the number one spot.” She was confident, and in a way Hershel admired that. He’d admire it a lot more after she proved it was deserved, however.

“Judy Bush. The spot is yours, if you can win it. But I have no intention of making the first round easy.” Judy hunkered down slightly, preparing herself for the fight that was about to commence. She was well-balanced, but far too low for any attack Hershel could imagine her pulling off. He chalked this up to either an unfamiliar combat style or something power-related and continued with his duty.

“Remember, the use of lethal force is banned in all ranking matches, but what is lethal will vary from opponent to opponent. Use your best judgment, because we will be watching. You may begin.”

Hershel barely had time to let go of the button before Judy acted, though it wasn’t to break into the attack he’d expected. Instead, she dropped her hands to the ground, slamming them palm-first into the concrete. No sooner had she made contact than her skin began to ripple and shimmer. In mere seconds, her entire body had taken on the same gray, chalky appearance as the concrete that lined the combat cell. Across the room, Ashley merely watched as her opponent shifted, clearly content to see where this led. If Judy was at all inconvenienced or weighed down by her new concrete body, she didn’t show it. The young woman was as controlled and graceful as ever when she rose back to her feet, shifting to a defensive stance.

“A property mimic who can do a complete alteration? Holy crap, those are rare.”

“Yes, they are,” Professor Fletcher agreed. “Though Ms. Beck is not exactly a common variety of… well, never mind, I’ll just let you see for yourself.”

From across the room, Ashley Beck had launched a headlong charge that would have made Roy proud, racing right toward her enemy without so much as a thought spared for her own safety. Hershel hoped she really was powerful; otherwise, this was going to be a very short fight.

9.

Ashley was halfway across the cell when Hershel noticed her hands starting to glow. It was a red, flickering light that oscillated as it grew progressively brighter. The possibilities whizzed through his head; an energy manipulator like Thomas seemed the most likely choice, or perhaps she merely blasted something from her hands, like Allen. Next to him, Hershel noticed that Professor Fletcher had taken a half-step back as he unconsciously moved away from the window. Without prompting, he followed suit, just to be on the safe side.

Rearing back, Ashley telegraphed her first punch so blatantly that Hershel felt even he could have blocked it without Roy’s help. For Judy, it wasn’t even an effort. With a single calculated motion, she raised her forearm and began to brush Ashley’s blow aside, readying a counter of her own. However, no sooner had she touched the charging girl’s arm than it became apparent that such a strategy might not be viable.

The explosion filled a quarter of the cell, sending Judy careening backward into a wall and knocking Ashley halfway back to her starting position. In moments, both were back up, neither any worse for the wear, save for Ashley’s uniform. Her right sleeve was completely destroyed, the black fabric simply ending in a singed spot near her shoulder. Without the sleeve obscuring his view, Hershel could see the red energy reappearing, pulsing veins of it running across her entire arm.

“Explosions? Is that her power?” Hershel started to glance at Professor Fletcher, then remembered his duties and kept his eyes trained on the fight.

“What the hell was that?” Judy yelled from across the cell. Hershel nearly jumped in surprise at the sound of her voice. He’d expected that, just as they could only hear him when the intercom was pressed, so too would they be muted. It did make more sense this way, though. After all, if he was supposed to intervene in the event of danger, knowing the mood and discussion of what was happening could play a big part.

“‘That,’ as you put it, was about a tenth of what I can really do,” Ashley replied, the glow on her arms getting steadily brighter. “My way of giving you a warning shot. I don’t want my climb to the top hampered by using lethal force. How about you just give up, that way I won’t accidentally hurt you?”

Judy’s concrete lip lifted in an oddly unsettling smirk. “I might consider that, if I really thought you were holding back that much. But I think you’re bluffing. Besides, that blast flung you as much as it did me. Much stronger and you’ll just hurt yourself.”

“You wish, I just didn’t have time to set my footing. I’m tough enough to withstand my own blasts. So don’t get mad when I turn you to rubble.” Ashley held up her hands, clenching them into tight fists as she spoke.

Moving carefully around the cell, eyes locked on her opponent, Judy kept a healthy distance between herself and Ashley. In a different situation, Hershel would have suspected her of looking for an opening, but given that Ashley seemed to be able to detonate at close range, that was probably impossible. Fighting her from any angle meant dealing with the explosions, unless one had the ability to attack from a distance. No, if Hershel were to guess, he’d say Judy was buying time, thinking through a plan that would change the dynamic of the fight. It was what he’d do, in her situation.

“You know, it’s pretty unlucky for you that I’m the opponent you were put up against,” Judy said, finally stopping her continuous circle. “If you’d gotten someone with less training, or who didn’t know as much about Supers, you might have been able to bluff your way into a victory. But even if you’re as tough as you claim, it seems to me you don’t have a lot of practical fighting experience. Which I bet means that you aren’t nearly as confident in your control of those explosions as you’d need to be to use them on a smaller scale.”

Before their eyes, Judy’s gray appearance faded away, turning her back into the same normal, slightly tanned woman who had walked in the door. The only exceptions were her fists and part of her arms, which stayed concrete. Ashley’s own eyes grew wide as she watched the change. The glow in her own arms dimmed noticeably.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making myself weaker,” Judy explained. “So weak, so human, that if you try and use an explosion like the last one, you stand a good chance of killing me. Unless, of course, you know how to use them on a small enough scale to end this fight without using lethal force.” Judy’s concrete hands raised and she shifted her feet, preparing to mount a charge of her own.

“That’s… that’s crazy.” Ashley stepped backward, her red glow nearly vanishing as she backpedaled.

“No, it’s a calculated risk. This is what real fights are, rookie, and I suggest you adapt to it fast.” Without another word, Judy charged, quickly closing the gap between her and Ashley. Her heavy fists easily made it through the weakly-mustered guard of the girl with the braid. While the punches weren’t enough to outright flatten Ashley, it quickly became apparent that the beating was taking a toll on her, as trickles of blood began to flow from her lip and eye.

“Should we stop this?” Hershel asked.

Professor Fletcher calmly shook his head. “Right now, Ashley still has a chance to turn things around. If she can use her ability with enough control, she could defeat Judy. Or, if she can think of a new plan, she might also be able to turn the tables. Painful as this can be to watch, we owe her the opportunity to change the match’s outcome. Nothing is decided until—whoops, never mind.”

As he spoke, Judy had landed an aggressive blow to Ashley’s temple, sending the brunette spinning to the ground. To her credit, Judy immediately backed away and gave her opponent room to breathe and recover, but Ashley’s slow, groping attempts to climb back to her feet made it clear that the match was done.

“Winner: Judy Bush.” Hershel’s voice rang through the cell, even as its door opened and another of the seniors appeared; Thomas had apparently pulled infirmary transportation duty. He wrapped Ashley in a cocoon of orange energy, then lifted her gently off the ground. Hershel gave his friend a moment to get clear, and then continued. “Judy, if you require healing, please follow this man to the infirmary. Otherwise, head back to the gym with the other freshmen to await your next match.”

“Nicely done,” Professor Fletcher said. “Before you go, though, I wondered if you would tell me what you thought of Judy’s strategy during the match?”

“At first glance, it seems stupidly risky,” Hershel replied, looking down at the scorch marks and flecks of blood in the cell. “If Ashley had been able to control her blasts better, or had taken a dumb risk, things might have turned out very differently. But the more I think about it, the more I realize she gathered a lot of information before taking that gamble. Seeing Ashley’s range, gauging her strength, even finding out how tough she was to calculate proper attacks; it was still a risk, but it’s like she said, it was a calculated one. Honestly, though, what impresses me most is that she even had the idea in the first place.”

“How do you mean?” Professor Fletcher opened the door to the observation room and motioned for him to head down, which Hershel did as he kept talking.

“I mean, she decided to make herself weaker to win. Everyone in the HCP is almost universally concerned with winning through getting stronger. For her to be able to think like that, to use the rules as much as her power against an opponent, means she’s got the sort of mind that’s going to make her extremely dangerous. If Judy isn’t in the top five for freshmen women, I’m going to be really scared of what these new kids can do.”

Though he didn’t say as much, Professor Fletcher’s assessment was almost precisely the same as Hershel’s.

10.

“Please tell me we have long enough to get some lunch before the meetings start,” Vince said, walking with Hershel and Chad toward the changing rooms. Ideally, they’d have the chance to put on regular clothes, pop up to the surface, and slam down some food before reporting in to choose their discipline. While the morning hadn’t been a particularly stressful one—at least, not for them—it had taken a long while for all the fights to be resolved. Vince almost found himself grateful that he’d been knocked unconscious when he was a freshman. It had made the day go a lot faster.

“It’s just now one o’clock, so I’ve got an hour and some change,” Hershel said, checking a nearby clock on the wall. “I don’t know when your meeting is scheduled, though.”

“Not until two forty-five,” Vince said, relief evident in his voice.

“That’s right after Roy,” Hershel noted.

“And just before I go in,” Chad added. “I suspect they are trying to keep those of us with similar course schedules bunched together, as it will make things easier on the professors. I doubt our meetings will take very long, either. Vince and I both have high enough marks in Close Combat to continue our training. For that matter, so does Roy.”

The three men walked through the entrance to the changing room and quickly opened their lockers, revealing the mundane clothes tucked away inside. “You’re not wrong about that, but he’s dead set on going with Weapons,” Hershel said. “It was a surprise at the time; though the longer he works at it, the more I’m glad he made that choice. We might just have a real shot at graduating.”

“True. Choosing a discipline is almost as important as the training itself,” Chad agreed.

“At least ours were straightforward,” Vince said. “Oh, Hershel, did you ask Mary if she wanted to join us for lunch? Camille is going to meet us by the lifts.”

“I did, but her meeting is earlier than ours, so I’m bringing her back a sandwich. Alice might be able to find us up there when she wraps things up. She had one of the first meetings on the schedule.” Hershel removed a phone from his pocket as he changed from his uniform to his jeans and glanced down at it. “In fact, hers should be starting any minute now.”

*             *             *

Alice stepped into the room, noting the long table near the front where Dean Blaine sat with Professor Hill on one side and Professor Pendleton on the other. No sooner had she entered than Professor Hill gave her a warm smile, beckoning her forward to the lone unoccupied chair directly in front of the table. Too aware of the gazes on her, she walked over to it and took her seat, careful to give eye contact to each of her educators while also maintaining a neutral expression.

“Alice Adair, the time has come for you to choose your discipline,” Dean Blaine announced, as if it weren’t obvious. Silly as she felt hearing it, Alice could only imagine it was far worse for the dean, who actually had to say it to every senior as they made their way in here. “Currently, you are enrolled in Control and Subtlety. Despite the final exams being preempted, Professor Hill has determined your grades to be exemplary and would like you to know that he will offer no objection to you continuing in Control.”

The warm smile on Professor Hill’s face grew bigger, and she could almost imagine him trying to flash her a thumbs-up from across the table. Professor Pendleton, meanwhile, looked bored as he fidgeted with the pen in front of him.

“And what about Subtlety? Do I have that option as well?” Alice made a point of not looking at Professor Hill; she could already feel his smile fading as he took in her question.

“Since you managed to produce reasonable grades throughout the year, solved part of the cypher in your mid-year exam, and succeeded in passing the final, there’s no academic reason to bar you from continuing down that road,” Dean Blaine informed her. Professor Pendleton had looked up from his pen and was staring at her with uncertainty. It felt strangely good to be the one confusing him, for a change.

“But it should also be noted that Subtlety Heroes are often looked upon with suspicion, and rightly so, as the moral lines they work next to are ill-defined at best,” Professor Hill added.

“Oh, blow it out your ass, Blake,” Professor Pendleton snapped.

“Gentlemen. I will ask you both to remember that we have a student in front of us and to please behave accordingly.” Dean Blaine still seemed to be calm, but Alice hadn’t taken two years of Subtlety for nothing. She noticed the small facial tics signaling his frustration and had a hunch that he’d cut off everyone in the room’s powers already, just to be on the safe side.

“No, actually, I think I’d rather let them fight.” Alice leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, staring back and forth between the two professors. “That’s the best thing to do with these sorts of squabbles, right? Just fight and get it over with. Isn’t that how family is supposed to behave?”

The room went deadly silent as Professor Hill looked from her to Professor Pendleton, to Dean Blaine, and then around the rotation several more times. “Blaine… you didn’t—”

“Didn’t stick my nose where it didn’t belong? Quite correct, I did not. Alice learned through her own methods, or did you miss the part about her passing the junior year of Subtlety training? I kept your secret for the same reason I didn’t tip you off to the fact that she knew. I told you from the first day that this secrecy, all of it, was on you. It was never my place to get involved.” Dean Blaine stared down his employee without so much as even blinking.

For a moment, Professor Hill stared back, but when he didn’t see anything to distrust, his gaze turned to the other man in the room. “Then you did this, didn’t you, Sean? Found a way to tell her without actually telling her, right?” He quickly looked to Alice, expression somewhere between angry and frantic. “What other lies did he tell you? It’s not true, you know. What happened to your mother—”

“You should really stop talking,” Professor Pendleton warned.

“So I can let my niece believe all the terrible things you fed her?”

“No, because she did this in the hopes of goading you into spilling secrets.” Professor Pendleton looked at Alice, who offered not so much as a smirk in reply to the accusation. “It’s akin to reverse interrogation. You make someone flustered and angry, get them on the defensive, and they’ll start denying things you never even knew to accuse them of.”

“He’s right. And I’m not sorry. I saw an opportunity, and I took it.” Alice let her arms fall to her sides and leaned forward, refusing to back down in the slightest. “I know there’s more about my mother than you all are telling me. I’m going to find out the truth, no matter how hard I have to keep digging.”

Silence fell upon the room for a long moment, broken when Dean Blaine scratched a quick note onto the form in front of him. “Ms. Adair, shall I correctly interpret this circus as your way of letting us know you’d like to make Subtlety your discipline?”

“I sort of felt like just saying it wouldn’t have been fitting,” Alice replied. Only now, with the game fully played, did she allow a smile to creep across her lips. “But yes, Subtlety will give me the tools I need. That’s what I want to keep studying.”

“While, generally speaking, pursuing a major of study out of personal reasons doesn’t usually lead to a good outcome, I suppose it’s hard to argue with the results you produced,” Dean Blaine said. “Please tell the next student that we will call them when we’re ready. I need to speak with my colleagues for a few moments.”

“Yes, sir.” Alice Adair rose from the chair, took one last look at the dean and her two uncles—one fuming, the other staring at her—before slipping quietly out the door.

11.

By the time Mary’s meeting came around, things in the interview room had calmed down significantly. It certainly helped that Professor Pendleton had left, since he’d already talked to the few remaining Subtlety students, and now Professor Stone sat on Dean Blaine’s right. While Mary hadn’t heard the fight as it happened—Dean Blaine’s power having shut her out completely—she’d pieced it together from Alice’s thoughts after she left the room. Professor Hill did still seem a touch out of sorts, but it was possible she saw that only because she was looking for it. Inside this room, shielded by Dean Blaine’s power, their thoughts were their own, so Mary merely took her seat quietly, facing the three educators.

“Mary Smith, the time has come for you to choose your discipline.” His words were almost exactly as Alice had recalled them, proving that he had either rehearsed this part of the meeting or had been doing it so long that it was automatic.

“Currently, you are enrolled in Control and Focus. While neither of these classes had a final exam, your overall scores and demonstrated skill throughout the previous years have left neither of your teachers with any doubt that you can handle the next step down either path. You may choose without additional examination.”

Mary looked away from Dean Blaine to Professor Stone, who met her gaze as if she’d been waiting for it. Mary dearly, desperately wanted to be able to have a discussion with the older telepath, but it was impossible with Dean Blaine blocking all powers in the room. There was always the option of talking out loud; however, that came with the risk of revealing things she wasn’t certain she wanted to be common knowledge. Not yet, at least. With few options before her, Mary decided to roll the dice.

“Dean Blaine, would you mind letting me use my power for a few minutes? It doesn’t need to be on you and Professor Hill, just Professor Stone.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline that request,” Dean Blaine replied, noticeably unsurprised by the question. “Anything you wish to ask or discuss with Professor Stone may be said out loud or not at all.”

It had been a long shot going in and she knew it, but Mary still felt a bit disappointed at getting shut down. Nothing for it now: she’d either have to hold her tongue or press on. There was technically no risk in silence, yet all the same, Mary knew she would regret this moment if she didn’t speak. So very much was at stake, for the others even more than her.

“Professor Stone, is this okay?” She couldn’t have made it any vaguer, not that she hadn’t tried, so Mary felt a rush of relief as the older woman gave her a soft smile and nodded.

“It’s fine, Mary. Just for now, but it’s fine.”

“Does anyone plan to tell me what that was about, or at least what discipline Ms. Smith has chosen?” Dean Blaine interjected.

“Focus, sir. I’ll be continuing my education in Focus.” Mary stood to leave but paused before heading to the door. “Also, if it’s possible, I’d like to have a meeting with you. Sometime in January, after whatever mid-year events or exams you throw at us.”

Dean Blaine considered the short, amber-eyed woman for several seconds. “I’ll put something on the books and send you an email. Let me know if the time doesn’t work for you, and I can move it around. The one upside to booking my time this early is there’s ample wiggle room.”

“I’m sure it will be fine.” Without another word, Mary hurried out the door.

“Well, that wasn’t odd or anything,” Professor Hill muttered under his breath.

“Let it be, Blake. She’s my student, and I know what I’m doing.” Professor Stone gave her colleague the best all-knowing look she had in her arsenal. The truth of the matter was that she was half-winging it in this—and most—matters. Luckily, no one else on staff was a telepath, so that was a secret she got to keep all to herself.

*             *             *

Mary moved quickly as she left, passing three other students waiting for their own meetings with a nod of greeting. Alex, Violet, and Shane all returned the gesture, though Alex glanced at a clock afterward.

“It’s still five minutes until my time is supposed to start. Do you think I should just go in?”

“I’d wait to be called,” Violet replied. “Maybe they need to get a beer or take a piss between these things. Best to wait until they’re ready for you.”

“Personally, I’m just impressed they’ve managed to keep it all running on time so far,” Shane added. “Every new meeting has been within the fifteen minutes we were given. Guess they’re not letting people run long.”

“It’s not like there’s much debate to be had,” Violet said. “I think everyone spent the summer figuring out what they wanted to continue training in. Well, those of us who didn’t know from the first year, anyway.”

“True,” Shane agreed. “We all knew you and I would go Close Combat, and that Alex would specialize in Focus.”

“Guess again, buddy boy.” Violet mimed throwing a dagger at Shane’s heart, then plucking it back out again. “I’m going Weapons. Scrapping with the best of them is fun and all, but the addition of range makes a big difference for me, especially now that I’ve more or less nailed flying down. I’ve got a few ideas I want to test out this year, and Professor Cole is my best shot at making them work.”

“Is this why you kept gathering all those rocks, then flying off away from everyone else?” Alex had noted her odd behavior over the summer, though, given that all of them were engaged in some form of training or another, it hadn’t struck him as particularly worth pursuing.

“It was part of it. Let’s just say I have a few new tricks up my sleeve. Hopefully I’ll get to show them off before we do the Intramurals vote,” Violet replied.

Shane snorted softly. “From what we’ve seen in years past, the opportunity to demonstrate our combat skills is likely the only thing in this entire program that we can depend on. Especially this close to graduation.”

The door to the meeting room opened and Dean Blaine stuck out his head, scanning around. “Alex, we’re ready for you.”

“See you both later on,” Alex said, rising from his seat. “Looks like it’s time to pick my destiny.”

12.

“I thought you classy types knew it was bad form to show up to a party early.” Nick glanced down at his watch, double-checking the time. “Especially six freaking hours early.”

“This wasn’t something I wanted to talk about with everyone else around.” Alice breezed through the doorway, not bothering to wait for Nick to invite her into his apartment.

Taking the cue, Nick quickly shut and locked the door before facing her. She stood in the middle of his living room, chin set and eyes nearly aflame. That look meant determination, and he could guess about what in one shot. Few things worked up Alice to such a degree. Better to let her be the one to say it, though. Luckily, Nick had ample experience at playing dumb.

“Something happen?”

“Few things. Decided to go with Subtlety as my discipline, so that will make for an interesting year. Let Professor Hill know I was aware of our genetic relation. Oh, and in the scramble of words that came from kicking that hornet’s nest, I found out that he knows something about what happened to my mother. Given that he didn’t seem surprised by the revelation, I think Professor Pendleton does, too. Which means his protégé might just have been keyed in on it as well.”

“I can call Will, but he’s probably still—”

“Nick, don’t.” Alice glared at him, hands halfway balled into fists. “Just once, let’s skip the dancing. No one, short of the other teachers, is closer to Professor Pendleton than you, even if you both try to hide it. Now, I’m not saying you know where my mom is or what went down, but I get the feeling that not everyone was fed that whole ‘died at childbirth’ lie. Even if all they know is a different cover story, that might still help me. I’ll take anything I can get at this point.”

Wordlessly, Nick moved away from his doorway and took a seat on the couch. He stared at Alice, waiting patiently until she finally went to sit at the opposite end of the sofa. Only when she was settled did he respond, and it was with a gentler voice than she could ever recall hearing from Nick before.

“Do you know why Sean and Blake hate each other?”

Alice shook her head. “No, I could just tell that they did.”

“It’s because Sean blames Blake for what happened to your mother, at least partially. I can’t get him to talk about it—and as you know, everything about her death, or vanishing, or whatever it was, has been expertly erased—but that much I do know.”

“I can’t believe he wouldn’t tell you more,” Alice replied.

“Remember, you’re not the only one who can figure things out. He knows you and I are close, that there are some things I’d tell you even if it wasn’t the move he’d want me to make.” Nick reached across the cushions, letting his hand lay on the middle seat of the sofa. “Whatever happened, what little Sean might know, he’s fine with keeping me in the dark if it means protecting you from it.”

Slowly, astonishingly so, Alice moved her own hand to the middle cushion and rested it on top of Nick’s. “I’m going to choose to believe you. But, Nick, if you’re playing me on this one, I will never forgive you.”

“Not only am I not playing you, I’ll do you one better. I want to help you find out the truth. Not just what Sean and Blake might think they know, but what truly happened.”

“How do you plan on pulling that off?” To her surprise more than anyone’s, Alice didn’t sound skeptical as she asked the question. Nick was many things, and a liar highly among them, but when he said he could do something, more often than not it turned out to be true.

“I’m working on something that will get us what we need, but in the meantime, I think you might be able to pull more information out of Sean,” Nick said. “After all, I may be his protégé, but you’re his niece. One who looks just like his dear sister. With a little pressure, I bet you can crack through the tough outer shell and into the gooey emotional core of our professor.”

“Emotional manipulation? I’m pretty sure he’s going to see that coming, especially since he teaches classes on it,” Alice pointed out.

“And like he says in the class, the beauty of using it well is that even if the target knows what’s happening, you can still make it work. Assuming you’re good enough, that is.”

“Guess that means I have some practicing to do.” Alice looked down at the hand under hers and squeezed it carefully. She and Nick had been going forward slowly with their strange, ill-defined relationship; it was reassuring to know he was there when she needed him. Then again, she’d saved him from Nathaniel last year and helped bust him out of his own head, so clearly he needed her just as much.

“Can you tell me what the backup thing you’re working on is? Or did you think I wouldn’t notice how quickly you tried to deflect me away from it?”

Nick tilted his head back and let out a long, theatrical sigh. “Damn that professor for sharpening your mind. The truth of the matter is that I’ve been working at this angle since last year, and while I think I’m making progress, it’s still slow going. If you really want, I’ll bring you up to speed, but understand that this will likely take a while, if it works at all.”

“You know what, I’ll just trust you,” Alice said. “Once I know, that’s one more thing to think about, and analyze, and have occupy mental space. I’m better off focusing on the things I can impact and letting you handle your own work.”

“It strikes me that perhaps Subtlety might just be the best fit for you, after all,” Nick said. “Though I’m sure you’ll miss getting to put those awesome gravity powers to use.”

“Says who? Just because I can use Subtlety doesn’t mean I won’t also be working overtime to master my ass-kicking skills.” Alice tilted her head and flashed a devilish grin, one that Nick suspected would eventually haunt the nightmares of many an unfortunate criminal.

“I’m going to show this world what a Subtlety Hero can really do.”

13.

“Close Combat.”

Chad noticed a wave of relief sweep the room as he made his choice—most visibly in Dean Blaine, though Professor Stone and Professor Fletcher let their body language relax as well. He made no effort to comment on it, trusting it would either be touched on or was none of his business. It turned out to be the former.

“Well, at least there were no surprises with our final student,” Dean Blaine said, more muttering than announcing. While not every meeting had involved colleagues fighting or strange, cryptic discussions with professors, there had been enough oddities for everyone to be glad the day was done. “Thank you, Chad. Your choice has been noted, and you will continue your education under Professor Fletcher. Since you’re the last meeting of the day and still have a few minutes left, were there any questions you wanted to ask? Bear in mind, we’ll be going over the general program for the year during class tomorrow.”

“Nothing about classes, though I would like to know if all the construction has impacted our gym or training areas. I still have an evening workout to do.”

None of the educators were surprised that Chad’s first impulse after an entire summer of constant training was to try and work more; they’d been watching him for three years. Honestly, they were more shocked he hadn’t tried to smuggle in some free-weights and sneak in a few curls during the meeting.

“All training facilities are fully operational,” Dean Blaine informed him. “In fact, we took the opportunity to add on a few upgrades. Feel free to check them out, though I should remind you that the first gym session of the year is also tomorrow. Try not to overdo it.”

“Of course.” Chad rose from his chair and looked toward the door, then hesitated. “I do have one more question, albeit one not related to the facilities or the program. Or, not the program directly, perhaps I should say. It can wait, if there’s a better time.”

Dean Blaine glanced to the professors on either side of him and, receiving no objection from them, gave Chad a slight nod. “You still have a few minutes left. Go ahead and ask whatever you’d like.”

“Thank you.” Chad retook his seat, facing all three of those before him, but focusing chiefly on Dean Blaine. “Now that we’re seniors, I’m well aware that we will need to begin considering and submitting our code names for the possibility that we graduate. While the deadline for that is likely some ways off, I wanted to see if there were any additional forms or processes that needed addressing early for submitting a legacy name.”

“There’s a little more,” Professor Fletcher said, perfectly aware of the name Chad wanted, but pretending not to know for the sake of decorum. “The biggest issue is obtaining the rights to use a name. When a Hero retires, they keep ownership of and income from use of their name. Should they… pass… then that ownership goes either to their next of kin or is bequeathed through a will.”

“That part will not be an issue. My mother is currently the owner of the moniker I wish to use and has agreed to transfer it to me when the time to submit my own Hero code name arrives,” Chad said.

Dean Blaine said nothing; of those in the room, he was the only one besides Chad who knew it hadn’t been quite as simple as that. For so long, Miriam had tried to fight her son’s desire to follow in his father’s footsteps. She had hoped to convince him to use his abilities to have a normal, happy life away from violence and bloodshed. But Chad was indeed Joshua’s son, and as such he refused to give in on an issue where he felt he was right. It had taken many hard, bitter discussions, until eventually Miriam had relented. Deep down, Blaine suspected it was because she’d realized Chad would press forward no matter what, and she’d preferred to preserve whatever time she had with him. Of course, she’d also demanded that Blaine do everything he could to prepare Chad, so that he wouldn’t echo Intra’s early end. It was an unnecessary request; he’d already intended to do exactly that.

“If you’ve got the rights, then that makes the process very easy,” Professor Fletcher said. “I’ll give you a couple of forms tomorrow for you and your mother to fill out. Once we have those on file, you’ll be able to submit a legacy name just like you would any other. It’s also worth mentioning that turning in the paperwork doesn’t bind you to it, either. You can still choose another one when the time comes, if you change your mind.”

“That’s good to know,” Chad said, once more leaving his chair. “But I assure you, I’m set on the name. It’s one I’ve wanted to wear for a very long time.”

“Then I suppose all that’s left to say is good luck in the coming year,” Professor Fletcher replied. “Do your best, work hard, and hopefully you’ll make it to graduation.”

“I will give everything I have.” Chad turned and walked out the door, leaving Dean Blaine considering his parting words.

For most people, that was just a way to say they were going to put in a hundred and ten percent. With Chad, on the other hand, there was so much more to it. He truly meant those words. He would give everything: his time, his body, his blood, even his life if it meant reaching his goal. Chad Taylor had been born with an ability that was useful, a talent for martial arts, and a good head on his shoulders, but none of that accounted for why he’d managed to dominate the top spot during his three years at Lander. No, what truly set Chad apart was the gift he’d been given in almost immeasurable quantities.

Chad Taylor was the absolute embodiment of determination.

14.

The pop of the champagne bottle caused several students to jump, the sudden sound much louder than any of the non-drinkers had expected it to be. Nick was not among these as he poured the bubbly liquid—purchased for less than ten dollars and likely all but unpalatable—into an array of glasses and plastic cups that in no way even remotely resembled champagne flutes. Next to him, Vince untwisted the top on a bottle of sparkling grape juice and began filling up separate receptacles.

“All right, everyone, grab a glass of whatever you want: booze or some god-awful knock-off stuff,” Nick commanded to the guests gathered around his modest kitchen table. They did just that, walking slowly to avoid jostling one another as they moved, slowly but surely grabbing their respective drink choices. Nick pretended not to notice Violet, who snuck an extra glass of the champagne.

It was a large crowd, bigger than Nick would have tried to cram into his apartment under normal circumstances, but this was a special occasion. Everyone from the summer training camp had come after their day’s activities ended, and now, at last, it was time to truly kick things off.

Shane made his way out of the crowd, handing glasses of the grape juice to Chad and Thomas, who’d hung back. Jill craned her neck to see if she could repeat Violet’s double-grab attempt. Alex telekinetically lifted several cups over to himself, Camille, and Will as they tried to avoid the scrum of bodies. Roy was helping Vince hand things out, his size creating a small moat of space around him, while Alice and Mary, ever the sly ones, had nicked their cups early and hurried away to safety.

Only when everyone had a drink in their hand did Nick stand on top of a cheap wooden chair, towering over the gathered students. He raised his own glass full of the thriftily-purchased champagne high into the air.

“Tonight, we celebrate all of you—our friends, our trusted companions, and each other’s rivals—who have made it to senior year.” Nick turned as he spoke, being sure to look every person in the eye for at least a few seconds. “I know it was unnerving for a lot of you when a washout showed up at the training camp, and I’m thankful to all of you for taking the chance on letting me hang around and polish up my own skills. In that time, I got to see all of you work, and truly appreciate how powerful you are. Making it this far is an incredible accomplishment, and one you deserve to celebrate. But as someone looking in from the outside, trust me when I say that this should be a piss-poor party compared to the one you throw when each and every one of you reaches graduation. Cheers to you all, and have one hell of a year!”

Nick gulped down the terrible liquid before it could sully his taste buds, noting that the people with grape juice at least seemed to enjoy their choice. He wouldn’t have minded springing for something a little nicer, truth be told, but it was important to keep up appearances. Aside from his original friends in Melbrook, no one else knew quite the entire story of Nick Campbell, and he was much happier keeping it that way.

The crowd quickly dispersed, spreading into different rooms so people had space to move around. A familiar hand appeared to help Nick down, which he accepted as he hopped off the perch.

“Thanks,” Nick said, running his tongue along his teeth to get the taste of cheap sparkling wine off his gums. He hadn’t done quite a good enough job in tossing it back, and a bit of the flavor insisted on lingering.

“No problem. Thanks for having us all over to celebrate.” Vince took the chair Nick had been standing on and wedged it back under the table, clearing the walkway for others to get by.

“Come on, you all made it to freaking senior year. How was I not going to make you celebrate that? If I’d left it in your hands, all of you would have just had an extra helping of vegetables from the cafeteria, or whatever it is you HCP kids do.” Despite reconnecting with so many of his former classmates, ostensibly under the guise of self-betterment in the wake of a tragedy, it hadn’t been made public knowledge that Nick’s memories were recovered. Since he and the professors had technically broken HCP protocol, Nick wanted to keep those who were aware of the truth as limited as possible. Plus, one never knew when a well-hidden card would be the one that promised victory at the last moment.

“We generally don’t do cake and champagne, that’s for sure,” Vince said. In the kitchen, Thomas was helping Jill as she sliced into white frosting covering spongy chocolate cake. Nothing was written on top of it—in the wake of last May’s events, secrecy was all the more important—but no one needed frosted words to tell them what they were celebrating.

“Maybe the HCP needs to take a few pages out of my book. Those are some excellent motivating forces,” Nick replied. He lowered his voice slightly, letting the din of the crowd mask his next words. “How are things looking for this year, by the way? Any big scares or surprises?”

“They didn’t cut anyone from the class—from any of the classes, actually. Though we did lose Terrance. No one knows exactly why, but I heard he came upon some bloody stuff during the rescue efforts. Decided this wasn’t the life he wanted after all.”

Nick was unsurprised that seeing real danger had spooked a potential Hero into quitting. If anything, he was shocked that only one had taken the off-ramp. The HCP, it seemed, did a good job of screening who had the stomach for the kind of work they were learning.

“Can’t say I blame him; that was a rough night. It’s nice of them to give you a pass since you missed final exams, though.”

“I was sort of worried we’d have to go through something today. Though, after all those months of training, I think I’m as ready as I could be for it,” Vince said.

“Tell me about it. I caught a few of your and Hank’s training matches near the end. I feel pretty confident that you easily could have passed whatever test they threw at you.”

“Maybe so.” Vince looked down into the bubbly depths of his grape juice, watching them pop one by one as they reached the surface. “But graduation is a long way off. There’s no certainty I’ll pass every test from now until then.”

“True,” Nick agreed. “But when has that ever stopped you? Don’t fret too much about the future, Silver. That’s not your strongpoint. You just focus on getting through one day, one trial at a time. Do that enough, and I guarantee you’ll end up wearing one of those ceremonial white capes.”

“I’ll do my best.” Vince gulped down the rest of his juice, then grabbed the bottle to refill it. “If nothing else, it’ll be interesting to try. HCP classes are never boring.”

Nick was amazed that, after all these years of friendship, he could still be blown away by Vince’s talent for understatement.

15.

It was strange to be back in the classroom they hadn’t returned to since they were freshmen. The gym was an ever-present part of their lives, just like the rooms where their specialized teachers trained them. But this was different. It was a piece of the past they’d thought behind them, and now, stepping foot into the room once more, things seemed at once the same and yet different. Smaller, somehow. This room had terrified them when they came to it the first time. Now, after all they’d seen and been through, it was no longer so imposing. If anything, it seemed a bit homey.

Dean Blaine entered only seconds before class was about to start, preserving his tradition from their freshmen year and eliciting a few muffled chuckles. He took his position at the front of the room, gazing at the eighteen students who remained out of the more than fifty he’d once seen here. It was a somber moment he took in every year, appreciating all the hours of effort that had brought the students to this point in their careers. Some he’d expected to come this far; others had outright surprised him. But either way, by the year’s end, only a little more than half would finish their journey. So little time, and so much to prepare them for.

“This is not the same class you took as freshmen,” Dean Blaine announced, not bothering with preamble. “Although many of the subjects we will cover are, in fact, the same, what has changed, what should have changed, is you. None of you are freshmen, just stepping into the Hero world with wide, naïve eyes brimming with visions of glory. You now know what it is we do here. What Heroes are. You understand that, as much as there are accolades and cheering, there is also blood, and loss.”

The cheerful mood of the room had quickly subsided, too many memories of their brief glimpse at what they’d be facing were bubbling up inside them. Dean Blaine noted the sentiment carefully. It was good that they saw the truth of what lay before them; they’d need to walk into this world with their eyes open if they wanted to survive. Still, it was best not to let them dwell too much. A quick reminder here and there would be sufficient.

“But that isn’t all there is in the Hero world,” Dean Blaine continued. “Some of you got to see the best part of it during the attack on Lander. How many of you were able to personally save someone from certain death? Or even likely death?”

Not every hand in the room went up, but many did, and as they rose, so too did the overall spirit of the room. Hershel began to lift his arm, then changed his mind. He wasn’t certain he should take credit for Roy’s actions, even if they were part of the same team.

“We don’t always get to do that.” Dean Blaine lowered his eyes from the students, letting his mind drift back to the smiling, grateful faces he’d seen when he wore the mask. “As Heroes, sometimes we must concern ourselves with the greatest good possible, and there are times when, no matter what we do, people will die. However, when you do get to save someone, when you get to know that there is a life continuing on in this world because of what you did, what only you could do, that is a feeling unlike anything else.”

He basked in the memories for a few moments longer, then lifted his head. Those days were behind him. Now, he could only save people by making sure his students were as capable as possible.

“There is good, and there is bad. There is heartache, regret, triumph, and countless other things that come with being a Hero. In this class, I will strive to cover the most important aspects, doing my best to prepare you mentally for the hard choices that lie ahead. As before, this will be a discussion class. And trust me when I say that what happens here is just as, if not more, important in determining who makes the cut than your other classes. Having power is vital, but knowing how to use it is by far the most crucial aspect in what makes a Hero.”

Backs became straighter and eyes more alert. They were down to the wire, and they knew it. None of them intended to fail out because of a simple discussion class. Dean Blaine resisted the urge to smile; it was always interesting to see the fire in those who made it to senior year. Interesting, and a touch inspiring.

“The first question I’m going to ask you all to think about is the simplest one, with the most difficult answer,” Dean Blaine said. “Why are there Heroes?”

Tentatively, Rich Weaver raised his hand. “Um, we covered this freshman year. They’re certified Supers who are taught to minimize damage. Heroes can be covered by insurance and prevent needless loss of life.”

“While you aren’t technically wrong, what you just gave me was a freshman’s answer,” Dean Blaine replied. “You have just told me why, in the face of discovering that Supers were real, our government saw the need for a task force to protect the public that was comprised of them. But that wasn’t my question. I asked you why are there Heroes? Why not merely people in uniforms or armor who keep the peace? Why this system?”

Hands that were halfway up lowered quickly as the breadth of what he was asking sank in. Good: they’d learned that not every question was meant to be guessed at until the answer was hit. Sometimes reflection and contemplation were the best routes to uncovering an answer.

“Take your time,” Dean Blaine instructed. “In fact, take until next class. There are many answers that are correct in their own ways, and I’m as interested in the path your minds take as I am in their ultimate destination. Just put some real thought into it, and I bet you’ll have a theory worth sharing.”

Dean Blaine glanced up at the clock, purely for show since he wore a wristwatch on his left arm, and clucked his tongue. “Well, seeing as I just gave you your first assignment, I suppose we could either go over the syllabus a bit, or I could release you early for an extra—”

“Syllabus!” It was impossible to tell who started the cry, as it was quickly joined by many, until the word threatened to bowl Dean Blaine over. No doubt the memory of the first day’s early release their freshman year still scarred their minds. They were determined not to be tricked again.

Dean Blaine repressed a chuckle as he pulled the syllabi from his briefcase. They were definitely learning.

16.

As the students made their way into the gym, they were all surprised to discover that it was not only Professor Fletcher and Professor Pendleton awaiting them, but in fact all of their professors. Stone, Cole, Baker, and Hill were also present. Even Dean Blaine stepped through a side door, having clearly sprinted around them after his class ended to make it there. Odd as it was, they’d all been trained for three years under unusual conditions, so they did what they always did at the start of gym: fell into line and waited for instructions.

Once everyone was settled, Professor Fletcher stepped forward to address them. “I’m sure you’re all wondering why almost the entire staff is here, and I don’t intend to keep you in suspense. They’re here because I’m about to explain the senior year curriculum to you, and once I have, there’s a good chance you’re going to have some questions. Questions that I won’t be able to answer without their help. This time has been specially put aside for you all to figure things out, so don’t waste it. But I’m getting ahead of myself. First, the curriculum.”

Professor Fletcher didn’t yell or threaten the way George had; in fact, he barely ever raised his voice. He preferred to rule with a quiet, careful control that was held in place by respect and a bit of fear. The latter was only necessary with the younger classes, though. By this point, every professor had proven their skill to the students, and the ones dumb enough to ignore that fact had long ago been drummed out.

“Your freshman year, we focused almost solely on personal development. Getting your bodies strong enough to endure our classes and your minds sharp enough to actually think about how you used your powers. Sophomore year was about teamwork, because learning to coordinate with your fellow Heroes will be a skill that saves you—and them—more times than you’ll be able to count. Junior year we taught you how to fight multiple opponents, because criminals don’t politely wait their turn in the real world. This year, we bring it all together, as well as look toward what’s coming next. So, what’s your curriculum going to be? That is, for the most part, entirely up to you.”

As well-trained as the seniors were, this still elicited visible confusion and a few hushed whispers as his words sank in. Professor Fletcher allowed it for several seconds; a little fear got the adrenaline pumping and made for sharper thinking.

“Don’t worry, we’re not flinging you out on your own,” he continued at last. “Your professors will still be here to coordinate with you, setting up whatever you need for your training as well as helping to teach you along the way. But make no mistake: you are going to be in the driver’s seat for this year, and how much you improve or fall behind will be dependent upon how you spend your time. This is the end of the line. If you graduate from here, you will no longer be students. You will be Heroes, and there won’t be a set of veteran combatants on hand to tell you how to get stronger. That’s why we do the final year this way; it’s effectively what you’ll spend the rest of your life doing, only with training wheels. This is where you show us not only the sort of Hero you’d make right now, but how well you’ll grow ten, fifteen, however many years down the line.”

Confusion had given way to understanding, which had led to resolve. Now that they’d figured out the why, they were contemplating just how they would train. Professor Fletcher liked that about the older students. After they’d accepted a task, all thought immediately went to getting it done.

“But, lest you think the whole year will be one giant free-for-all, we’re also going to be testing you at regular intervals. Every month, there will be a class-wide exam. Some of these you’ll learn about early on and can plan for. Others will be a surprise. Some will allow teams to form, some will force teams at random, and some will be solo. In every exam, we will replicate situations you very well might face out in the real world. We expect you to do your best, but we don’t expect you to be perfect. What you learn from your mistakes and how they affect your training are equally as important as your actual scores. Because that is the harsh truth of being a Hero: you will make mistakes. People will die because of the wrong call you made, and worse, sometimes they’ll die because you made the right one. When those days come, you can either let the despair swallow you up, or you can work like hell so that the next time, things might just turn out differently.”

Professor Fletcher had never experienced this as a Hero, of course, but he’d seen too many missions go sideways when he worked for the company. Some units were built so perfectly that they were nearly unstoppable, like the one Transport and Numbers ran. But not every unit was like that. There were only so many Supers in the world, and of those, not everyone wanted to—or could— do what the company asked. Carl Fletcher understood what it was to make a mistake, even if he hadn’t worn a mask when he did it, and he knew how important it was that these students learn to handle their failures in a constructive way.

“Now, I’m sure you all have lots of questions, but you should save those for the people who can answer them best. Don’t try to lay out a game plan for the entire year today, just figure out what a good first step is. Your plans will change—they’ll have to—so for now, focus on getting things started. As of right now, your future as Heroes is in your own hands. Work hard, think harder, and do everything you can to get even a little bit closer to that White Cape Ceremony.”

Professor Fletcher took another look at his students, all working their brains so hard he could practically hear the gears turning inside their skulls. They’d all done well, impossibly well, to make it this far. He’d be curious to see what they could pull off when left to their own devices. If last year’s class was any indication, it would certainly be interesting.

“All right everyone, find your teacher and make a plan!”

17.

“Did… I mean… they knew this was coming, didn’t they?” Vince asked. Unlike many of the others, who had rushed forward to get in line for discussions with their teachers, Vince, Alice, Mary, Roy, and Alex all lingered in place.

“They must have,” Alice agreed. “Even if Hank didn’t train Heroes, there’s no way Roy’s… sorry, Titan, wouldn’t have known what the HCP’s senior year was.”

Amid the seniors rapidly trying to figure out what sort of training to commit themselves to, there were several who looked unworried by the sudden news. Everyone who had been at the summer training camp was surprised, certainly, but they already had a good idea of what sort of programs they needed. That had, after all, been a large part of what made up the summer training experience. Yes, there were weekly sessions with Hank or whatever Super was willing to come pitch in, and they’d certainly gotten guidance when it was needed, but for the most part, they’d been left to their own self-direction. At the time, it had seemed like nothing more than a change of pace from the usual Lander regime. Only now, facing down their final curriculum before graduation, could they understand what had actually been happening.

They’d all been given a head start. Not just on their senior year, which was useful in its own right, but on the very skills they’d need to continue training once their time in college was over. Without even realizing it was happening, they’d been taught the basics of self-education, and that, it seemed, was a lesson they’d keep leaning on for a long time to come.

Slowly, they walked over and got into line with everyone else. If their teachers were at all surprised by the number of students coming forward with well-formed, if not complete, training plans, they said nothing. After all, it was expected that everyone in the HCP would keep training over breaks. Some had just taken that a little more seriously than others.

*             *             *

“How do we do this?” Alice asked as soon as she stepped in front of Professor Pendleton. She, Britney, and Will were the only ones continuing their education in Subtlety, so unlike the other groups, they didn’t bother getting into a line. Instead, they all just clumped up around their teacher to have a general discussion. As she joined the others, Alice was almost certain she could feel the occasional glance from Professor Hill, but she pointedly ignored it. She had no regrets about her choice, and he could either deal with that or not. It was his problem. “I mean, independent education I get. I’m just not sure what I’m allowed to ask for. Subtlety depends on interacting with people and things in a different way than just kicking ass. Will you set up entire elaborate conspiracies for us to uncover?”

“Why? You think we’re running short on real ones?” Professor Pendleton replied. “I’d say that, to start off, you should each pick which aspect of Subtlety you really want to focus on and try and get better at that. For Britney, that’s obviously going to be infiltration and asset allocation—”

“That is a very fancy way to say theft,” Britney pointed out.

“In the field, we use the fancy words. It’s only thieving if you’re doing it for personal gain,” Professor Pendleton corrected.

“You’re the expert.” Alice pretended not to see the dirty look he shot her, which only made the look grow dirtier. Rather than dwelling, Professor Pendleton got back to the matter at hand.

“Anyway, Britney is going to be the best at infiltration. Will, on the other hand, should absolutely brush up on his hacking and surveillance skills. With his kind of talent and a budget for gadgets, he could create a whole secret network of surveillance.”

“That seems a tad… dystopian,” Will said.

Professor Pendleton rolled his eyes so theatrically it seemed like he would sprain them. “Sorry, did you miss the first two years, where I drove home the moral ambiguity of what we do? You didn’t seem to have any issue with hacking the security cameras of a mall when you were tailing me, so sooner or later, I think we both know you’ll go back to that well.”

Will shuffled his feet and looked away before mumbling, “That was a much smaller scale.”

“Look, the things you’ll access aren’t usually going to be permissible in a court of law—though there are some methods you can use if it comes to that—but they will net you information. Where an enemy is, if an ambush is being set up, what someone’s weaknesses might be, all the things we’ve been training for. Yes, you’re going to catch information you don’t want, that you’d prefer never to know in the first place, but that’s the price for what your talent lets you do. Remember when I said other Heroes don’t like those of us in Subtlety? There’s a reason for that. We know too many secrets. Because, every now and then, all that random intel you’ve gathered might just save a life. And you, Will Murray, are not going to shy away from the uncomfortable if you deem it necessary, so let’s at least train you to do it well.”

After a moment to consider his words, Will looked up from the floor and nodded. The professor was right; he would do whatever it took when things got serious. Especially if Jill was out in the field as well.

“And lastly, that leaves you,” Professor Pendleton said, turning to Alice. “Now, since you and Will both have some solid combat potential, I’d recommend both of you make time to work on those skills. One never knows when they will come in handy, even for our type of Hero. As for this class, you’re okay with a cypher, so I’d say keep training in that when you have the time. Overall, though, your best piece of Subtlety has always been the human element. Tricking the security guard during the tailing exam, conning your fellow competitors in the final, even picking the right person to ally with for that test. You’ve got a knack for people, which means you’ll need to hone that blade as sharp as you can get it. Britney and Will can get by using resources Lander has to train their sorts of talents, but yours is a bit trickier.”

“True. It’s not like I’ll learn much by manipulating my classmates, and messing with the professors is probably frowned upon,” Alice agreed. “And the Sims won’t be much use, either.”

“Not for that task, no,” Professor Pendleton said. “There is a tool that might do the trick, though. Thing is, since no one was expecting you to pick Subtlety, we didn’t bother requisitioning it. Could take a week or so to get it here.”

Alice made a sharp tsk sound against the back of her teeth. “Making assumptions and failing to plan ahead? You’d berate us six ways to Sunday if any of us made that mistake.”

“Which brings us to the one lesson you all need to know as Subtlety Heroes: never admit fault and always shift the blame. Remember, we must always seem to know more than everyone in the room, even if we don’t.” Professor Pendleton raised his voice, loud enough to be heard, but not so much as to seem like he was shouting. “And I just cannot believe that Dean Blaine forgot to send in those requisition forms. Let this be a lesson, students. Planning ahead is a Hero’s greatest asset.”

It spoke volumes to the self-control of the Subtlety students that none broke into giggles as Dean Blaine glared at his unapologetic subordinate.

18.

As the last of the students, Allen Wells, finished discussing the upcoming training plan with his professor, Dean Blaine clapped his hands together sharply, gathering the attention of everyone in the room, student and teacher.

“Now that the most pressing matter is completed, if you would all line up once more, there are a few things to discuss before your gym class begins in earnest.”

It took no more than those words for every student to fall back into line, waiting patiently to hear the next twist or curveball coming their way. After so long in the HCP, they’d learned to take nothing for granted and to expect surprises at every turn. This was, obviously, a very intentional part of the program and one of the elements Dean Blaine considered most crucial in their education.

“As Professor Fletcher told you earlier, there will be exams testing your progress at the end of every month this year. The more astute of you have no doubt realized that that would put your first exam at the end of next week, as August is already drawing to a close. I want to take a moment and put your minds at ease. Yes, you will absolutely be undergoing an exam next Friday.”

In previous years, before he’d really gotten the hang of it, Dean Blaine had paused between the assurance that he was putting their minds at ease and the reveal that there would indeed be a test. In younger students, it would have heightened the sense of surprise and made a bigger impact on them, but by the time they were seniors, they’d listened to him too many times to be caught off guard by a simple trick like that. This merely meant he had found another way to make them take things extra seriously.

“In previous years, we have used a first exam as something of a baseline to measure your progress with, and that will be the case this time as well. There will be no information handed out beforehand, not even whether you’ll be alone or in teams. All I can tell you is that while we will be evaluating your performance, we will not be the only ones.”

Now that perked some ears up, uncertainty taking over where stoic attention had previously resided. Some were probably guessing that the DVA would be observing, which was a fair guess given their presence in the school, but Dean Blaine had a hunch that at least a few of the smarter ones already knew where this was going.

“As you all know, at the end of the Hero Certification Program, those who graduate will begin internships under experienced Heroes. Some of you will be offered those personally; others must apply and hope they are accepted. Both are perfectly valid methods to acquire a trainer, as not every Hero takes an active role in observing potential graduates. However, if any of you do have a particular trainer you want to work under, now is the time to start impressing them. Heroes will be dropping in throughout the year to watch your exams, but I’d be lying if I said one of the biggest crowds wasn’t at the first one. This is where they decide who stands out, who is worth watching, and who won’t be a good fit. So, if anyone was thinking about taking it easy on the first test, setting a low bar for themselves to surpass, know that you do so at the possible detriment to your own future training.”

In truth, Dean Blaine knew none of the students this far along would try and lean on such cheap tricks to get by; that sort had long since been culled from the ranks. But he also knew that everyone dug a little deeper, fought a little harder when there was something tangible on the line. This would get the best out of them, and with that information, he’d truly be able to assess the growth and potential of his students. Besides, Dean Blaine was damn proud of the Supers he was molding, and every year he wanted to make sure the Heroes who attended understood just how special his kids were.

“Once the exam is done, you will all have the opportunity to meet and chat with the Heroes who attended at a nice mixer put on down here. I’d advise you to bring your best social skills to bear at this and all subsequent occasions. After all, showing promise is important, but no one wants to train someone they don’t get along with.”

Dean Blaine had seen more than a few promising students blow opportunities for the best possible training because they couldn’t keep their egos in check. Luckily, he didn’t imagine that would be much of an issue with this class. The students who most commonly fell into that trap were those at the top of the ranking, and, with the possible exception of Roy, every one of the top students were the humble sort. Of course, that had the possibility of changing soon.

“In addition to using this first exam as a way to get a baseline for you all, I should inform you that it will also be used to reassess the class’s combat ranking,” Dean Blaine continued. “Losing last year’s finals complicated many things, but we feel it’s important to have a clear picture of where you currently stand. Top of the class or down at the bottom, come next week you have the chance to completely change your ranking. The next reassessment will be on your mid-year exam, which will be your last chance to change ranks until the final. While not everyone has chosen majors that demand high ranks to graduate, the vast majority of you have, so use this opportunity wisely.”

Dean Blaine paused, intentionally giving his students a chance to absorb all that he’d thrown at them. It was a lot to start off the year with, and that was by design. Things weren’t going to get less stressful or intense when they became Heroes. They either adapted to the increase in constant pressure, or they washed out. Hero-work was not for those who feared chaos.

“Lastly, before you go, I want to talk about Hero code names. We don’t bother discussing this until senior year, since there’s no point in doing the paperwork for those who wash out, but now is the time to start thinking of what you want to call yourself. The deadline isn’t until graduation; however, those of you who make your pick early will have an easier time of it. Once you have one in mind, come see any of us and we’ll check on its availability. If it’s open, we can reserve it for you, pending graduation. If not, back to the drawing board. So far as the actual choice goes, there are many different schools of thought. Some favor a name that captures the essence of your powers, while others like things a bit more off-the-wall. In the end, my recommendation would be that you pick something with significance to you. Names have power, and the ones we choose even more so. Pick a moniker you’ll be proud to wear, even if no one understands why but you.”

Dean Blaine, the man formerly known as Zero, concluded his speech and turned to Professor Fletcher, signaling him to begin gym.

19.

“Guess I know what I’m doing with my weekend.” Vince all but fell onto a couch in the Melbrook common room, burying his head under a decorative pillow and letting out a long, frustrated grunt of air. “How the hell did I forget about picking names?”

“You did hear the part where we don’t have to choose them until the end of the year, right?” Alice said, setting her own backpack down as she, Mary, Roy, and Chad followed Vince into the dormitory. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with whatever test is coming up?”

“Sure, that worries me, but we’ve gone through three years of those. Plus, I’ve spent all summer training as hard as I can. That’s scary, but it’s a familiar kind of scary. Figuring out my Hero name… I have no idea how to even approach that.” Vince pulled his head out from under the pillow and sat up, looking at his friends. “Do you guys have any ideas for yours?”

“Don’t look this way. The only thing I’ve figured out so far is that I’m damned sure not answering to ‘Slugger,’” Roy replied. He’d tolerated that makeshift name during the attack on Lander only because of how little it had mattered compared to what was going on around them. This wasn’t the same thing, however. A Hero’s name was his brand; it was the name that got plastered on t-shirts, cheered by fans, and nervously whispered by criminals. Neither he nor Hershel had any solid ideas for one yet; they just knew it had to be good. And, ideally, not in any way related to Greek mythology—especially gods and titans.

“I’ve reserved mine, though it is inherited, not chosen,” Chad said.

This comment took exactly zero people in the room by surprise. Chad had declared long ago that he intended to redeem the name Intra, and since then, he’d made damn fine progress on doing just that. While it was nice to hear that he was making progress in acquiring the rights to wear his father’s name, it didn’t help any of the others with the problem at hand.

“Personally, I’ve been on the fence.” Alice sat down in one of the empty recliners, getting comfortable since it seemed they were going to be chewing the fat on this subject for some time to come. “Part of me wants to pick a name related to gravity somehow, you know? Since that’s how I get my powers. But on the other hand, I’m majoring in Subtlety, so I feel like I need a name that’s a little less on the nose.”

“How about ‘The Cheek’?” Mary suggested.

Alice tried to hit her with a pillow, which the smaller woman deftly dodged. “Sorry, sorry. Nick isn’t here, so someone had to say it,” Mary quickly explained.

“What about you, little Miss Smartass?” Alice said, lowering her feather-stuffed weapon but not releasing it entirely. “Got any ideas for your own name?”

“I… hadn’t given it much thought,” Mary admitted, though her pause and momentarily downcast eyes pricked Alice’s curiosity. “Maybe I’ll just use the one from last summer. ‘Short Brain’ isn’t so bad.”

“Maybe not, but it ain’t that great, either,” Roy pointed out. “And your name is something important. It’s what will outlive you, the foundation that everything you do and inspire will be built upon. Dean Blaine hit the nail on the head earlier: even if no one else gets it, your name should mean something to you.”

“Plus,” Vince said, his voice a touch quieter than it had been before, “do you really want to take a name from that night?”

“I get the appeal there,” Alice countered. “Painful, terrible as that night was, it was also the first time we all acted as Heroes. That matters, all the more so because no one made us. I can see why Mary might draw strength from that memory.” Alice paused, considering her closest friend carefully. “That said, Short Brain is still a pretty shitty name.”

“Guess that puts me in the same boat as the rest of you,” Mary replied. “What’s your plan, Vince? Have a think-tank session until we brainstorm good names for all of us?”

“I actually didn’t have a plan,” Vince said. “Aside from worrying and trying really hard to think something up this weekend.”

“Never going to happen.” Alice had pulled out her phone to check the time. They had an hour or so before all but the latest classes were dismissed and the first weekend of the school year officially dawned on Lander. “Come on, I can’t be the only one to see this coming. It’s Friday—the first Friday of our last year here—and also the only time we’re all guaranteed to be off. Unless Supper with Supers has you two coming in already?”

Vince shook his head. “We’re supposed to show up next Tuesday to get our hours for the year.”

“That’s what I thought,” Alice said. “And Six-Shooter isn’t scheduled to have its grand reopening for another two weeks. That leaves us completely free, with no ready excuses, and a whole weekend of time to kill. Do I really have to spell this out for you?”

Of all people, it was Roy who caught her meaning first. “Son of a bitch… Nick’s going to try and corral us into watching slasher flicks, isn’t he?”

“The only things you can count on: death, taxes, and our friend’s insatiable appetite for torturing us with C-movie gore-fests.” Alice slipped the phone back into her pocket, praying it wouldn’t vibrate with a call for at least a few minutes. They had to strategize. “If we want to fend him off, the only thing he’ll respect is other—better—plans. So we need to figure out something to do with our Friday night, and fast.”

“Forgive me, I don’t know Nick as well as the rest of you, but couldn’t you just tell him no?” Chad asked.

The rest of the room looked at each other sheepishly, not quite certain how to explain things. Finally, Vince gave up all hope of finding the right words and just plowed forward as only he could. “We’ve tried that. Lots of times, in fact. Somehow, it just never seems to work. I don’t know if it’s how relentless he is or if he just tricks us into it, but way more often than not we start off objecting and end up watching beheaded scarecrow goblins battle rugged townsfolk anyway.”

Chad tilted his head slightly, a small gesture they’d learned to interpret as surprise. “That example is hypothetical, I assume?”

“I wish,” Mary muttered darkly. “It’s the Headless Corn Goblin franchise, and so far, he’s made us watch four out of the eleven films.”

“Twelve,” Roy corrected. The uncertain stares leveled his way drew out a stammering explanation without request. “Um, Hershel… noticed they put a new one out last month. By accident. Just happened to see an ad.”

“So there are twelve of these films,” Chad surmised, mercifully breezing over Roy’s half-hearted deception. “Perhaps Alice is right. A counter-strategy might indeed be in order.”

“Start tossing out those ideas, people,” Alice demanded. “By my count, we’ve got less than an hour until Nick makes his move.”

20.

Nick strode up to Melbrook Hall with his backpack slung neatly over a single shoulder. Inside was a selection of some of the schlockiest cinema ever recorded on DVD. By now, they’d all be out of class, no doubt planning to piss their few free days away on something like training or studying. It was his solemn duty as their friend to make sure they didn’t waste this opportunity to rot their minds and rest their bodies. Plus, it did give him a bit of a thrill hearing them groan at the pathetic attempts at special effects that permeated his movies.

Pressing the doorbell, Nick heard the expected footsteps hurrying forward to let him in—most likely Vince, whose sense of decency demanded he not leave guests waiting outside. Coming by Melbrook wasn’t the sort of thing Nick liked to make a habit of, even if he had spent the first part of last year laying the cover story for why he was friends with the others again. They were watched too closely, and it put him on edge to be in the heart of their surveillance. Still, that was exactly why he’d made a point of swinging by on occasion. If he showed fear, he showed knowledge, and that really would pique the wrong people’s attention.

To his surprise—the first of the night, but certainly not the last—it wasn’t Vince who opened the door. Instead, Alice appeared before him, dressed in a sparkling green blouse and black pants. She smirked mischievously as she caught him taking her in, both analyzing the outfit she’d donned and pausing to appreciate it. Something was amiss, that much was evident. By now, she and all the others should be dressed down in sweatpants, or at least still wearing their normal clothes from the day’s activities.

“Oh, my, what a surprise. Nick has dropped by. And by the bulging bag over his shoulder, I bet he’s come with a bunch of terrible horror movies that none of us will want to watch.” Alice opened the door wider to allow him in, all the while spitting out words drenched in sarcasm.

While he’d been momentarily taken aback, Nick quickly pieced things together as he stepped through the door. So, they’d finally mounted a counterattack. It had only taken them three years; although to be fair, he had gone out of his way to try and keep his methodology unpredictable.

Alice slid the door closed, turning to face him with her smile now widened into a full-blown grin. “Unfortunately, we’ve already got plans for this evening,” she said, crooking a finger and leading him into the living room. “By sheer chance, we discovered that there’s going to be a mixer and movie event at the local multiplex: reasonably priced booze and classic films of all genres for people to enjoy on the big screen. Funny, though, pretty sure none of the movies you’ve ever shown us made the cut.”

“My, what are the odds you’d uncover something like that,” Nick said, playing along as he set his backpack down on the couch. The others weren’t around, which was understandable. Only Alice knew how to clean up quickly, and from the way she was dressed, she’d likely ordered everyone else to step up their usual sneaker-and-jean ensembles. “It’s so niche and out of the way. Why, you’d practically have needed to be scouring the internet for any event happening this evening. Probably at the last minute.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Alice replied.

Nick put up his hands, signaling defeat. “Okay, you win. No bad movies tonight. As long as everyone is relaxing and enjoying themselves, I’m happy. Not as happy as if I was tormenting them with choppy video cuts of cheaply-made fake blood, but still happy. What were they going to do before you convinced them to go to the movies, anyway?”

“Probably spend the whole night worrying about what our Hero names will be.” Alice set herself down on the couch’s armrest, barely altering her height as she rested. “We were told the deadline is the end of the year today, so naturally, everyone started panicking. Well, mostly Vince, but we all jumped on board pretty quick.”

“Vince is good with anything that involves morality or punching,” Nick said. “The heavy thinking stuff, not as much. I’ve got a couple of ideas for what he could call himself, but I think I’ll wait a few months before making any suggestions. If he finds something on his own, it will be a lot more powerful.”

“Oh yeah? What about me? Got any good suggestions?”

“Was ‘Princess’ already taken?” Nick’s quip earned him a quick jab to the ribs, which he laughed off despite the power it packed. Alice was getting stronger, both with her ability and attacks. While there hadn’t been enough direct combat during their summer training to know for sure, he imagined she could probably take out a good chunk of their class. He’d have paid good money to sneak down and watch whatever trial the HCP was throwing them through next.

“Not funny. I would listen to any serious input you’ve got, though. I looked through a bunch of terms relating to gravity, but none of them felt right,” Alice admitted. “Unless my goal was to confuse and frustrate everyone who tried to say my name, which might be a good technique for pissing off criminals.”

“Trust me, don’t go down that road.” Nick took a seat as well, thinking back to all the times they’d talked about Heroes in Vegas. “If your real name is remotely tough, the bad guys just give you a nickname. Not usually a good-spirited one, either. Granted, they do that no matter what, but the mean ones tend to stick to the Heroes whose real names are hard to say.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Alice replied. “Which leaves me at square one, in the same place as Vince.”

“Let’s be fair, I think you’ve got a leg up on him with figuring this stuff out,” Nick told her. “And clearly at speed-dressing as well. Where the hell is everybody, anyway?”

“Don’t remind me.” Alice rubbed the sides of her temples slowly, battling back the beginnings of a headache trying to settle in. “Between those three boys and Mary, it took longer to help them choose outfits than to find where we were going. Speaking of which, this thing is supposed to be a bit nice. I can’t very well be seen out with someone wearing that, now can I?”

Nick glanced down at the flip-flops, shorts, and t-shirt he’d walked over in. For a night of horror movies, it was a good fit, but it fell short of anything he’d ever wear when trying to impress. Especially if Alice expected him to be on her arm throughout the evening.

With a quick motion, Nick dug his cell phone out of his pocket and hit the third number on the speed dial. “Eliza, I need you to bring me a change of clothes. My evening has taken an interesting turn, and I’d like to dress for the occasion.”

21.

Alex was the last to arrive, meeting his friends at the multiplex only after squeezing in an extra hour of practice. While everyone had been changed in some sense or another by the attack on Lander, Alex had been impacted in a very measureable way. In all the previous training he’d done, all the tests he’d taken, Alex had always imagined himself as a member of a Hero team. His powers might not be enough to take on every Super directly, but as a support member, he could knock out the easy ones and help his teammates win victories of their own. It wasn’t an easy path—he’d known reaching graduation with his level of strength would be a long shot—but it was what he believed he could do.

That all changed the night Sasha was killed in front of him. For the first time, Alex saw what it was like to be too weak on the battlefield, to come up lacking when the stakes were high. He wasn’t strong enough, and it had cost his friend her life. Alex still wasn’t certain he’d reach graduation; there were too many powerful people in his class to be sure of making the cut. All he knew was that, no matter what, he never wanted to feel that way—to fail someone he cared about—again.

Now, with his extra training done, Alex tried to push the more serious thoughts out of his mind for the evening. There were classic movies, friends, and reasonably-priced cocktails he could buy using his actual driver’s license, as he’d finally cleared the legal drinking age. Determination was important, but Star Wars had long ago shown Alex the dangers of losing sight of what mattered. Even if some of the story did take place in the Movies Which Shall Not Be Named.

He breezed through the door, pausing to make sure the collar on his polo was laying down flat, then did a quick scan of the room. Most of the people were young—no surprise in a college town—and Alex would wager the vast majority attended Lander. The digital display on the ticket kiosk was only displaying the posters for five films, all of which were due to begin in the next half hour. The concession stand was still selling popcorn, though a portable cooler and keg betrayed the fact that tonight there were more adult options than just soda.

Tempted as he was to grab a drink, Alex prioritized finding his friends first. A quick scan of the attendees’ minds led him to their location, clustered together near one of the makeshift tables scattered about the room.

Everyone from Melbrook was present, along with Nick, Shane, and Camille. Mary was the first to notice him, of course, giving a brief wave as he approached the table. She slid to the side, jostling Roy slightly out of the way to make room for Alex. After the customary round of welcomes was exchanged, Alex turned to the older Daniels brother, a touch confused.

“Didn’t Hershel want to come tonight? It’s nice to see you and all, but old movies are usually his scene.”

“Yeah, I thought the same thing,” Roy agreed. He gave his wide shoulders a heavy shrug, rustling the button-down draped across his toned torso. “But he said he’s got a lot to do this weekend, so I should come out and have fun.”

That was about as settled as the matter could get in such a public place, so Alex allowed it to drop, turning the discussion to the more pressing task at hand. “Okay, then. I know I’m way late, so did you already pick what movie we’re going to see?”

“It’s a hotly contested issue,” Alice replied. “They’ve got the original Star Puncher, but we’ve all seen that thanks to last year’s release, so we’d like to do something new. Not sure if you recognize all the movies up there, but there’s a black-and-white romance, an old college comedy, some Oscar-bait piece-of-shit no one wants to see, an old-school horror flick, and, obviously, Star Puncher.”

“They do put out a good selection,” Nick noted. “Something for people of any taste.”

“But not one that appeals to everyone,” Shane added. “Alice and Chad are angling for the romance, while Nick, Roy, and I all want to see the original zombie movie, which Alice so callously referred to as an ‘old-school horror flick.’ And Vince, Camille, and Mary all prefer comedy.”

Alex turned a surprised gaze to Chad. “Really? You want to watch the romance?”

Chad sipped lightly from his soda, a drink Alex knew without asking didn’t contain any extra additions. “It is an artful and well-crafted genre. My mother used to rent them frequently when I was a child, so I acquired a bit of a taste.”

“To each his own,” Alex replied. “Well, why not just split up and let everyone go see what they want? It’s a movie; you’re not going to be talking during it, anyway.”

“We considered that,” Vince said. “But it seemed sort of anti-social. We did come here together, after all.”

“Fine. Then, let’s do it this way. Everyone, raise your hand if you’ve already seen the romance movie,” Alex demanded.

Chad, Camille, Alice, and, after a long moment of hesitation, Nick, raised their hands.

“Something you’d like to tell us?” Alice asked, the wicked glint in her eye making it clear she was not letting this die anytime soon.

“I was a child, too; I didn’t always get to pick what was watched on movie night.” Nick didn’t bother mentioning that Gerry, softy that he was, tended to pick those movies both to entertain and educate young Nicholas on the basics of charm and courtship.

“That’s four. What about the comedy?” Alex said, skipping right over Alice and Nick’s discussion. With those two, one had to barrel forward or the conversation could be knocked permanently off course. Mary, Nick, Camille, and Shane all raised their hands this time. “And lastly, the zombie movie?”

This time, it was only Shane, Nick, and Roy with their hands in the air. “Secondhand,” Roy said, offering up a half-hearted explanation.

“Okay then, so it looks like the zombie-movie wins,” Alex declared. “The fewest people have seen it, so if we all have to go into the same film, it will be a new experience for the most people. That work, or do you want to revisit splitting up?”

“Just tell me it isn’t a low-budget gore-fest,” Alice said.

“The effects haven’t aged super well, but the story is a classic that launched a genre,” Shane told her.

“Ipso facto, it’s nothing like the schlock I subject you all to,” Nick added.

“Guess that’ll have to be good enough.” Alice tipped her red cocktail back, draining the rest of her glass in a single gulp. She set the empty container carefully down on the table. “Just let me get another drink first. If I’m doing old horror, I at least deserve a buzz.”

22.

There were a lot of things Dean Blaine didn’t care for with regard to the renovation of his school—dozens of DVA agents scampering about being highest on the list. Still, that didn’t mean he hated every aspect of it, and as he rode a lift down past the dozens of floors set aside for training, he found himself grateful that they’d given him a bit of say on what other improvements could stand to be made. As he arrived at his destination, the doors opened, dozens of biometric scanners making sure he was actually the dean and not just some Super with an illusion or mimicry in place. The purpose of his visit was banal, but the wrong person with this equipment could spread the sort of misinformation that would cause a lot of damage.

Before him, a soft light flickered and filled the large room. Four figures materialized at the conference table, waiting for him. They were projections, nothing more, but full-body ones that made teleconferencing almost indistinguishable from meeting with people in person. Across the nation, in four rooms just like this, the other HCP deans were seated, seeing a projection of him walking into the room. Dean Blaine quietly made his way over and sat in his chair, turning on the tablet built into the table.

While some might have seen a super-secret teleconference room as overkill (and they weren’t entirely off base), the assault of Lander had illustrated the importance of staff being on hand at their respective campuses as much as possible, especially the deans. In previous years, these discussions would have taken place with everyone flying to meet in one dean’s HCP, but this allowed them to replicate the experience without leaving their schools weakened. It seemed a touch paranoid; however, paranoia was the name of the game after what had happened in May. Being caught unaware once was a mistake. Twice would be unforgivable.

“Blaine, so nice of you to finally join us. Kathleen and Margaret were both on the verge of slipping out to grab cocktails.” The man who spoke was lean and wiry, with a perfectly groomed mustache stealing the focus of his entire face.

Across the table, a woman with copper hair and matching eyes flipped up the finger. “Blow it out your ass, Wesley. You were the one wanting to sneak a nip. Maggie doesn’t touch the stuff, and I was smart enough to bring my own with me.” She held up a clear bottle with golden liquid sloshing about inside.

Dean Blaine resisted the urge to put his head in his hands and start massaging his forehead. Instead, he calmly cleared his throat and turned to the woman removing a cork from a bottle. “Dean Bishop, I’m quite certain the rules for these rooms dictate that no food or drink is to be brought inside.” Though, truth be told, Dean Blaine was dearly wishing he’d thought to bring something for himself. Maybe next time. “And, Dean Fox, please stop teasing Dean Bishop. She might not be here to throttle you in person, but we both know she’s not above booking a plane ticket.”

Dean Fox—the man with the immaculate mustache—looked over at Dean Bishop, who was drawing her thumb across her neck in an exaggerated gesture. “Just trying to keep things interesting,” he muttered, a small concession the group had long ago learned to take as an apology.

“Blaine, if you get the chance to talk with the tech people, I’d love to have someone install a mute function on these things.” This time the speaker was a towering man, hair more gray than black, with the sort of imposing aura that made people unconsciously avoid touching him even in the most crowded of public settings.

“Request noted, Dean Jackson. In all honesty, though, I doubt it will be approved. Too prone to abuse, especially with certain parties.” All eyes in the room didn’t exactly swivel toward Dean Fox, though many side-eyed glances were certainly sent his way.

“Blaine, how long are you going to keep up the formality? We all know we’re deans. You can drop the prefix.” This speaker was a woman who seemed wholly unremarkable, save for the streak of green running through her hair. There were no flowers growing out of it today, but given her relaxed dress and abundance of beads, it fit well with the image of the aging hippie she projected. It was a real stance, not a mere affectation, although she’d had to jettison ideas of peace more times than she could count in her Hero days.

“Formality is important,” Dean Blaine replied. “Especially in these circumstances. I know you prefer a more relaxed atmosphere, Dean Silva, but given what we have gathered here to discuss, I intend to stick with our proper titles.”

“Blaine, did no one tell you?” Dean Bishop leaned forward, smiling with the sort of grin that set a criminal’s fear response into overdrive. “We got them to get rid of the auto-recording feature. These meetings aren’t being logged.”

“They aren’t? Well, thanks be to the god of educators, whoever they might be.” Dean Blaine leaned back in his chair, loosening the tie around his neck and getting in a good stretch. “You lot could have told me that earlier, you know.”

“We figured you were in the loop,” Dean Jackson replied. “You are the one who got the DVA to agree to make these things.”

“Yes, well, things got a bit hectic after that. I haven’t had the chance to keep abreast of every change.” Dean Blaine punched a few buttons on the tablet, bringing up the schedule for this month’s HCP dean meeting. While most educators didn’t need to share information so frequently, the ever-shifting nature of their world meant that regularly comparing notes was an invaluable practice. Learning about new powers, unknown facets of existing ones, and how to properly train said powers made it well worth the three hours set aside every month for this task. Plus, Dean Blaine found it was nice to talk to the only other people in the world who understood what his job was like.

“Now then, looks like we’ve got the normal stuff for the first of the year, with the new freshman ability discussion taking up the bulk of our time. We’ve also got a new defense protocol comparison to see who has the best practices in place, and for the rest of us to replicate them. But it looks like the top of the list…” Dean Blaine trailed off as he read the listed bullet, and then glanced up to the faces of his colleagues.

“Isn’t it far too early for that?”

“New DVA policy,” Dean Bishop informed him. “We have to choose early enough for them to tack on all kinds of extra security and arrange replacements while we’re gone. Nothing left to chance. Not anymore.”

“I suppose that’s a fair concern,” Dean Blaine said, tapping the bullet and bringing up several documents full of information. “In that case, it seems the first issue on today’s docket is one we have annually. Which school will play host to this year’s Intramurals?”

23.

“Let’s see, no one has had more than seven years elapse since hosting, so there’s no automatic choice,” Dean Blaine said, skimming through the digital document displayed on his tablet. “West Private has gone the longest without hosting, so Maggie, you get to pick the game. I’ll ask you to please not go with something as long as Risk again. Some of us would like to get at least a little sleep this weekend.”

When Intramurals had first started, the schools hosted on a simple rotating schedule that gave every institution the burden of organizing the event and the advantage of an extra student’s participation. It hadn’t taken long for someone to point out the flaw in that system: namely that it was predictable. Anything that could be anticipated was dangerous, because someone with a bit of inside knowledge could leverage that information maliciously. After all, if one knew where Intramurals were taking place, they could mount an attack to try and take out an entire crop of the most promising Heroes. Dean Blaine had considered the practice of randomly changing schools as overkill until last year.

The system now in place was a simple one: every year, the deans played a game, and the winner would host Intramurals at their school. Whichever school had gone the longest without hosting got to pick the contest to give them an advantage, and if any HCP went more than seven years without hosting, they were automatically selected for that year. It wasn’t entirely fair, but it was as close as they could manage while still keeping things somewhat unpredictable.

“Actually, Blaine, the others and I had a talk about this already. I don’t think a game is really necessary.” Dean Silva momentarily shed her peaceful, relaxed demeanor as the topic turned serious. When meeting her, many students often took their dean to be something of a wispy pushover. That impression was spectacularly short-lived: there were few more dangerous or more merciless on the battlefield than Margaret Silva.

“Oh? There hasn’t been a consensus in over a decade. What’s the occasion?” Technically, all the deans could skip the game if they felt there was good reason to host at a certain school. Generally, these occasions were reserved for celebrating milestones or highly unusual events. Seeing as Dean Blaine had been warned of no such things, he had a sneaking suspicion what they were building toward. Best to let them say it, though; no point in seeming presumptuous.

“The occasion is that some insane bastards attacked one of our schools.” Dean Jackson didn’t sound measurably angrier as he spoke, though anyone with a sense of self-preservation could sense the violence radiating from his voice. “They declared war on us, tried to drag down the very names of Heroes and the HCP. It was a message, and we want to send one right back.”

“What Herbert’s trying to say is that, since Lander was attacked last year, we think you should host Intramurals again,” Dean Bishop said. “We want everyone, from the DVA to whatever pathetic pieces of shit might be spying on our schools, to know that we’re not afraid. More than that, that we have complete trust in you and in Lander’s security.”

“That is… forgive me, I’m finding myself lacking for words,” Dean Blaine stammered. “The sentiment, and your support, mean more to me than I have the skill to articulate. But are you sure you want to do this? We did just host last year, and giving us the fourth student two years in a row seems an unfair advantage, especially just to send a message to such a limited audience.”

“The audience is bigger than you might realize,” Dean Fox said. For once, the teasing manner was gone. In its place was the shrewd mind of one of the Hero world’s most dangerous telepaths. Wesley Fox was the only Subtlety Hero in the history of the HCP to gain a position as dean, likely because he was as powerful with a bit of information as he was with his telepathy and telekinesis—which was extremely. “And like they said, it isn’t so much about Lander as it is the program as a whole. It’s important they know we stand beside one another. Things are still in turmoil above our heads; solidarity is one of the most potent weapons we can wield.”

Dean Blaine listened well to Wesley’s counsel, as any intelligent person would. He’d hoped that Senator Malcolm’s sacrifice would be enough to assure them safety; however, until his successor was officially chosen, they had no measure of true security. The Hero Certification Program had always existed in a precarious position, balanced delicately among the DVA, the host schools, and the Heroes running the show. If one side pushed for more power, the others would have to yield or push back, and if they chose the latter the whole thing might come tumbling down. Some manner of facility would still exist in the end, but it wouldn’t be the HCP they knew and loved.

“I see. We show that we, as the deans, are united, and it makes it less likely that the DVA will try to shove one of us out.” Though Dean Blaine spoke in generalities, he knew they were all perfectly aware of who the most likely to get fired was. After all, none of the others had allowed a deadly attack to befall their campus.

“Wesley wanted to mail them a shoebox full of dogshit, but we felt like this was a better way to go,” Margaret added.

“What on earth would a shoebox of dogshit have accomplished?” Dean Blaine asked, turning to the dark-skinned man with the immaculate mustache.

Dean Fox gave a half-hearted shrug, his ever-present smirk back in its usual spot. “It would have made me laugh. Especially if someone actually tried to make a thing out of it. Can you imagine one of those stuffy suits showing up to a boardroom, shoebox of dog turds stuffed under his arm as evidence, demanding to know who kept sending him pallets loaded with shit?”

“Pallets?” Dean Blaine raised an eyebrow and squinted slightly, just as he would if he were questioning a student.

“We got bored waiting for you. The original idea kind of snowballed,” Dean Bishop admitted.

Dean Blaine coughed into his hand to mask a sudden onset of very undignified chuckling, fooling precisely zero people at the table. Once he’d finally composed himself, he made a few taps on his tablet before speaking. “I want you all to know that I appreciate this gesture. I consider hosting Intramurals one year after the attack as spitting in the eye of every member of the Sons of Progress who hoped to drag us down, and I know you all feel the same. Please know that I will do everything in my power to protect you, and, more importantly, your students. Does anyone have anything else to add before we close this agenda item?”

“Yeah, you’d best all get your students as well-trained as possible,” Dean Bishop said. “Because I’ve got some real shit-kickers in my lineup this year.”

“Bring it on,” Dean Fox replied. “We’re not short on contenders at Korman, either.”

“Must have been something in the water way back when, because my class isn’t exactly full of pushovers,” Dean Silva added.

Dean Jackson didn’t contribute to the bluster, which wasn’t much of a surprise. He preferred to let his actions, or those of his students, do their own speaking. It was an attitude that Dean Blaine admired, even if he hadn’t always adhered to it himself. Still, as he closed out the agenda item and brought up their next one, a small smile made its way onto his normally stoic face.

He really hoped the other deans weren’t just blowing smoke about their classes being strong. Otherwise, they wouldn’t stand a chance against whichever students Lander brought to the table.

24.

“I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but that actually wasn’t as bad as I expected.” Alice was as surprised as anyone to hear the words leave her mouth; she’d gone into the zombie film expecting more cheap effects and a half-hearted plot. And while the effects certainly weren’t stellar by modern standards, the plot had managed to make up for it. After so many terrible films screened by Nick, she’d nearly forgotten that the genre possessed good movies.

“It was interesting,” Mary agreed. “And I like that they didn’t try to shoehorn in a Super angle. Seems like most of the modern ones like to use deranged or mutated Supers as the default monsters.”

“That’s a modern trend,” Shane told her. “The older films usually pretend Supers don’t even exist. If they were in them, too many of the problems would be easily solved. Unless you make them the bad guy, of course.”

The conversation continued as they made their way through the lobby, merging with the tail end of a crowd from another showing in a bottleneck near the door. At first, no one was quite certain what the holdup was; they merely took it to be a human traffic jam. However, as they drew nearer to the outside, they began to make out a small group of people stopping those exiting and thrusting clipboards toward them.

“It ain’t even an election year. What the hell are these people out campaigning for?” Roy said, peering over the heads of those in front of him as they made their way forward.

“They’re… oh. Well, this is going to be unpleasant.” Mary had tilted her head as she tried to single out the thoughts of those with the clipboards, and a sour look appeared on her face when she found them. Moments later, a similar expression came over Alex’s face, though his was tinged with anger. Neither could say anything, as they were surrounded on all sides by civilians. All they could do was trust the self-control of their friends.

“Take back Lander!” It was impossible to tell which of the people this first call—or most of the ones that followed—came from. The group was all young—likely students at the college from their age range—and wearing identical homemade t-shirts with the letters “HCP” and a line drawn through them. Their cries rang through the open air as people made their way out of the multiplex, assaulting the ears of everyone in their vicinity.

“Get rid of the HCP!”

“Make Lander safe for humans!”

“Sign our petition to kick out the HCP.”

“Don’t let Supers draw us into another attack.”

At the last cry, Nick noticed Alex’s fist clench up. He put a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder. Together, they plowed past the group, ignoring them completely as they called out for more people to join their cause. The sole consolation to their experience was that almost every other person in the crowd was doing the exact same thing, brushing aside the unwanted advances of these advocates without so much as acknowledging them. Unfortunately, it was not a unanimous sentiment. Some did pause to talk with them, and even signed their petitions.

One particularly bold boy with curly blond hair bounded over and thrust a clipboard toward Alice, who was at the edge of their group. “Good evening. Would you like to sign our petition to force the HCP off campus, making Lander safe for the rest of us?”

She found his cheerful tone disconcerting, since it was paired with such a toxic sentiment. Still, Alice was a Subtlety major now, officially, and she betrayed nothing of how much she’d like to hurl him in the air as she reached forward.

“Gladly,” Alice said, yanking the clipboard away from the boy’s firm grip. Her own smile was dazzling, charming the young man so much he didn’t even notice what she was writing until she handed his petition back to him.

“Thank you very much, Miss…” He glanced at the clipboard for the first time, and his cheery demeanor seemed to falter. “…‘Go Fuck Yourself.’ Hey, this is an official document. You can’t—”

His voice fell away as Alice merely turned and continued walking, no longer deigning to acknowledge his existence. For a brief moment, he started forward, as if he were going to have his say regardless, but Vince and Roy repositioned themselves behind her. While neither made so much as a step in his direction, their stares and well-trained bodies made it clear that he was courting violence, and if he tried hard enough he might snare it. They were technically neutered in this situation, but the would-be activist didn’t know that. Moments later, he rejoined his own group as they shouted at more passersby.

“I thought Dean Blaine told us the students were on our side,” Vince said once they were finally away from the crowd and heading toward their cars.

“The student body has somewhere upward of thirty thousand people in it. You’re going to have some dissenting opinions in a group that large,” Nick told him. “Luckily, it looks like the dicks are in the vast minority. Pretty much no one was giving them the time of day, which is probably why they’ve had to start staking out party events to have a shot at getting more followers.”

“It is an unfortunate truth that there is no such thing as universal adoration,” Chad said. “Even should we graduate, there will be people who hate us. Some for what we do, or fail to do, others for merely having the gifts we were born with. This, just as much as the danger and violence, is part of what it means to be a Hero.”

“You pretty much stole the words right out of my mouth,” Shane said. “Though I’m curious how you already know that.”

“My mother was… not always supportive of my career choice,” Chad admitted. “She insisted that if I go down this path, I would have to know exactly what I was getting myself into.”

“Look, don’t let those shitheads drag down what has been an otherwise fun night.” Nick turned around to face the group, walking backwards without so much as bothering to glance over his shoulder. “That’s exactly what they’d want to happen. Instead, let’s keep the train rolling. There’s a new spot over on Main Street that mixed a fifties-style diner with a bar. They even have milkshakes, alcoholic and boring. What’s say we hit that up and forget all about those fuckwads?”

While the group did eventually agree to follow Nick to the next destination, none of them were quite able to forget about the unexpected detour in their evening. It weighed on their minds, along with the one question none of them had dared to ask out loud:

If those petitions got traction, could the HCP be kicked out of Lander?

25.

Globe stood just outside the small room in their current warehouse, easing the door shut carefully as he exited. Inside, Quentin had finally fallen asleep, and Globe had no desire to wake him. He had muted the sound of the door before it could ever reach their youngest member’s slumbering ears, but some habits died harder than others.

“Kid finally down?” Persephone asked, reading a tattered novel on a threadbare chair nearby.

“He’s hardly a kid anymore. All too soon he’ll hit the teen years, and from there they grow like wildfire,” Globe replied.

“Of us all, you’d be the expert.” Persephone lowered the book and glanced at the door. While they all took turns looking after Quentin, Gerard and Globe always seemed to make a little extra time for the boy. With the latter, she wasn’t sure if it was out of concern for him or because he simply missed his own adopted son. “How many stray Supers have you picked up off the streets in total, anyway?”

“To be fair, Gerard is the one who found Quentin. And Vince was technically a Powered,” Globe said.

“Hard to imagine Vince like that.” Though she hadn’t seen him since their fight at the end of freshman year, she could still recall the bright blue eyes brimming with determination. “I bet he was a sweet kid. Probably why you took him in.”

Globe smiled at the idea, seating himself on a couch with busted springs across from Persephone. “I think you’d have been surprised.”

*             *             *

Keep moving. That was the key to survival, to holding on to the few meager scraps of life he still possessed. Just keep moving. Stay out of sight, keep to the shadows of the world. As long as Globe was dead, then he could endure another day. The moment anyone learned differently, there would be no more escape.

Sometimes, in the flickering light of his dying makeshift fires, he dreamed of more. He couldn’t be the only one. There had to be others. If he could find them, unite them… then maybe, working together…

Those thoughts never panned out, of course. Even if he had others, there was no way forward. Nothing made sense. He had no idea who to trust. Not anymore. It was all too much, too big. He’d never been much for thinking or scheming—that was what Subtlety Heroes were for. No, when he’d worn the costume, he’d only known how to handle the problems right in front of him. That was what he excelled at. Those problems were so far away now. He didn’t know how to find them, or what to do even if he could.

Moving silently, binding the sound before it could echo off his feet, he turned into an alley behind a sandwich shop. Despite it being summer, the weather was freezing thanks to a now-captured Super some towns over mucking with the ecosystem. The cold air bit him through the long red coat, so tattered, stained, and beaten it wasn’t even recognizable as part of Globe’s outfit. He could have fixed it up with a thought or thrown it away to secure his safety, but he’d never been able to bring himself to do either. Patching it was too great a risk, and casting it off too much sacrifice. He’d already lost almost everything else. All he had left were this, a watch, and the desire not to die.

With a bit of effort, he warmed the air around him, pushing back the worst of the cold. According to local estimates, in a few days’ time snow would begin to fall, and by then he needed to be out of this town. He’d already lingered longer than was safe. His silent steps moved closer to the dumpster that was nestled in the small alleyway, and for the first time, he noticed that sounds were echoing from inside of it.

Rats, probably—a nuisance, but easily dealt with. His right hand, the only one he had left, gripped the lid of the dumpster and hoisted it upward. What greeted him was not, in fact, the scurrying of rodents, but rather a flash of silver and a small fist swinging at him.

The attack was easily dodged, as the arm throwing it was so thin it was amazing that the limb could swing at all. He peered down into the dumpster, realizing that he’d stumbled upon a young boy, one so emaciated that he seemed more like flesh wrapped around a skeleton than a real person. In his hands were the half-rotted remains of a sandwich, and as the man who’d once been Globe watched, the boy gobbled it down hurriedly, completely ignoring the mold and stink coming off of it.

“S-s-stay away.” He scampered to the far end of the dumpster, words coming out through chattering teeth. As much as the older man had considered his own coat derelict, it had nothing on the boy’s attire. He wore shorts and a t-shirt that were both barely maintaining their shape, just a few rips away from being rags. Between the thin coverings and the lack of fat on his body, it wasn’t surprising that he’d taken shelter in a dumpster. Truthfully, it was amazing he was alive at all.

There was no question on what he should do. Close the lid, maybe bring by some food to ease his guilt, then hurry on his way. If he was lucky, the child wouldn’t remember him, and he’d pass through without leaving any trail. That was the smart play. But, as he knew too well already, he’d never been a particularly smart man.

“Come on,” he said, reaching out his hand slowly. “Let’s get you to the nearest shelter. You need to be somewhere safe before the snowfall starts.”

The boy swiped at his hand, more like a cat striking with claws than a human. “C-can’t. Will c-c-call f-f-foster.”

Despite his better judgment, Globe widened the area of warmth, easing the boy’s shivering by a few degrees. He hoped the kid wouldn’t notice, but there was only so much time he could spend watching someone shake violently. “Foster homes are nice. They’re warm, and there’s food.”

Even while his body calmed, the boy’s head shook violently. “Not for me. I’m Powered.”

And with that, it all fell into place. Really, he should have seen it sooner. The silver hair, the fear of human contact, the fact that he’d chosen to be out here instead of inside a warm shelter. Of course he was a Powered. Life was hard enough for the ones that had homes and loved ones. If this one was on his own…

“Do you have parents?” As he asked the question, he knew the answer, but part of him hoped that he’d somehow be wrong.

That hope was dashed as the boy shook his head again and whispered a single word: “Never.”

“And what about the foster people you were with? Did they throw you out?”

“Ran. Mean. Not first. But… I burned things. Called me monster. Always hurt people. Always a monster.” As the boy shrank in on himself, arms wrapped around his boney legs, an arc of electricity shot off him, hitting the edge of the metal dumpster. It never made it to the man, who killed the power surge with a single thought, but the boy’s eyes still grew wide with terror as he waited, presumably for a shriek of pain followed by more anger.

“It’s okay. I’m fine. I promise.” He should leave. He should get the kid some clothes and food, and then haul ass out of town as quickly as he could. Sooner or later, someone else would find the child—someone who wouldn’t care about the fact that he was a Powered, and a dangerous one at that. They would take him in. They would make sure he was safe and warm. All he had to do was trust that someone else would handle this problem.

But, if Globe were the kind of person who could do that, he would never have become a Hero in the first place.

“Do you have a name?”

“Vince. I think. Last people yelled it.”

“Vince. That’s a nice name. Do you have a last one?”

Vince’s head leaned back as he tried to remember, but he eventually gave up. “No.”

“That’s okay. I don’t have one either. Got rid of it.” Though his hand was on the edge of shaking for reasons that had nothing to do with the cold, he reached toward the boy once more. “Vince, why don’t you come with me? We can get you some food and clothing. It will just be for a little while, until we find you a good home.”

“I’ll hurt you.” Vince backpedaled, pushing himself against the chilly metal at the dumpster’s rear.

“It’s okay if you hurt me. People get hurt. I’m tough. I promise. I won’t get mad.”

Vince’s blue eyes stared at him for a long time, scrutinizing everything about the man offering to help him. For a while, it seemed that he wasn’t going to budge, but slowly, like the advance of a glacier, he leaned forward. “You promise?”

If there had been any resolve left in the man, it burned away at the sound of those two innocent, trusting words. The world would show this boy no mercy if he were left alone in it. The fact that Vince had survived so long bordered on a miracle. Though he would continue to lie to himself in the weeks to come before finally accepting the truth, in that moment, Globe knew that this arrangement would be anything but temporary.

“I promise.”

Vince reached out and gently took the hand of the man he would know for the rest of his life as his father.

26.

At the start of Monday’s class, Dean Blaine surveyed the students’ ready expressions. Each looked as though they were ready to go to war at a moment’s notice. There were no skirting glances or fearful shuffling to be found, not amongst these seniors. While some would certainly have answers that were better than others, everyone had come with an opinion that was thought through. That was why he loved teaching the seniors; they came prepared, and often brought forth insights he’d have never found on his own. In a way, this was a class where he learned as much as he taught.

“Why are there Heroes?” He didn’t bother with much recapping on what their assignment had been; everyone present knew exactly what today’s topic was going to be. “Not just their existence, but why Heroes as we know them? What is the purpose of this particular system? Ms. Dixon, would you be so kind as to start us off?”

“It’s because they make people feel safe,” Amber said, no hesitation in her words as she offered up the first opinion. “Supers are really scary to most humans, and with good reason. If Heroes were faceless enforcers in uniforms, it would make everyone think the government was stockpiling us like assets to use whenever they needed. This way, we seem like independent entities, plus with PR and charity work we can even be likable. People are okay with putting their trust in us in a way they would never be if we were like cops.”

“A very good point,” Dean Blaine acknowledged. “And in fact, we can see that in several other nations who attempted a military model. The distrust can lead to unrest, and sometimes even revolution. Ms. Murray, do you have any other theories on why our system functions this way?”

Jill glanced across the room on reflex but stopped herself before her eyes fell on her twin brother. “They inspire people. Amber wasn’t wrong about Heroes making people feel safe, but I think it’s more than that. Heroes can make people want to be better, whether it’s by becoming one or just showing them that the powerful don’t always turn corrupt.”

Dean Blaine nodded, eyes perusing the room as he tried to figure out who the next selection would be. The last one was already chosen, though he was curious to see how close the others would get before he called on the only person there with secondhand knowledge of the truth.

“Quite right. Heroes work hard to create positive impacts on their communities and those who look up to them. Mr. Daniels, would you care to add to the previous points?”

Unlike Amber and Jill, Hershel did hesitate after he was called on. While it had made sense for him to handle the academic side of the HCP, especially since he and Roy now both considered themselves to be part of the Super equation, he also felt a touch out of place in the classroom. Still, he’d faced far more terrifying situations than this, so he steeled his nerve and met the dean’s eyes as he answered.

“Heroes exist because they set the standard,” Hershel said. “They’re everywhere in our culture: on television, posters, clothing, all over the place. They’re celebrated pretty much wherever they go, and, except in cases where they really screw up, are usually loved more than they’re hated. So for a Super who has a lot of power, that’s the obvious goal. Instead of thinking they can get ahead by working around the system, they see being a Hero as the logical thing to shoot for. The prestige we place on the role funnels many of the strongest Supers toward this job in a way that wouldn’t work without the fanfare and celebrity.”

“That is very accurate.” Dean Blaine had been planning to tease this session out a bit longer, but Hershel had hit the nail so close to the head that it made little sense to string the students along. Better to lead them to the truth than to take them down false paths. It was a shame, though; he usually liked to get more out of this topic. “In fact, it comes very close to touching on the actual pitch used when the Hero program was first proposed. Normally, I am the one who recaps that part of our history; however, I think it only fitting that we allow Mr. DeSoto to handle it from here.”

If Shane was surprised at being picked to finish things off, it wasn’t evident. He simply set his hands carefully on his desk and gazed out at the rest of the class, slowly turning his head to look at all of them.

“You three came really close; in fact, you hit aspects of why the Hero program works and the government agreed to implement it. But you missed the bigger picture as a whole. Remember, when Heroes were created, the world didn’t know that Supers existed. The program was created with that in mind. Humans, the dominant species for millennia, were going to lose their place at the top of the food chain, and at the same time, every Super who was hiding their powers was going to learn they weren’t the only one of their kind. This situation was going to be very dangerous unless handled perfectly. Humans would be mad and scared, while Supers would feel emboldened to use their abilities. Anyone who knows even the basics of history can guess how that would play out nine times out of ten, and all nine involve a lot of blood. Which meant Captain Starlight and the rest of the government were tasked with finding a way to make this revelation be that tenth instance.”

Shane’s turning head paused, and he gave a small nod toward Hershel. “You were right about Heroes setting the standard, and Amber and Jill were dead-on about them making people feel inspired and at ease. All of that was carefully thought out. Heroes were elevated to star status intentionally, so as to draw in the best Supers. After all, why turn to crime when fame and riches are in reach through legal means? At the same time, Heroes were presented as the best of the best, a shield between humanity and the few Supers who might use their power for evil or destruction. They had to endear at least some Supers to humanity while discouraging the more powerful ones from running wild.”

“It has been said by those smarter and more informed than I that the creation of Heroes was really the creation of our current culture,” Dean Blaine added, taking over for his student. “The creation of our program defined not only how Supers were viewed, but how we saw our own role in society. By making the best of our kind humanity’s allies, it became the default for how Supers viewed themselves. That’s why, in spite of the heavy restrictions placed upon them, many Supers who don’t become Heroes still join services to help others, becoming firemen, EMTs, and even police officers. We have been raised in a culture that emphasizes the importance of Supers aiding humanity, of seeing our powers as a responsibility to help the weaker. Thanks to that, at least partially, we’ve managed to find peace with humans, in spite of our differences.”

Dean Blaine paused, taking a step toward the center of the room so that all eyes were once again upon him. “And that is why the role of Hero is such a closely guarded and monitored one. We must continue to set the example, to inspire and influence those watching us. That, perhaps even more than stopping criminal Supers, is the Hero’s most sacred duty. A life lost is a tragedy. But if we lose this tenuous arrangement, the trust of the humans who depend on us and the adoration of the Supers who look to us… there is honestly no measuring how far this world could fall.”

27.

It was always strange to Nick that in every movie about criminals or the mafia, whoever was in charge tended to gloss over one of the most important aspects for anyone working outside the law: research. Whether it was digging up information about cops, scouring financial records to make sure no one in the chain was skimming off the top, or just figuring out who around town might be susceptible to a well-placed bribe, Nick would wager that before they hit thirty the average wise-guy had combed through as many documents as a PhD candidate. Sure, these jobs could be outsourced occasionally, but for the truly self-reliant, it was a skill they had to master, and the sooner, the better.

As many papers and stolen records as Nick had scoured in his years in Vegas, none of them held a candle to the task before him. He’d dedicated part of his back room just to housing the documents, going through them as fast as Eliza and Jerome could bring them in. While he was still technically enrolled at Lander—given that he had three years under his belt, there was no reason not to complete his degree—this by far accounted for most of his daily homework. He’d been at it for months, getting things set up before heading to summer training and doing the work digitally when he could sneak off. That always felt slower, though, so now that he could put the pages between his fingers, Nick felt like he was making progress.

Well… he was moving faster, anyway. “Progress” implied actually getting nearer to a goal, and in that regard, he was still coming up empty-handed. That was the nature of this beast, though. There wouldn’t be any lead-up or small clues to follow. He’d just have to dig until he found what he was looking for, or had concluded it to be a dead end. For everyone’s sake, but especially Alice’s, Nick was working tirelessly to make sure it wasn’t the latter.

“Yo! We got a fresh delivery here.” Eliza’s voice rang through the apartment, followed by heavy thumps of movement as she and Jerome hauled in three boxes each.

He motioned to the momentarily clear corner of his bedroom. “Where are these from?”

“Oregon,” Jerome replied. “Every city and county hospital, plus the hospices, just to be safe.” He set down his load easily, then relieved Eliza of hers and stacked them on top.

“Oregon, huh? Well, I suppose anything is possible. You can clear out Louisiana, by the way. I finished it this morning.” Nick pointed to more boxes near his bed—these not stacked quite so neatly.

“Damn, I had my fingers crossed for daiquiris and crawfish,” Eliza said. “Guessing you didn’t find it yet?”

“If I had, would I still have you both getting me more documents?” Nick asked.

“Absolutely. That is a thousand percent the kind of dick move you’d pull on us, just because you thought it was funny.” Eliza tilted her head forward, daring Nick to try and counter the accusation.

After a moment, a small smile appeared on his face. “Okay, I suppose you’ve got me there,” Nick admitted. “But no, I’m still coming up dry. It’s probably going to be that way for quite a while, too.”

“Unless you get lucky.” Jerome’s words, while seemingly innocent, hung heavy in the air. It was the thing he and Eliza had both been wondering since Nick gave them their assignment, the burning question that was going to be asked inevitably. The only surprising part was that Jerome had been the one to broach it rather than the flippant Eliza.

“That is a possibility,” Nick said, lowering the document currently clutched in his nimble fingers. “But one I’d prefer to save for only if it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Why? I mean, sure, old Nicholas I would have understood, but we’re up to speed now. We know you can control your power,” Eliza pointed out. “What’s to stop you from using it, finding our target, and wrapping this whole thing up neatly?”

“As I said, if it comes to that, I’ll try, but this is a very complicated situation.” Nick spread his arms out, showing the small fraction of files facing them that occupied half his bedroom. “This isn’t dice on a table, and I can’t choose the outcome I want. Good luck might turn out to be never finding what I’m looking for, because it would cause more trouble down the road. And that’s just one of the more predictable potential outcomes. Yes, if we have no other options, then I’ll turn to Lady Luck, but she is a finicky and unpredictable bitch. So until it’s absolutely necessary, I’d rather handle this the old-fashioned way.”

“Where to next?” Jerome ignored the awkward silence that tried to settle in as Nick finished speaking, defaulting to being a good soldier and getting his orders. Aside from keeping things moving, he’d found that in a place where authority was as important as it was with the Family, reminding everyone that there was protocol in place could diffuse a lot of situations. Jerome didn’t avoid speaking frequently because he had little to say, but rather because he had learned the value in constantly listening.

“I’ve been avoiding it for a while, since the state is so damn big, but with everyone gearing up for an exam, this is the perfect time to take on Texas,” Nick said after only a second of hesitation. “I’ll have most of the week free while they train and worry, so hopefully I can get through all of it.”

“Texas?” Eliza said. “Come on, can we please get a bigger car for this one? It’s going to take forever to go all over that place, and you know Jerome’s legs don’t fit well in the economic models.”

“Fine, you can rent something mid-size,” Nick conceded. Having made the drive from Lander to Vegas in a Bug more than once, he had some sympathy in his heart for small cars and smashed legs. “But no sight-seeing. If we’re paying more for gas, you need to stay on task.”

“Somehow I think we’ll manage to resist the temptation of seeing the world’s largest tamale, or whatever they’ve got,” Eliza assured him.

“Good, then go get packed. I expect my documents as soon as possible.” Nick turned back to his current stack, ignoring Eliza and Jerome as they left the room. He needed to finish up with Washington, and get a jump on Oregon before they returned so that he’d be ready to start on Texas. There were so many records, though, and so many places his target could be hiding.

But he would keep on digging, because pulling this needle out of a haystack was something only he could do. The HCP was behind him; he couldn’t protect his friends in there anymore. So this was the least he owed them.

28.

It is one of time’s cruelest pranks that normal weeks tend to drag on endlessly; yet when there is something dreaded scheduled for a Friday, the days whip by at dangerous speeds. So it was that, seemingly in the blink of an eye, the seniors were gathering together in the gym for their monthly trial, all filled with a familiar combination of nerves, worry, and anticipation. Some were scanning their surroundings, searching for signs of the mysterious Heroes that were supposedly watching them. But if such entities were nearby, they were well-concealed. All the students could see were their professors lined up neatly behind Dean Blaine, who began to speak as the last of the seniors fell into line.

“Three weeks ago, a gang of Supers found their leader killed in cold blood. They blamed a rival gang and sought retribution. The police have done their best to handle things while the murder was investigated; however, two hours ago, all efforts failed and war boiled out into the streets. This is a situation that requires all hands on deck, as so many Supers fighting can cause an untold amount of damage and loss of life. You are the nearest Heroes who can reach the scene, and as such, it falls upon you to contain this situation. Each of you will be dropped into the field at random points, simulating where you were when the call came in. Once there, you are free to work with one another or go solo, whichever method you feel allows you to do the best job. When the test is over, you may be called upon to defend your thinking for this and all other decisions, so consider each action carefully.”

From behind Dean Blaine, Professors Pendleton and Fletcher both stepped forward, walking to opposite ends of the line of students. They began moving toward the center, depositing a small item into the hands of each senior they passed.

“We have strived to make this test as true to life as possible, save for the ways where we deliberately chose not to. As part of that, you will all need to get used to working with a communicator in your ear. Every Hero, from the second they don their mask until the moment they remove it, has access to our dispatch program. Aside from just giving assignments, it can be used to relay messages, provide information on targets, and inform you as to where you’re needed most. Whatever you hear from that communicator you can trust, and if it gives you an order, consider that to have come from the DVA itself. We’ll get into that further down the line, though; for tonight, the comms are just tools to practice with. Set them in your right ear, and make sure they’re secure. You can speak to everyone on the network by holding down the button sticking out of the side, or talk just to the dispatch center by tapping it once. While actual Hero models don’t require this, it’s still considered courteous to hold your hand to your ear while speaking on the comm, so others know what’s going on. Sort of a Hero shorthand, when you can manage it.”

Professor Pendleton handed the last of the communicators to Jill Murray, who had to slip her custom helmet off to fit it in her ear. Will had clearly made a lot of modifications to her suit since last year, the experience of seeing it tested in real battle having inspired loads of new ideas. It was hardly recognizable from the padded outfit with electronics sewn in that she’d sported as a freshman. Now it showed more metal than cloth and had taken on a sleek, dangerous appearance.

“Today, we are taking it easy on you,” Dean Blaine continued. “Your goals are to protect innocent civilians and incapacitate the gang members, in that order of priority. For anyone who doesn’t understand why that’s us taking it easy on you, I urge you to think long and hard about what you’re about to experience. Otherwise, when we take the kid-gloves off, you might not be prepared for what’s coming.”

Dean Blaine had to lay as much groundwork as he could before they got to that discussion. There was nothing harder than explaining to potential Heroes that sometimes saving people meant letting others die. If he could get even a few of them to understand it before it was spelled out, the discussion would go a lot easier.

“As this is a real-world event, there will be no lights distinguishing the Sims from one another. Sometimes, when we are dispatched to handle a contained threat, we have the luxury of knowing who is more dangerous. This is not one of those situations. If you ask questions, sometimes there will be answers, but the process of asking will cost you, and the civilians, precious time. You’ll have to make snap decisions, balancing fairness with force, all on the spur of the moment. It’s by no means an easy task, yet it’s exactly what you’ve been training for all this time. Use your head, keep your cool, and don’t let the chaos overwhelm you.”

It would, inevitably, get the better of some of them. All the screening and training in the world was no substitute for the real thing, and even this was a pale comparison. Still, it would show them their weaknesses, and with a year still remaining, some might be able to overcome those flaws. If they could, then they would be better, stronger Heroes for it. If not... well, that was why they usually admitted fifteen and only graduated ten. It made sense to have backups.

“There are two more things to cover before we begin,” Dean Blaine said. “First off, since this has come up before, let me assure you that your fellow seniors will be the only other actual humans on the battlefield. The civilians, no matter how well-crafted, are artificial. While it is your job to protect them as if they were real, we’ve had people try to stop the exam on moral grounds before, so consider this your disclaimer. Secondly, and far more importantly, Professor Fletcher will be down there to oversee the battle, but I would be remiss if I let you think of him as an all-encompassing safety net. This training is dangerous, make no mistake about it, because the work you’ll do is even more so. From this point on, your safety will largely be in your own hands. There’s simply no other way to prepare you for what lies beyond these walls. That is part of why so few students make it to this stage: it keeps us from having to send those who can’t cut it home in coffins. The Sims are built to fight and destroy, which is exactly what they will do until you stop them.”

Dean Blaine surveyed the eyes of his students carefully, looking deep into each pair. When he was younger, he’d stopped here to allow anyone that was bothered by the risk to leave voluntarily. After five years of getting no takers, he finally stopped bothering. The ones who’d come this far were so crazy, determined, or stubborn that not even the risk of death and bodily harm would dissuade them.

“The test is over when all of the gang members have been neutralized and the threat to the city is ended. Good luck to you all, and please, keep your wits about you. We’ll be watching.”

29.

Unlike the usual system of elevators that calmly dropped them off into training fields as a group, this time the seniors were shown to a room with five metal tubes that all sported heavy, latching doors. One by one they were put in, and no sooner had the door closed than the ground under them began to fall. The descent was not so fast that they were left hanging, but nevertheless they whipped farther down into the facility, the tubes taking corners and turns that occasionally let them see the edges of other tubes branching into other paths before finally coming to a halt. There was no sudden burst of light, only the same cold metal wrapped around them. Some of the students might have broken their way free out of fear that things had gone wrong if not for the soothing voice of Dean Blaine whispering through the comms in their ears.

“Please remain calm and wait until all other students are in place. Once everyone is positioned, your tube will open. At that point, please consider the exam to have officially begun.”

The wait was worse for some than others. Those who’d been first in the tubes had to wait as four more loads were scattered across the unseen battlefield, left with nothing to do but stare at the metal walls and wonder what was going on outside. Time seemed to stretch as anxiety and excitement battled in each Super’s heart, the desire to prove themselves mixed with the fear of falling short. Finally, new words came in Dean Blaine’s calm voice.

“All students are in place. The exam begins now.”

And with that, a nearly invisible seam in every tube parted, giving the students their first glimpses of the stunning scene that awaited them.

*             *             *

Vince’s eyes were wide as he took in the battlefield, more struck with awe than fear. He’d seen lots of impressive artificial landscapes in the world beneath Lander: forests, warehouses, even miles of sprawling outdoors, but this somehow trumped all of them.

This wasn’t merely buildings clustered together to replicate what combat inside a town would be like. No, this was an actual city, or at least several blocks of one. Streets, bike lanes, newspaper stands, postal boxes, all of it was present, right down to the bright stars twinkling above them in the artificial sky. It was like Lander had vanished and he’d suddenly been plunked down in the real world. The sound of movement to his left snapped Vince from his appreciation of the surroundings, and he whirled around with lightning already dancing in his fingers.

Roy held up his hands and waved them, then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Just me, Vince. My tube let out nearby, and I heard someone moving around.”

“Sorry about that. Still getting my—”

“Comms system test. This is Will Murray. Does anyone have eyes on the Sims yet?”

Vince jumped a bit at the voice, this one was a lot less soothing than Dean Blaine’s, but quickly scanned the area to see if he could spot any Sims. None were in the range of his eyes, so he was about to search for their energy signature when more noise came busting through the comms.

“Alice here, and I can make out three behind a red building. No civilians nearby, but they’re a little suspicious. Not fighting, just hanging out. I think it might be a trap.”

“I’ve got six pummeling each other over around… um… I guess that’s a pet shop. Oh, and this is Allen.”

More reports came in, and with each one, Vince realized they had a serious issue. No one knew the terrain, and the few who could offer street signs as markers couldn’t tell anyone how to reach them. It was a serious hurdle, but one they would doubtlessly face if they made it past graduation. Heroes were sent where they were needed, teleported in to stop crimes all over the country. There were bound to be countless instances of having to navigate an unfamiliar town, and that was assuming they even had the luxury of street signs. The class needed to find a way to pass along actual coordinates or they’d spend the whole exam fumbling about, hoping to find a situation where they were needed. Vince racked his brain, but came up empty.

Luckily, at least one member of the class had spent most of her life navigating without the luxury of roads or signs.

“Everyone, look up to the sky,” Mary’s voice ordered. “Those stars aren’t just here for ambiance. They’re tools for us to use. There’s a bright star toward one end of the horizon with three lesser ones framing it. Find it now.”

Vince scoured the heavens and quickly located the cluster Mary was talking about. It stood out a bit more than the others, though he wasn’t sure he’d have noticed it if he weren’t looking. Slapping Roy on the shoulder, Vince pointed up, and the larger man gave a nod. He saw it, too.

“As of right now, that star is north,” Mary continued. “Build a mental compass centered on that fact, and give all your instructions in terms of cardinal directions. Alice, what’s the location of the three Sims that you think are lying in wait?”

“Uhhh. One sec. Okay, they’re to the southwest, near the edge of the city,” Alice said.

“This is Shane. I’m pretty close to that area. I can back you up.”

Checking his location, Vince realized that he and Roy were to the northwest, probably not too far from Alice. He was about to offer to head over as well, but Roy beat him to it.

“Hang on, Shane. We can’t just pick them off as we find them. This one-spot-at-a-time shit is going to take forever,” Roy said. “It’s a gang war scenario; they’re going to be clustered up or in hiding. We need to know where the biggest chunks of their forces are so we can properly deploy. Chad, you have that listening skill that lets you find people, and Vince can…” Roy trailed off, shaking his head and blinking quickly. “Sorry, lost my train of thought.”

“That’s okay, I was about to hijack it anyway. This is Amber, and while you boys might be good at hearing and locating, you got nothing on me. Listen and learn: some of us spent our summer fine-tuning the lost art of echolocation.”

For a moment, Vince thought he heard a high-pitched whistle, but when he tried to focus, it was gone. Evidently, it had been enough to do the job. Amber’s voice came back on the comms, so smug it nearly dripped through the earpiece.

“We’ve got a lot of Sims, folks, so I hope everyone came to play. The direct south seems to be where most of the fighting is concentrated, with around eighteen of them battling it out. To the northeast is another cluster—this one under a dozen—and south of them is the third fight, the one Allen was reporting on. There’s also Sims spread across the city at random intervals, probably meant to charge in if they spot us. Also, every place I’ve mentioned so far has civilians, most of which are cowering near the fights, so nobody go in dropping area attacks.”

“The scattered ones are a problem, but those fighting pose the biggest immediate threat,” Chad said. “We need to neutralize those as soon as possible. Heavy damage and endurance go to the biggest fight. Those who are purely damage, handle the second smallest one north of Allen: put it down quickly then sweep downward to the one with only six. Anyone near that fight, jump in and keep it contained until the damage dealers show up. Everyone with abilities that can move civilians, pick a fight and go start evacuating. Let’s move, now.”

Vince and Roy both began to run, though the latter seemed to still be a bit removed.

“You okay?” Vince asked.

“Yeah… I’m good. Just sort of distracted for some reason. Like, do you think this is actually the best way to take on the Sims?” Roy asked.

“I think it’s better than arguing, and we all know I don’t have a head for strategy in the first place,” Vince admitted.

“I guess me either.” Roy shook his head one more time, then doubled down on the pace. “Come on. Let’s go focus on what you and I are good at: kicking ass.”

30.

Alice hung in the air, careful to keep distance between herself and the ceiling twinkling with artificial stars, since the rest of the class was now using it for guidance. From her vantage point, carefully concealed by the bulk of a nearby building, she could see the others scattering, heading toward the altercation where they thought they’d be the most useful at. Personally, Alice felt her own ability would be an asset in any of the three battles, which was precisely why she was waiting and watching before making a move.

Freshman Alice would have already zipped across the battlefield, arriving to be mostly useless and maybe haul a civilian or two out of harm’s way. She’d been impulsive, and, worse, had lacked a real sense of what her abilities could accomplish. But a lot had changed since then, the comprehension of her power being only a small part. Now she understood the value in waiting, analyzing, and thinking things through. Part of her gut still screamed that any minutes not moving were time lost, but the calming force of her judgment reminded her that it was better to strike once—and well—than to slap about ineffectually. She would see where the class was the weakest, and that’s where she would lend her aid.

So far it seemed like the fight to the east was the biggest contender for her presence. While the bulk of the class was heading toward the largest brawl, Allen, Amber, Mary, and Selena were making a line right for the northeast battle that hosted a dozen Sims. The smallest altercation, the one on the eastern part of the city where Chad had asked for people to contain, had only Rich and Jill slowly making their way toward it. Rich might be able to bring a few down, and Jill had certainly upgraded, but they were going to need a helping hand to keep a lid on six Sims letting loose.

“This is poor resource allocation.” The voice came from a nearby roof, nearly sending Alice into a dive for cover before she realized it belonged to Shane. He stepped out from the alcove of a closed door, one she was positive she hadn’t heard open, and got into clearer view. “Chad’s a great fighter and a powerful leader, but he’s lacking as a tactician. Can’t blame the guy; he’s spent his whole life training to fight solo. Moving around troops is a whole other skill set.”

“If you have a better plan, you could have said something.” Alice floated over, landing softly on the roof’s edge.

“The only thing worse than bad leadership is broken leadership,” Shane replied. “Something my grandfather used to say. Chad’s plan isn’t a great one, but it isn’t terrible. What would have been much worse is if we’d spent ten minutes arguing about how to proceed while the mock city got destroyed.”

“What would you have done?” Alice asked.

“Split everyone into coordinated teams rather than let them assign themselves randomly. Chad has perfect understanding of his own abilities and where they’re best applied, but he sometimes forgets that not everyone else sees themselves so accurately. They make misassessments, both on what they can do and where they’re best used.” Shane peeked over the edge of the building, watching his classmates scramble below. “Of course, suddenly barking out orders like the ones I’d have to give takes a certain level of trust and respect, too. The kind that Chad has built up and I haven’t. But as it stands now, we’ve got too much force on one fight, about the right amount on another, and far too little on the third. I decided to even things out and fix Chad’s plan, but then I saw you floating up here and thought you might be interested as well.”

“Plus, you wanted a ride,” Alice threw out.

Shane smiled—an unusual sight, Alice realized. “That, too. But honestly, when I saw you, it occurred to me that circumstance had just presented the two of us with a very rare opportunity. You and I have something in common, Alice. We’re both hungry to prove ourselves: me for a variety of reasons, and you because of your weak power in earlier years. How about the two of us work together and start the year off by putting on one hell of a show?”

“You want to go help with the half-dozen to the east?”

“No. I want us to get there first and handle it ourselves. I want to sweep the entire fight with just the two of us,” Shane replied.

“Way too risky. Forget it.” Alice said the words before she’d even noticed she was speaking, but the moment they left her lips, she knew they were true. “Even if it’s only six Sims, just the two of us is too dangerous. We’d risk aggravating the fight and then losing control, costing nearby civilians their lives and tearing up a shitload of property.”

“Yes, but it’s not just the two of us. Rich and Jill are en route, but with your power, we can beat them there. Maybe not by a lot, but enough to level the combatant forces. With a quick, well-placed first strike, we can take down the majority of our opponents. Even if that fails and we only bring down two, that still leaves us with a Sim apiece once Rich and Jill arrive. We can clear the fight from the battlefield, get the civilians to safety, and then pitch in with the other battles as needed.” Shane stepped away from the edge, his eyes now trained on Alice.

“This isn’t just my ego speaking, making a plan purely out of pride. I think I know the best way to handle the situation before me, and I want to test that idea. If I’m wrong, then we made a bad call, but isn’t this the time to learn and make mistakes?”

He had her there. If ever they had an occasion to test their limits and see how training stacked up against what they might fight in the real world, this was probably it. Slowly, Alice nodded, and as she did, she also lifted Shane up from the roof.

“We move fast and hard. Take down as many as we can in the initial confusion, killing only if it’s unavoidable,” she instructed. “Are you sure you can handle that? Usually you fight one-on-one.”

“Trust me, I put a lot of effort into practicing and improving group tactics after last May.” Shane’s face darkened for a moment, though Alice didn’t try to find out why. They’d all seen things that night that would haunt them; she certainly wasn’t going to pry about someone else’s demons.

“Just be careful.” Alice lifted the two of them higher into the sky, then took off like a shot to the east.

31.

Vince and Roy were so close that they could make out the sounds of battle when a new voice echoed in their ears.

“Everyone heading to the southern battle: get in position, but don’t engage yet,” ordered the familiar tones of Britney Ferguson. “I’m nearby, invisible, and I just found Alex. He’s doing his weird… whatever… and figuring out where our civilians are holed up. We can’t proceed until we know how to keep them safe.”

Next to Vince, Roy’s footsteps slowed. Vince matched his pace, though neither stopped completely. Getting the civilians’ location was a good idea, something they should have considered sooner. While the obvious priority was to keep the non-Sims safe, that was about as far as they’d thought the plan through. But Britney hadn’t made it to senior year of the HCP just on her ability; she’d also shown a talent for tactics and leadership. There was no dissent on the comms as they waited for her next orders.

“Okay, Alex thinks he’s found all of them,” Britney said at last. Vince and Roy were only a block away by this point; they could see the Sims smashing into one another, to say nothing of the property around them. “The good news here is that the fighting seems to be centered in an open area—what looks like a parking lot. Our civilian bots have taken cover in the buildings that encircle the fight. Now, the bad news is that the battle spreads out around all the areas we need to access in order to move the civilians to safety. Common sense says that the minute we’re spotted, the Sims are going to prioritize attacking us over fighting amongst themselves.”

Roy’s voice mumbled softly at Vince’s side. “We need a distr—”

“We need a distraction,” Britney continued, unaware that Roy was echoing her thoughts across the battlefield. “And it won’t do us any good to execute it on the periphery. That would just draw attention to the paths we need kept clear. The only way to force the Sims’ focus away from the buildings is to drop some people right smack dab in the middle of their brawl. I won’t bullshit you guys; that’s going to be a tight spot. The only ones who should go in are those who can take a hell of a lot of damage and keep on fighting. Everyone else is going to help Alex and me evacuate the civilians. We’ll start in on the outer Sims when that’s done, but until then, you’ll be on your own.”

“I can go.” No one was surprised to hear Chad’s voice volunteer, nor were they shocked an instant later when Roy pressed the button on his earpiece and added, “Not without me, you won’t.”

“I’ll go, too,” Vince said.

Roy took his hand away from the earpiece, cutting his words off from the rest of the class, and turned to Vince. “Are you sure? I know we made a lot of headway this summer, but you never perfected your counter.”

“It doesn’t have to be perfect. It just has to be good enough to keep me alive,” Vince replied.

Roy nodded and said nothing more. It wasn’t his place to tell Vince what he could or couldn’t do; only Vince knew his true limits. It was, however, absolutely Roy’s place to watch his friend’s back and make sure Vince didn’t take too much damage. And, friendship aside, Roy did not want to deal with Camille if Vince got seriously injured while he was nearby.

“You boys can count on me dropping in,” Violet said.

“I believe I can lend aid as well,” Thomas volunteered.

“Sorry, Thomas, but we can’t spare you,” Britney said. “You’re the only one of us who can shield the civilians with something other than your body. In fact, find Adam so he can mimic you. That orange energy is going to be the key to making sure we keep people safe.”

“I feel I would be a valuable asset in battle.” They could hear the frustration in Thomas’s voice. This was a chance to prove his mettle, to help protect his friends, and he was being shoved off to evacuation duty. Worse, he knew it was the right call. Dean Blaine had even identified it among their priorities: civilians’ safety came first.

“You would no doubt be tremendous on the battlefield,” Chad agreed. “But you have the ability to do more than that, to help people in a way that we cannot. That is the true mission, Thomas. What we’ll be doing is nothing more than distraction, opening a way for the real work to be done.”

There was a long beat of silence before Thomas finally spoke again. “Give me Adam’s direction and I’ll find him.”

“No need. Alex found you and sent Adam your way. He’s mimicked me for the moment, so don’t be alarmed if someone pops into view from invisibility,” Britney said. “As for those going in the middle, does everyone have a way to the center? We need you to drop in from nowhere, keep all the attention right in the thick of the fight.”

“Need a charge?” Roy asked, flexing his biceps.

Vince shook his head and scanned the block ahead of them. “I came in with plenty. This is a test, after all.”

“Vince and I are good,” Roy reported.

“Seeing as I’m airborne, I’m solid,” Violet added.

“I’ll make my way,” Chad said.

“Fine. Everyone else contact me as you arrive. We’ll start evacuating and give you targets to find. The robo-civilians are pretty human-looking—a little uncanny-valley, but nothing you’d mistake for a Sim. Distraction team, you’re clear to start as soon as possible,” Britney told them.

Neither Vince nor Roy needed any more than that. They took off running in a dead sprint, heading down the block where the Sims were still fighting one another, utterly unaware of the tide of Supers about to wash over them. In the sky above, Roy could make out the floating form of Violet, no doubt getting into position to drop herself like an ultra-dense bomb. She had the easiest way in, but certainly not the only one.

When they were still some distance away, Roy launched himself, with Vince right behind him. The explosion of force from Roy’s legs left cracks in the concrete while pushing his body high into the air. Vince’s take-off was powered by stolen kinetic energy rather than enhanced muscle, but the effects were almost indistinguishable.

Leaping was a great way to cover distance as a strongman, but doing it with accuracy took a lot of practice. Luckily, there were few better places to work on that sort of skill than a barren landscape specifically put aside for training. Neither Roy nor Vince had ever managed the sort of amazing accuracy that Titan could do, but they had gotten good enough to get within ten feet of their target.

Roy came crashing down first, whipped his bat around, and caught the nearest Sim in the torso. He kept swinging, creating a wide circle in the center of the chaos where Vince could land. For Roy, coming down was easy, but if Vince didn’t reabsorb the energy of the impact he risked injuring his legs. Vince generally stayed low to the ground to be safe; however, the risk was still present. The fewer obstacles present, the easier his landing would be.

Seconds later, a streak of silver whipped by Roy’s face, and Vince came to a sudden stop only inches away. The Sims, taken by surprise initially, were quickly adapting to the intruders in their midst. An eruption of noise and gravel to their north was all they needed to know that Violet had entered the fray. Chad would be along soon, or perhaps he was already there, racing between the Sims and cutting artificial tendons.

All that mattered was that the Sims were definitely focused on them. Now, they just had to keep it that way.

32.

The six Sims were fighting on what looked like the remains of a small grocery store. It had fallen under their weight and power and was now little more than rubble beneath their rampaging feet. Alice dearly hoped that none of the civilians they were supposed to save had been inside, but if so, there was no helping any of them now. All she and Shane could do was stop these things before more buildings were destroyed.

“Drop me off over there,” Shane directed, pointing to a small alley just out of eyesight for the Sims.

Alice complied, flying over and slowly lowering him to the ground. “Going to try and sneak up on them?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“Yes, actually. How precise are you with those shadows?” She watched the Sims fighting as she spoke, noting that one was hurling balls of fire. At least one of six had range, probably more. She’d need to be careful.

“I’m as deadly as I want to be,” Shane replied.

“Well, keep it un-deadly, if possible. Cripple, not kill.” Alice floated a bit lower; she’d need to try and take the Sims by surprise when she struck. “I’m going to lift them into the air, rendering all the ones without ranged attacks helpless. Since I can’t very well pinball these like I did in last year’s exam—not without smashing up the neighborhood—I need you to cut them up while they’re floating. If possible, focus on the ones that will be attacking me; dodging while keeping stuff afloat and steady is a real pain.”

“That’s… that’s a really good idea.” Shane checked out the Sims as well, no doubt forming a plan of attack. “Just curious, what would you have done if I weren’t here?”

“Waited for Rich and Jill, obviously, then probably used gravity to crush the Sims’ limbs,” Alice said. “But that’s an imprecise method, and I might have accidentally killed a few of them. This will be cleaner.”

“Yes, I suppose it will.” Shane glanced away from the Sims, taking in Alice as if through fresh eyes. “Has anyone told you that sometimes you are quite terrifying?”

“I don’t consider it a good week unless I hear that at least three times.” Her altitude increased as she readied herself, eyes locked on the fighting robots. “You ready?”

“I’ll only be a few steps behind,” Shane assured her.

That was all Alice needed to hear. She rocketed off, racing through the air and quickly closing in on the Sims before her. With a minor burst of effort, she momentarily reversed their gravity then cut it off completely, leaving all six opponents floating at least five feet away from the ground. Her pace didn’t slow when they noticed her. She kept her speed brisk enough to be a challenging target but slow enough to be watched. The ranged ones needed to focus on her for this to work; otherwise, Shane would have a tough time making the precise strikes he needed to.

The first fireball flew by her, soaring harmlessly into the false night sky. Already she could see the metal hands glow red as the Sim took aim for a second shot. Her attention was quickly stolen by the assault of small, needle-like blades that swarmed toward her. They presented too wide a spread to dodge, so Alice didn’t try. Instead, she created a small focal point ten feet in front of her with enough gravity to pull in everything near it—save for the woman who could render herself immune.

Every needle suddenly diverted course, collecting into a thick ball centered on her gravitational point. Last year’s attack had reminded Alice that while armor could fill a lot of gaps, she was far from bulletproof. This technique had been her solution, a way to divert any number of projectiles without having to sustain an increased field all around her.

As she soared above the needle ball, letting it fall harmlessly to the ground, Alice could see the source of the mini-daggers. One of the Sims was covered from head to toe in the things—probably meant to replicate a Super with the ability of spines. It turned its arms toward her, intent on letting loose another barrage. That chance never came as the swipe of a dark object raced behind its neck, and suddenly, the whole body went limp. Without meaning to, Alice slowed, her eyes tracking the moving shadow, leading her gaze to the terrifying spectacle that was Shane DeSoto.

Shadows whipped around him, like the arms of a half-dozen squids trying to claw their way up from the ground. Clearly, he hadn’t been kidding about working on dealing with groups. Each shadow ended in a thin blade that sliced through small sections of the necks, back, arms, and legs of every Sim they encountered. Amidst the flurry, Shane stood motionless, his eyes pitch-black. That was nothing new; it had always been a side effect of using his power, but somehow, in the flickering streetlight and burning glow of the fire-Sim’s building attack, it was terrifying.

Wait, why was the fire Sim still building up power? The thought jarred Alice out of watching Shane, and she picked up her pace just in time to dodge another fireball. That didn’t make sense. Shane was shredding through the others with incredible precision, but the Sim with fire powers… was cloaked in flames now, casting light in all directions. This time, Alice paid closer attention to that one Sim, noticing how every attack Shane threw seemed to dissolve before making impact, leaving little more than scratches in the metallic hide.

“Five out of six? Not too shabby,” Alice said, flying in closer to Shane and the burning Sim. “How about I take this last one?” She dropped lower, near enough that the Sim might be able to hit her if it got another fireball off in time.

“Look, your gang is beaten, your friends are down, and you’re clearly outmatched. Why don’t you give up peacefully? Because, if you keep fighting, there’s a chance you’ll get hurt.” Alice had no idea if the Sims were still able to surrender—she was sure that information had been left out of the briefing on purpose—but she felt like she ought to at least give it a try. If nothing else, it seemed like the right thing to do.

“Doesn’t look like he’s biting,” Shane called up.

Sure enough, another fireball began to kindle in its hands, its eyes locked on Alice’s floating form.

“Can’t say I didn’t try. But still, that’s enough of that.” She held out her arm, and for a moment, the gravity between the Sim’s cupped hands was beyond intense. In an instant, its hands smashed together, the lingering flames of the fireball dancing across its now misshapen fingers. Seconds later, its legs were similarly crushed.

The Sim didn’t let out any yelp of pain, but the fire around its body flickered out as it went limp and fell into surrender mode. Slowly, Alice lowered it to the ground then surveyed the damage Shane had done. The other five Sims were carved up in almost the exact same places, areas she felt pretty sure would sever tendons and the spine on a real human. Two of them had much deeper, rougher cuts than the rest; these were probably armored to represent strongmen. Yet he’d still managed to get through them, and in so little time, too.

“You know,” Alice said, taking in the damage. “You’re pretty scary yourself sometimes.”

“I have my moments,” Shane agreed. “And it certainly helped that last year I learned a valuable lesson about hesitation. Now, let’s head north and see how the fight with the dozen Sims is going.”

“We can if you really think it’s necessary, but I’d say it’s smarter to wait for Jill and Rich and then start picking off the isolated Sims,” Alice told him. “I mean, you know Mary is at that fight, don’t you? I’d be shocked if there was anything for us to do but sweep up the Sims’ broken pieces.”

33.

“Allen, to your left! Amber, one in the back is starting to shake it off. Selena, you’re doing great; just keep it up.” Mary spat out the orders quickly, turning her focus to a Sim that earlier she’d witnessed causing the concrete under them to ripple like an ocean wave. It was probably linked to machines beneath their feet to simulate rock-manipulation or something. She didn’t really care about the how; Mary was more concerned with making sure it couldn’t get enough of its bearings to mount an attack.

Her telekinetic strike dented its kneecaps but didn’t have enough power to completely break them. Evidently, this one was packing some enhanced endurance. Power, however, was not something Mary lacked. In fact, learning to control her force enough for more delicate manipulation had been her highest hurdle at Lander. If this task required letting loose, then she would happily comply.

This time, the strike shattered both metal kneecaps, bending them backward and sending the Sim tumbling to the ground. As it landed, Selena’s song took hold once more, and it went limp.

The plan had been a simple one, as soon as they’d realized who had gathered to take on the fight. Selena had begun to sing the Sims to sleep while Amber put up a sound wall that amplified and directed her voice, making it much louder while pushing it away from the humans’ ears. The combination was devastating, as nine of the twelve Sims immediately began to succumb to her song. Those who didn’t were easily spotted, and as soon as they were, Allen, Mary, or Amber picked them off with their ranged abilities. Some went down easier than others, but with Selena working as crowd control, they were able to neutralize them carefully, focusing on injury over death. Her song wasn’t perfect, though; every now and then one of the conscious Sims would begin to fight off its effects. That was why Mary kept a keen eye trained on their opponents, ready for any sign of their will to fight returning.

Allen had blasted the limbs off of his Sim while Amber merely snapped her fingers and another dropped. Allegedly, she was targeting their inner ears and making them too dizzy to stand, but Mary would be curious to see the actual reports when the test was done. Amber was powerful, no one doubted that, but her control had never been quite so well-honed. Then again, it had been a long summer with a lot to think about. It would be foolish to assume the only training that had gone on took place at that out-of-the-way camp.

“This feels a little too easy,” Allen said. He wasn’t being boastful; there was genuine worry in his voice, and Mary could understand why. They’d lucked into a dynamite combination with Amber and Selena, but still… this was going a bit better than she felt comfortable accepting. Too many years in the HCP had taught her that if it seemed easy, she merely hadn’t grasped the true challenge yet.

“Amber, can you do that echolocation thing again?” Mary asked. “There were a lot of straggler Sims outside the fights, and I want to be sure we’re not getting surrounded.”

“One sec.” Amber puckered her lips and let out a long, low note that seemed to wash across Mary as it bounded out into the world beyond them. “I’ve got a blind spot where Selena is singing, obviously, but for the most part, they’re staying… wait, never mind. We’ve got a group coming from the west. About five more, heading here fast.”

“Damn it, they’ll come up right behind us,” Allen said. His distraction caused him to miss a shot, neatly tearing the head off a Sim instead of merely injuring it. Mary winced involuntarily at the sight. Even in practice, that sort of thing set her teeth on edge.

“Amber, can you wrap that sound wall around us in a circle?” Mary asked.

“Probably, but it’ll take more concentration, so don’t count on as much firepower,” Amber replied.

“That’s fine. Bring Selena closer, then wrap us up. I’ll go around that with a wall of force. As long as Selena is singing, we can keep picking them off one at a time.” Mary hesitated, doing a sweep of the Sims remaining in her line of sight. “One thing, though. Telekinetic shields are usually only good against physical attacks, stuff with mass. Allen, you and I have to take down every Sim we see wielding any kind of energy. If they get off a shot, we’ll be sitting ducks.”

“It’s going to be hard to go for the knockout at this range.” It wasn’t a request for permission, not really, but Allen still wanted her to know what her plan entailed. This method would come with casualties, and even though they were simulated, the students would be held accountable for them. That was what this training was all about.

“Our priority is saving the civilians and putting down the Sims,” Mary replied. “If you can do that without killing, do. If not… well, we can’t let them run around destroying things. They made their choice.”

“I’ll do my best to help out where I can,” Amber replied. “Just try not to depend on me.”

“Got it. Anything you bring down is a bonus. Allen and I will do the heavy lifting.” Mary glanced to the west; she could see the new Sims moving as they made their way between the buildings. Amber’s echolocation had pinned them perfectly, and Mary was thankful for it. They might have been caught unaware otherwise. However, thinking about that skill gave Mary a terrifying realization.

“Amber, if you’re wrapping us in a sound wall and broadcasting Selena’s voice in all directions, does that mean you can’t do more echolocation?”

“Fuck… yeah, it does.” Amber snapped her fingers and took down another of the original twelve Sims. There were only four still standing, all under Selena’s spell, but the more time that elapsed, the more signs of life they showed. “As long as we’re hunkered down like that, we’re going to be blind to any other Sim’s movements.”

“All the more reason to get it done quickly,” Allen said.

“Quickly and carefully,” Mary countered. “Remember, Heroes don’t kill because it’s convenient.”

Allen snorted, shaking his head just as the first of the new Sims finally stepped into view. “We’re about to be surrounded on all sides by robotic opponents, several of which are shaking off Selena’s song and the rest with abilities about which we have no information. What part of any of this feels convenient?”

Though Mary would never admit it, Allen had her there.

34.

Vince had learned a tremendous amount about electricity since he first wrecked a ranged training room freshman year. He’d learned how to direct it, how much it took to knock out a human, how to ramp up his attacks against a fellow Super carefully, and, most importantly, he’d learned just how useful it was to keep stored. None of that changed the basic truth Vince had uncovered the first time he’d tried to consciously fire it at a target, however. Electricity, at least when wielded by a Super, wanted to spread, to hit everything. Normally, he used the techniques he’d developed to suppress that tendency, but in moments like this, it was that very trait which made electricity such a useful energy.

“Everybody down!”

Violet and Roy hit the ground, and although Chad was still out of sight, Vince trusted him to do the same. With Sims gathered around him in every direction, Vince let loose a payload of stolen lightning. He didn’t bother directing it beyond aiming a few bolts at the nearest targets. Instead, he simply let the energy do what it naturally wanted to: course through every conductor it could reach.

Blinding arcs of blue-white energy burst from his body, slamming into the nearest Sims and flowing outward, hitting the ones adjacent to them, then the next nearest, and so on. Vince kept up the output as the bolts leapt from Sim to Sim in a spider web of light. Fast as it came, the lightning quickly died, as the technique rapidly exhausted Vince’s supply of electricity. The whole process took at most ten seconds, and when it ended, they were still surrounded by Sims, although ones with a fair bit of smoke rising from their bodies.

It had not, however, been a vain effort. Two Sims fell to the ground, and the rest of those directly surrounding Vince moved with sluggish, uncertain motions. One powerful bolt might be able to bring down a single Sim, but Vince had succeeded in stunning far more. It wouldn’t be enough to stop them all, of course, but that had never been the goal of the attack. All Vince had wanted was to create opportunity, and in that regard, he’d certainly succeeded.

“Hit ‘em hard and hit ‘em fast!” Roy yelled, leaping up from the ground, bat in hand. He swung the weapon so quickly it was a blur as it smashed through the nearest Sim’s legs, sending the robot flying into the air as everything below its knees became scrap. Roy didn’t hesitate, striking at the next Sim’s same area. For him, hitting without killing in a situation like this was hard, bordering on impossible. If it were just Roy in the fray, then maybe he could have depended on his endurance to see him through, but with friends depending on him he didn’t have the luxury of taking his time. So he leaned on the tried and true strongman technique of going for the legs. It took away an opponent’s mobility, probably wouldn’t kill them unless they went into shock, and had the added benefit of inflicting too much pain for those with mental-based powers to focus.

Nearby, a spiked chain whizzed through the air, wrapping around a Sim’s chest. No sooner had it made a single loop than the chain dropped, its density increasing several hundred-fold in moments. That weight came crashing down onto the Sim’s shoulder, driving it to the ground and leaving it prone as Violet bounded over to finish the job. She dropped ultra-dense fists on its knees and elbows, leaving it helpless on the ground as she pulled her weapon, now light as air again, free.

Another Sim went flying upward, arcing over their heads and then bouncing off one of the buildings, knocking loose some debris as it slid limply to the ground. It landed only a few feet from Will and a group of civilian bots, all of whom stared at the battered Sim in surprise and worry.

“Dial it back, Vince!” Roy yelled over his shoulder.

“Sorry!” Vince dodged an attack from one of the Sims with massive, armored fists. Kinetic energy was harder to wield in battle than some of his other abilities. It wasn’t just punching, where the strength in one’s muscles gave feedback as to how much force a blow would have. No, this involved throwing a punch, then adding a bunch of extra energy right at the end. It hadn’t been an issue when he was smashing through Sims in a warehouse, but in more delicate surroundings, he had to be careful how much he used. Unlike most strongmen, he hadn’t gotten a lifetime of practice with such power.

The big Sim threw another punch, one Vince easily slid to the side of. Unfortunately, this put him directly in the path of a second Sim that had been lying in wait. It struck at him with burning metal hands, no doubt meant to melt the very flesh from his bones. Vince took a quick step back, easily seeking the wave of heat from the flaming fingers and pulling it in. In a blink, the fire flowed from the Sim to Vince’s own outstretched hand, leaving his opponent flameless and confused.

It was almost nothing, just the sound of clanking metal that was a bit too close, that gave Vince the sliver of warning. Even three months prior, it would have been too late, but Hank’s “sniper” training hadn’t just been a way to dirty Vince’s clothes day after day. No, all those shoves to the ground had been honing his reflexes, specifically the ones related to kinetic absorption. On pure instinct, Vince readied for the blow, and when it slammed into his back, the tremendous power of his attacker flowed into him rather than shattering his spine.

Spinning around, Vince saw the large Sim, fist still extended, staring at the man its sensors probably said should be down in a bloody heap. It was stunned, and not in the same way as those who’d taken the brunt of the electrical blast. Vince was not one to squander an opportunity, so he leapt forward, placing a hand against its hip and angling the shot downward.

“Thanks for the charge, but I brought plenty of my own.” The kinetic blast shattered the Sim’s equivalent of a pelvis, along with a healthy chunk of its left leg, and sent it sprawling to the ground. It skidded along, knocking out the feet of several Sims behind it, sending them tumbling. As they fell, Vince caught sight of something he’d missed before: a blur in a white uniform darting between the mechanical enemies.

Chad was moving like a gymnast’s ghost, flipping around and staying completely out of every Sim’s grasp. Wherever he went, his arms and legs slashed, taking out artificial spines and tendons with surgical precision. He didn’t stop every Sim he encountered, but he at least slowed them down. And he certainly drew their attention, which was the heart of their job.

“Might want to step it up,” Roy called from behind Vince. “Your score is only three. I’ve seen Chad take down two just while he was near us, and that’s not factoring in how many he’s crippled.”

“We’re not competing,” Vince replied.

“Sure we’re not. We’re just doing the best job we can. Which still means you should step it up.” Roy turned away, kicking off from the floor and tackling another of the larger Sims. He sent it to the ground, where it raised its powerful arms in defense, only for them to be shattered under the blows of Roy’s bat.

Vince scanned the area and found the one whose fire he’d drained. Certainly, they weren’t competing or keeping score—that would probably be looked at as distasteful—but it still seemed prudent to fully neutralize a Sim he’d already fought. Especially before anyone else could add it to their tally.

35.

A tray that had earlier held a tower of sandwiches rested atop a table in the back of the room, only the most undesirable of fillings left to be claimed. Along the walls, giant television screens showcased the battle taking place down in the mock city, with different cameras capturing every aspect of the seniors’ trial. Roughly two dozen costumed men and women sat in dark, cushy chairs as they picked at their leftover sandwiches and watched the fighting unfold. Dean Blaine, along with all the other Lander professors—save for Carl Fletcher and Sean Pendleton—stood quietly around the room, ready to answer any questions a viewing Hero might have. It was not their place to offer unsolicited commentary—who the Heroes took interest in was their own decision—but sometimes, one would want to know more about a student’s training or ability. When those questions arose, it was the duty of the educators to fill in the gaps.

There was a rustle of movement from the chairs as a woman wearing a red and blue costume rose from her seat. She made her way around the others, walking quietly to the back of the room where the sandwich tray sat and looking over the few remains.

“Blaine,” she called, motioning to the nearby dean. “Why in God’s name do you insist on getting tuna salad? Honestly, does anyone ever pick these things, or do you just use them to make the pile look bigger?”

“It’s a premade variety tray, Coral,” Dean Blaine told her. “We just pick from a list of various combinations, and this was the one with the fewest bad options. Unless you wanted chicken and pineapple?”

Coral shuddered and slowly lifted one of the remaining tuna salad sandwiches onto her plate. “Point made. I guess you did the best you could.”

“I’m so glad you approve of my catering choices. Do you have any questions about the actual reason you’ve come out today?” Dean Blaine asked.

“No, you already told me about the free food.” Coral nibbled at the edge of the bread and walked away from the table, leaning against the wall next to Blaine. “And honestly, what I’m seeing so far is pretty clear cut, so there’s not much left to ask. You’ve got a few with strong leadership potential, though they definitely need more tactical training, and a couple that could serve as excellent second-in-commands. But that stuff is long down the road, anyway. As interns, they need to know how to follow more than lead, and on that account, they’re doing well. Actually, if anything, I’m a little blown away at how easily they all fell into formation and took orders. Most classes lose twenty minutes with bickering and pissing contests.”

“Horrific as it was, last May’s attack gave them all a true taste of what awaits them outside this school.” Dean Blaine looked away from Coral to the monitors where his class was currently slicing through the Sims at a rapid pace. “They understand the importance of teamwork, planning, and timeliness in a way that few other students possibly could.”

“Obviously. But you see these things every year; I don’t have to tell you that they’re putting on a good showing.” She jabbed him lightly in the ribs and met his glare with a wide smile. “Why are you so uptight? You doubled the normal amount of Sims, and the kids are still tearing them up while minimizing civilian losses. No one is talking because they’re impressed. They want to see how everything plays out.”

“In a way, I think I was afraid of exactly this outcome,” Dean Blaine slowly admitted. “There has already been so much attention and interest toward these students, so much scrutiny placed atop them, I fear that if they get much more, it will follow them for the rest of their lives. Another Class of Legends, another group of fresh Heroes saddled with impossible expectations and hundreds of bitter eyes just waiting for them to fail. That is the last thing I’d want for any of my students, especially ones who have already endured so much.”

“I think I can say with complete certainty that no one is going to call these kids a Class of Legends,” Coral assured him. “For one thing, you lot were all really powerful, but most of you had abilities better suited to neutralizing criminal threats than flat-out offing them. That made it easy to promote you all as heroic saviors, showing you standing atop a group of handcuffed criminals about to face the justice system.”

“From what I can see, they’ve managed to avoid killing the vast majority of the Sims they’ve encountered so far.” Dean Blaine pointed to a small screen, nestled in the center of the larger ones, which displayed the stats for Sims killed, Sims safely neutralized, and civilians lost. Currently, only four of the Sims had died in the brawl, and no civilian was yet lost.

“They might not be killing them, but if those were humans, the aftermath of all this would be far from media-friendly,” Coral said. “Cut spines, shattered limbs, not to mention the fact that the ground would be slick with blood by this point. Not that they’re really doing anything wrong—the job is the job, after all. Just saying, this is not a group that’s easy to hold up to make people feel safe. If anything, they’ll be a group that gets whispered about in the criminal world. A new generation of bogeymen to terrify all but the bravest or dumbest Super who decides to test them.”

“I’m not so certain that will be better for them in the long run,” Dean Blaine said.

“Maybe it won’t be easy, but that sort of reputation can save a lot of lives, when used properly.” Coral was watching the screens so devotedly that she unconsciously took a big bite of the tuna salad sandwich. With a grimace, she chewed and forced it down, then set the plate aside. “Whether you like it or not, Blaine, these kids are going to make a splash when they hit the world, if not sooner. And while they may not be another Class of Legends, I personally think they’re something better. They’re the sort of Hero that smiles at the cameras while haunting the dreams of criminals. Speaking for myself, I’m looking forward to scooping one of these kids up. After all, it won’t be a lot of us who get to say we helped mentor the Class of Nightmares.”

Dean Blaine groaned softly under his breath and looked quickly around. “Please don’t say that out loud again; the last thing I want is for it to catch on.”

“Sorry, Blaine,” Coral replied with a shrug. “I didn’t even come up with it. Like you said, those kids have already gotten a lot of attention. I’m not the first person to notice just how much collective power they’re packing.”

“Wonderful.” Dean Blaine looked back at the screens. The team of Mary, Allen, Amber, and Selena had successfully repelled a second cluster of Sims that had tried to surprise them. Across the faux-city, at the largest brawl, all the civilians had successfully been evacuated from the nearby buildings; the students were beginning to pick off Sims on the edge while Violet, Vince, Roy, and Chad continued mowing them down from the center. Alice and Shane, having laid low six Sims on their own, had joined up with Rich and Jill and were currently flying around—Jill leading them with a device on her arm—using Rich’s eyes and Shane’s shadows to neutralize any of the non-engaged Sims they spotted. Alice lay in wait in case neither of the first methods succeeded, and when she struck, the Sims fell.

He’d doubled the usual number of Sims in the test, trying to account for the unusual concentration of offensive power in the class, and they were still making incredible time. True, this was the easiest of the monthly trials they were going to face, but that didn’t mean it was supposed to be a cakewalk. Previous classes had had a harder time of it until they’d worked out a plan, and often had several students removed for injury. Yet this group was blazing across the city, saving civilians and shattering Sims in their wake.

Class of Nightmares might be a terrible name, but even he had to admit that it wasn’t entirely unfitting.

36.

Roy slammed his bat through the guarding arms of a large Sim, cracking them apart and sending it flying to the ground. Before it could recover, he was on it, delivering careful, methodically escalated blows until the light in its eyes finally died out. He hoped it was knocked out, not dead, but even with the escalation of attacks, it was impossible to be sure. Damn thing had been tough though, so he was just thankful to have it out of the fight. Leaping up from his beaten foe, Roy’s eyes swept the battlefield for another opponent. What he found, however, was that there were no more opponents.

No, now it was just a group of his classmates standing over neutralized Sims. Chad was on top of the last moving Sim, and with a flick of the bone-blade jutting from his arm, that movement came to a halt. The Sim fell, leaving them in a sudden, somewhat eerie silence. It was cut mercifully short as Dean Blaine’s voice crackled in their ear.

“Congratulations, everyone. Your trial has been completed. Every gang member was defeated, and all of the civilians were either moved out of harm’s way or lost. In the coming week, you will have one-on-one meetings with your professors to discuss your actions in today’s trial. Everything you did, both the wise choices and the mistakes, will be analyzed so that you can learn from them. And let me be clear, everyone here made mistakes; such is the unavoidable nature of the chaos of Hero work. However, allow me to address your overall effectiveness as a unit, just as a DVA rep would if you were a team of actual Heroes responding to this incident.”

Roy’s stomach tightened and a wave of fear washed over him. Diving headfirst into a brawl of robots with simulated superpowers, sure, that he could handle. But the possibility of hearing that they’d screwed the pooch, that they sucked at the job they’d been training so hard to do for so long, now that genuinely terrified him.

“For your first priority, protecting the civilians, you did an exemplary job,” Dean Blaine continued. “Only one life was lost when a Sim charged through an occupied building. That is, of course, tragic, but given the scale of potential destruction, it is far less than what could have happened. In so far as property damage, while much was done before your arrival, you only directly caused around five hundred thousand dollars’ worth, assuming these were real homes and businesses instead of props.”

The eyes of several students went wide at that number. Had Dean Blaine just said they only did a half million in theoretical damage? How much did it take to get scolded? Roy, on the other hand, was more surprised that they’d kept the total so low. Growing up with connections to the Hero world, he had a better sense of just how much fights, especially ones in the middle of a city, could really cost. There was a reason insurance companies wanted the absolute best out of Heroes.

“And finally, the Sims’ lives. There were forty-eight Sims spread out across the battlefield. In total, you managed to neutralize them all, but in the process of doing so, nine were killed. I will offer no personal commentary on that number; we will discuss this metric with those who took the lives during your meetings. I will only say that while some of you will need to use this as a learning opportunity, others will not classify such incidents as mistakes. We do not try and hide the ugly truth that sometimes doing this work means kill or be killed. Learning when you have reached that point is one of the most important aspects of being a Hero.

“I will also add that nine out of forty-eight is a little under a twenty percent casualty rate, and in situations like this, the DVA considers anything under thirty percent to be acceptable. Thus, were you a group of actual Heroes, you would walk away from this incident without citations on any of the criteria. That’s as close to a passing grade as we get outside of the HCP, so congratulations.”

A heavy weight fell from Roy’s shoulders at the word “passing,” which was weird, since that was usually Hershel’s jam. All around him, the rest of the class seemed similarly relieved. They’d done it. In their first taste of what actual Hero work would sort of be like, they’d managed to not completely screw things up. Granted, Dean Blaine didn’t sound like he was about to blast them with confetti or hand out trophies, but they’d shown basic aptitude for their future career, and that felt good.

“Everyone should head to the north of town. That’s where a lift will be waiting. You’ll have a chance to shower and change into fresh uniforms before meeting the Heroes that were watching your fight. Before you go, let me caution you, lest today’s success fill you with false confidence,” Dean Blaine said, his voice turning somehow even more serious than before. “This is not like other years, where you see such trials two or three times in total. As you were told, trials are coming at the end of every month, and today’s was as much a calibration test as it was an introductory lesson. It is the purpose of this program to push you, to test you in ways you didn’t imagine possible, and to see how you grow. Every time you succeed, we will make the next trial harder, to see if you can overcome the bar. Or, failing that, if you can grow more powerful in the wake of failing. This was the easiest it will ever be. I urge you to prepare for much, much harder obstacles to come.”

The speech didn’t exactly kill off the cheerful mood that had filled the students—they’d heard too many doom and gloom warnings to be powerfully affected by them—but smiles still grew a little dimmer as they made their way north. It wasn’t that Dean Blaine’s words surprised them—in fact, it was the opposite. They already knew it was going to get harder: every trial a little more dangerous, the choices they made more split-second, the consequences thereof more sobering.

Dean Blaine’s words reminded them of the fact that there were only ten spots awaiting a class of eighteen at graduation. Sooner or later, one of the trials was likely going to pit them against each other, and just like that, the people they’d been fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with, trusting their lives to, would become their enemies. And that would be the hardest of all.

37.

Clad in fresh uniforms, hair still damp from the powerful spray of the locker room showers, Lander’s senior class followed Professor Pendleton to the gym, of all places. Only now, instead of being a temple to sweat and discipline, there were small tables adorned with white table cloths and small decorative centerpieces set up at regular intervals. In the middle of the room was a large buffet stocked only with small plates—inconvenience incarnate—and at the far end of either side of the gym were bars that had ample costumed patrons lining up to be served.

“Help yourselves to the food and drinks,” Professor Pendleton advised. He’d been waiting outside the locker rooms, catching each student as they emerged and corralling them into a herd before leading them through the halls. “Just remember not to go too hard. This isn’t far off from a job interview, and no one wants to teach a sloppy drunk. Otherwise, feel free to mingle. The Heroes will approach those of you they want to know a little more about, some as potential teachers, some out of pure curiosity. But if there’s one here you know you want to learn under, don’t be afraid to take the initiative. They tend to respect that sort of thing.”

It didn’t escape everyone’s notice that Professor Pendleton had referred to the Heroes as “they” instead of “we.” Even more took note of the fact that he stopped at the gym’s entrance, holding the door open but not entering himself. While few knew the reasons for his separation from the Hero world, several flashed him thankful smiles as they made their way into the revelry. Alice, particularly, lingered with her estranged uncle.

“What are you going to do while we’re in there rubbing elbows?”

“Retire to my quarters, where I can eat on a normal-sized plate and drink as much as I like without fearing a bad impression,” Professor Pendleton replied. “I hated these things even when I was a student. Damn sure not going to attend one if I don’t have to.”

“Lucky.” Alice knew he was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth. With so many other ears around, she couldn’t blame him. Instead, she pretended to believe the fib and kept walking, stepping into the place she knew so well yet with only a few changes had become almost entirely foreign.

If anything, she felt a sense of déjà vu from her life before Lander: tiny plates, awkward business-like mingling, and the feeling of forced politeness suffocating the room. She may as well have been back at one of Charles Adair’s events, dressed up pretty enough to be noticed and complimented, but only there as a prop to humanize the mogul. Looking back, Alice could think of few memories she hated more, and that included the times she’d gone floating up too high and landed to a broken ankle or foot.

Hated or not, those times had given her the skills to navigate exactly this sort of situation, and that was what she intended to do. Alice was going to find a good mentor to teach her once the HCP ended, someone who could really help her take her power to the next level.

And she was going to do it on her own merit, as Alice, not as the daughter of Charles Adair.

*             *             *

“That was some impressive fighting out there.” The voice came from a shaggy-haired man in a green and gray costume, wide shoulders offsetting his short frame and making him look compact, like a walking ball of muscle. He’d appeared at the end of the buffet line, waiting to greet Chad as the younger Super finished carefully balancing a few morsels on his tiny dish.

Chad looked the man up and down, peering through a lifetime of memories and easily pairing the outfit with the name attached to it. “Thank you very much, Wild Claws,” he replied. Chad stepped away from the line, allowing others to continue moving, and Wild Claws followed.

“Have to tell you, from what I heard through the grapevine, I was expecting you to be another strongman. Damn near spit a sandwich across the room when I saw the grace and precision you fought with. No wonder you’re on top of the heap around here.”

“I assure you, that position has been harder to retain with every passing week,” Chad told him. “If tested now, I’m not certain I’d be able to keep the honor, though I certainly wouldn’t make taking it easy.”

“Strong and humble. That’s a rare combination so soon in the senior year,” Wild Claws chuckled. “Then let me ask, you open to a little constructive criticism?”

“Always.” There was almost too much eagerness in Chad’s voice. He loathed personal weakness, and his desire to root it out from himself like a fierce gardener spilled over unintentionally at times.

“Your leadership skills are solid in that people listen to your commands, but you didn’t put them to much use. In fact, all you really did was tell people to do whatever they wanted. That’s not an effective use of teamwork or strategy.” Wild Claws pointed across the room to Shane, Alice, Britney, and Mary in order. “Those four cleaned up after you, which was why things worked out. Now, not every Hero needs to be in command—that wouldn’t make any sense on a team—but if you’re going to take the reins, you need to do it well.”

“I thought a good leader trusted his people and their decision-making.” Chad might have been the only person in the world who could raise such a point without seeming defensive. He was genuinely confused, seeking clarification, and it shone through in his tone.

“Trust is key, you’re not wrong there, but… Look, would you ask Roy Daniels to handle aerial opponents?” Wild Claws asked.

“Obviously not, unless it was absolutely necessary,” Chad said.

“Exactly, because that’s not what he’s best suited to.” Wild Claws nodded enthusiastically, sending his long hair bouncing. “Same with strategy. Not everyone is good at deciding how to best allocate a team’s resources in a fight. Just like some are better at melee than ranged fighting, some aren’t great with tactics. That’s part of why teams have leaders. If you’re going to take command like that, you either need to have a real plan in mind or listen to someone who does. You’re a powerful Super, no one can doubt that, but that doesn’t necessarily make you a good leader.”

“I see. Thank you very much for the candor. I didn’t realize my error. If such a situation arises again, I will either seek to be a better leader or let someone more suited take the role,” Chad said.

“For what it’s worth, I hope you pick the former,” Wild Claws told him. “I’m probably not supposed to know this, technically speaking, but I’m aware of who your old man was. Fought alongside him a couple of times, and damned if he didn’t know how to get the most out of every Hero working with him.”

“I… you fought with Intra?” For the first time in a long while, Chad’s composure slipped a bit, his eyes widening and the small plate in his hand nearly spilling to the floor. “How did you know I was his son? My impression was that they kept the specifics of our powers secret.”

“Oh, they did. Truth be told, I doubt I would have put it together if I hadn’t seen him pull some of your same moves in the field,” Wild Claws admitted. “But it helped that I already knew he had a son.”

“You did?”

“Sure, everyone who worked with Intra knew about his kid. The guy wouldn’t shut up about you, and I mean that in the best way,” Wild Claws said. “What happened to your dad was a genuine tragedy, especially since he didn’t get to see how strong you turned out. That man loved the hell out of you.”

“I see.” Chad was back in full control, but now it demanded effort. He focused on keeping his emotions reined in. “Thank you very much, Wild Claws... for the advice, and for the kind words.”

38.

Vince turned around from getting a club soda to find a woman in a red and blue costume standing nearby, already nursing a beer from the bar as she watched people filter past. No sooner had he seen her than she crooked a finger in his direction and motioned him over, to which Vince complied.

Her outfit was nearly as concealing as Professor Cole’s, with a full head-mask covering her entire face, save only for her mouth and dark brown eyes. For the first time, he realized that his own costume, if the stars aligned and such a thing came to exist, would have to be in a similar style—that or he’d need to shave his head. Silver hair in a college of young people who loved Super-chic was one thing. Once there was a Hero with such a noticeable trait, to keep his hair out in the open might be tempting fate.

“You have a very interesting power,” the woman said. “If I were taking a guess, I’d say absorber? Of course, you don’t need to confirm it or anything, if you don’t want; preservation of secrecy and all that.”

“I don’t mind discussing the general way it works,” Vince replied. He was supposed to network a little; such things were bound to come up. “And to answer your question, yes ma’am, I’m a multi-energy absorber.”

“Oooooh, let’s stay away from the ma’am talk, or I’m going to need something a lot stronger than beer.” She took a swig of her drink to drive the point home. “My name is Coral, and you’re Vince, right?”

“Yes ma—er, Coral.”

“Nice to meet you, Vince,” Coral said. “So, anyway, multi-energy absorber? Not a very common one there. Most tend to have one type they can handle. Guessing that means you work with a diminished holding capacity, then. Can’t take as much energy as a regular absorber?”

“I’m… not certain. I’ve never met another energy absorber, just one who took in damage, so I’m unsure of what their capacity usually is. I can’t honestly say if mine is more or less.” In truth, Vince didn’t know what his limit was. He certainly had one, everything in the world came with limits; he just hadn’t hit that wall yet. From the way the professors acted, he didn’t get the sense that he was working with a diminished anything. But that might come off as presumptuous; better to stick with the absolute truth as he knew it.

“Never, huh? Well, from what I’ve heard about Korman this year, you might just get the chance at Intramurals,” Coral told him. “But it’s not really my place to talk about that. Tell me about yourself, Vince. Got any Heroes in mind that you’re hoping to intern under, or teams you want to join if you make it all the way to Hero?”

“Honestly, I hadn’t given it any real thought until recently,” Vince admitted. “I’ve been so focused on just making it to graduation, I didn’t consider what would come next. I suppose I’d be happy with any team I could trust, and any mentor who could help me become stronger.”

“Believe it or not, that might be the healthiest way to come in to these sorts of situations.” Coral gestured to the room where the other students were chatting with a variety of people in costumes. Vince noticed Roy and Violet were both talking to a tall man in a black and brown costume, while Mary’s discussion was with a woman wearing a cape almost like a lab coat. Alice was being approached by a female Hero in green and black, one who seemed familiar but who Vince couldn’t place before Coral spoke again.

“A lot of these kids are going in to the situation with stars in their eyes, chasing after teams or teachers based on their prestige instead of how good a fit they are. Looking for the one that will make you the best Hero—that’s the way to really get started on your post-HCP career.” Coral paused, taking a look around the room once more. “That said, the ones who take interest in you might not be the right fit either. You need to do your own research and figure out who you think will teach you well. Then you have to make them see that, too. This is just like your HCP training: the ones who put in the extra work are the ones who go further.”

“I see. That’s an area where I’m lacking, but I don’t intend to be for long,” Vince told her. “Thank you very much for the advice.”

“Don’t worry about it. Between you and me, our kind have to stick together.” Coral lowered her voice to a few degrees above a whisper.

“Pardon me, but ‘our kind’?” Vince asked, matching her tone.

“Those who get looked at with a bit of extra suspicion, whose family lines make others assume the worst of them. Globe’s return was pretty huge news, and the fact that he’d taken time out of being on the lam to raise a kid made it through the gossip mill. Best to assume every Hero you meet knows about your connection to him,” Coral advised.

“That’s a bit worrisome.” Vince had known the Globe connection would cause more problems eventually, but he hadn’t expected this to be the day they kicked in.

“Some people are assholes,” Coral agreed. “But you’re not on your own out here. There’s a clause in the HCP that forbids students from being barred entrance or kicked out based on what their family members have done, and you are far from the first to be protected by it. Like I said, our kind have to stick together.”

At last, Vince put together what she was trying to tell him. “You’re the daughter of a criminal, too.”

“As are several of my friends and colleagues.” Coral finished her beer and unceremoniously dropped the empty cup into a nearby trash can. “It’s something else to consider when you’re deciding which mentor to pursue. While we don’t advertise our family relations, if you ask Dean Blaine, he can get a list of those with cause to be a bit more sympathetic to the situation. Being connected makes things easier. It’s a way many of us decided to do exactly what the HCP had taught us: turn a weakness into a strength.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” Vince said. “Although, I think for now I’ll stick with my original plan. Better to find the best fit and hope they’re willing to accept me. I don’t want to limit my options until it’s necessary.”

“An understandable strategy. But what will you do if the Hero you think is the best teacher doesn’t want anything to do with you?” Coral asked.

Vince shrugged, jostling his soda and spilling a few drops to the floor. “In my time at the HCP, I’ve learned that there are some fights I can’t win, so if it comes to that, I’ll have to accept the failure. But that’s not to say I won’t fight with all I’ve got to convince them otherwise first.”

Coral grinned and started for the bar line to get a replacement beer. “With an attitude like that, you may just pull it off. And if not, now you know we’re around. Whether or not you reach out is up to you.”

39.

“Miss Adair?”

Alice turned in the direction of the voice, a small cracker smeared with cheese halfway to her mouth. The morsel nearly snapped between her fingers as she took in the woman in green and black. Carefully, Alice lowered it back to her plate, trying to yank the diplomatic instincts out from her brain.

“Yes. I mean, that’s me. I mean… you’re Gale, aren’t you? The leader of Elemental Fury?”

Gale smiled and dipped her head modestly. “I’m impressed you know about me. I’m mostly a Brewster celebrity.”

“Are you kidding? That thing with the robots last year was nuts. Even if the woman causing tidal waves in Port Valens stole the media spotlight a few days later, I still caught some of the coverage. It was really impressive,” Alice said. Giant robots weren’t exactly unheard of in a world of people who treated the laws of reality like mere suggestions, which was probably why the story hadn’t rated higher, but she’d found it intriguing. Of course, given who else had been prominently on display in the situation, she’d never brought it up around the rest of Melbrook. Roy and Hershel could be a bit touchy about their dad—at least, before he’d helped train everyone over the summer.

“Glad to hear it,” Gale told her. “We all did our best. That’s the most a Hero can ever strive for. On the subject of impressiveness, though, I have to say you were pretty spectacular yourself in there. While the highest engagement count will likely go to one of the students who were in the giant brawl, that four-person team of yours took down a lot of the other variables. This trial wouldn’t have gone as smoothly if you hadn’t picked off the stragglers.”

It was Alice’s turn to be modest, glancing down at the pile of crackers on her plate. “Jill’s the one who had the tech to find them, and Rich made taking them down a lot easier with his stares. I was mostly transportation and backup.”

“No, you coordinated the attack and saved your own, more dangerous power for when it was needed,” Gale corrected. “The two of us aren’t so different, in terms of ability. You seem to utilize telekinesis or some other external force while I control the wind, but in terms of how we’re best used, there’s a lot of similarity. Unfortunately, I didn’t have quite as healthy of an attitude toward teamwork when I was a senior.”

“More of a lone wolf?” Alice asked.

“Somewhat. Being a legacy meant there were a lot of eyes on me, and that pressure took me to some places that weren’t as productive as I thought at the time. Although it did force me to become powerful, since I didn’t trust anyone else to have my back. But that mentality comes with a very firm limit on how far you can go,” Gale warned. “Anyway, it’s nice to see someone with similar abilities put on such a good showing. I just wanted to tell you that, as well as to let you know that I’ll be keeping an eye on you through the rest of the year. Obviously, you seem to know me, but perhaps do a little research on Elemental Fury as a whole. If it looks like a good fit, there might be a spot for you should you reach graduation. I think you’ll make a fine apprentice; if not for me, then for whoever does train you.”

“Really?” Alice’s decorum seemed to fail her as she grasped for words. When her mind finally located something, it was the last sentence she wanted to utter. Unfortunately, she also knew it was the one that she absolutely had to.

“I appreciate that. Honestly, I’m kind of wowed by it,” Alice said. “But I feel like I should tell you up front: despite my power, I’m not a Control student. I decided to major in Subtlety. I’d still be honored to learn under you, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t want to pull a bait-and-switch if you thought you were getting another type of Hero.”

Gale’s smile widened, just a touch, as she nodded. “That’s quite up front and respectable, Alice. All the more so considering your specialty. But rest assured, I wouldn’t make this sort of offer without understanding to whom I extended it. After last year’s robot debacle, I’ve begun to see the importance of having multiple Subtlety Heroes. We have one on our staff, but finding more has been a challenge, as our reputation pulls us into a lot of high-conflict situations. Another local team has been helping us out, but I decided it might be best to recruit our own: a Subtlety Hero who can hold their own in high-stakes combat. Someone like you, Alice.”

“That’s… very kind of you, Gale,” Alice said. “Oddly pragmatic, too.”

“Running a team means learning to think practically. At any rate, this is all very tentative. There’s still a year of training left, and you’ll have to make it to the final ten. I just wanted you to know that we were interested, so you could decide if you felt the same way. If not, that’s perfectly fine. I’ll understand if you want to intern under a fellow Subtlety Hero. Just keep in mind that our specializations are just that: areas where we excel. It doesn’t mean a Subtlety Hero might not need to know how to fight, or a Control Hero couldn’t benefit from some hacking skills. I might have a bit to teach you, even if we do come from different disciplines. Something to keep in mind.”

Gale walked off before Alice could reply, leaving her with a lot to consider and a plate of crackers that no longer seemed quite so appetizing.

*             *             *

Owen Daniels, clad in full Titan costume, sat in the small room with Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport, the three of them sipping on beers covertly “displaced” from the bar. On the screen, video of the earlier battle played, stopped only as Owen called for a pause to check some angle or other. Bit by bit, the tape moved forward as he examined the fight from all sides. Finally, it neared the end, and Owen reached for a fresh beer from the ice-filled bucket in the center of the table.

“Thanks again for doing this,” he said, carefully pulling off the top while making sure not to rip the container in half.

“It’s a pleasure,” Mr. Transport said, who had a few empty beer bottles lined up in front of him as well. “But you could have attended the live showing, you know. Even with your years off, you’ve still logged more than enough time to qualify for an apprentice.”

“Wouldn’t have been right.” Owen tipped back a mouthful of his fresh beer, enjoying the flavor as it washed over his tongue. “For better or worse, there are still folks out there who react strongly to the name Titan. Better to keep the focus on the kids. Besides, I like this more: lets me go slow and get a good sense of what everyone is packing.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but isn’t this a bit of a waste of time?” Mr. Numbers asked. In the spirit of the evening, he had cracked open a single beer, of which he’d consumed nearly a quarter. “Obviously, you’ll be offering Roy the internship.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Owen said. “My sons and I are getting along better, but I’m doubtful he’d agree to be my intern. Even if he said yes, it still might be a bad fit. Mentor and intern is a powerful relationship, one that requires a lot of trust and respect. I’m worried that the father and son dynamic I screwed up would get in the way, and that could lead to Roy and Hershel getting hurt if they disobey in the field.”

“Then why did you want to watch the tapes?” Mr. Transport asked.

“Not that complicated; working with my PEERS team and helping in the desert gave me a teaching bug,” Owen told them. “I think it’s high time for Titan to take an intern. Maybe it will be my boys, or maybe they’re better served by someone else. For now, I just wanted to see if there were any other contenders at Lander.”

“And?” Mr. Transport probed.

Owen took a longer sip of his beer, watching the screen carefully. “And this was a softball. Not in so far as the combat part—I’ll admit Dean Blaine did a good job with that—but the other stuff. I get that they were using this trial to calibrate for power; however, it didn’t tell me much I didn’t already know. When are they bringing in the new Sims?”

Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport exchanged one of their silent glances. “The third or fourth month’s exam,” Mr. Numbers said at last. “Dean Blaine wants to get them used to different civilian situations before springing it on them.”

“Then that’s the one I need to see,” Owen said. “Keep me in the loop, because when that trial comes, we’ll see who’s actually got what it takes to survive outside these walls.”

40.

West Texas was about what Nick had expected: empty save for dust and shrubbery. The pump jacks were a bit of a surprise, though they shouldn’t have been. They dotted the landscape like giant metal versions of the novelty birds that tipped up and down in a seemingly endless loop.

This wasn’t the first time he’d had to make a trip out of town, though his summer vanishings could be blamed on Vegas business. Nick’s trip from California had left him slightly irritable, and the sensation was somewhat exacerbated by the fact that his destination was a five-hour drive from the nearest airport. True, he could have called in a teleporter—Mr. Transport would have happily helped with this task—but at the moment, Nick wanted to keep the circle of knowledge confined. For those reasons he’d chosen to travel on the day when the others had their exam. It was one of the few times he could slip away without being missed. Everyone’s eyes, both friend and foe, were on whatever battle was happening in the depths of Lander.

He pulled the car, rented under a false identity that tied back to neither Nick nor any of his people in Vegas, into the parking lot of a squat brick building. He was careful not to get his hopes up. This was a very long process, and even if he succeeded, he’d have to go through a lot of failures to do so. Still, he had to make the time to do the visits, because that was how he’d take those careful steps closer to success.

Killing the engine, Nick walked out into the blistering late-August heat. For most it was daunting, but for a boy who’d grown up in the desert, it actually felt a bit homey. Adopting a quick, certain gait, he made his way up the walk and into Careful Meadows, the only long-term treatment facility in Cadsville, Texas and fifty miles in any direction.

A nurse with marked laugh lines took gauge of him as soon as he walked in the door. Visitors to these sorts of places probably weren’t common, at least not as common as they should be, so anyone who stepped through was an anomaly that would stick out in the staff’s minds. Much as he’d have liked to avoid direct engagement, it was precisely because of this that he couldn’t delegate the task. Nick had to handle these interactions personally if he wanted to ensure they were done right.

“Afternoon, ma’am.” Nick didn’t try to hide his youth—that would have only made it all the more conspicuous. Rather he addressed the difference in their ages off the cuff, putting the onus on her to acknowledge it further. The role he’d chosen wasn’t too far out of reach for someone who was clearly recently graduated or close to being so: a little hard work and a direct career path might have brought him there only a few years ahead of his peers. “My name is Calvin Carter. I’m here on behalf of Golden Grove Insurance.”

From the suit jacket wrapped around his shoulders, Nick produced identification that matched Calvin’s name—the name that was also registered to the car outside. Calvin Carter was one of several fake personas he’d set up years ago, going so far as to include credit histories and past residences. Some he used for work, others he never touched lest they become compromised. One never knew when the need to disappear completely might arise.

“Golden Grove?” She took the credentials and looked them up and down carefully, as though she had the skill to spot a fake. Maybe she did—Nick wasn’t acquainted with her background. However, were that the case, she still wouldn’t find anything questionable. Even if she called the actual company, his name would check out. Granted, enough digging would discern that he had no paychecks or supervisor—the hacker Nick had paid to put him in the system did have limits—but that wasn’t the sort of thing to happen on a mere phone call. “We don’t see many of your agents around here.”

“Well, we’re a small company, and we only have a few clients in the facility,” Nick said. “But there’s been a little heat from some recent scandals lately, so the company is doubling down on checking in on their unresponsive clients. They’re so desperate for people, they’re even hiring us right out of college.” Nick smiled, and the woman seemed to relax a bit. He’d offered an explanation without calling her out on doubting his age. And the scandal was real enough—at least, the one he’d reference if she asked. It was a big world; there was always some sort of scandal one could twist to fill a need.

“I guess that’s fine, but Careful Meadows is a top-notch facility,” the nurse informed him. “We’ve never had any instances of neglect or mistreatment.”

“And I am relieved to hear that. The last thing I want is to have to report that sort of thing. The paperwork is a nightmare. But our company promises oversight of client care when the families buy coverage, so we do have to check in on occasion. Even at the top-notch places.”

The nurse nodded and sat down at her computer, clacking away, probably bringing up the patients that Golden Grove represented. Nick pulled an official list from his coat pocket that would match her records—one more step to establish authenticity. There were only four people in this facility under the insurer’s representation, and Nick would have to look in on all of them to keep up appearances. Plus, if these people were doing a shit job, Nick would send a real report upstream, though that wasn’t his primary objective.

No, he was here for one patient—the lone person in the state who’d jumped out at him from the thousands upon thousands of records he’d been perusing. Honestly, Nick wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for. There was so little to go on, he might stare directly at his objective and never even realize it. This was better than just records, though. Here, he could get a sense of things, trust his instincts.

“Everything checks out,” the nurse announced. “Let me get someone to accompany you. Policy, you know.”

“I’m well acquainted with it.” Nick’s pulse picked up, just the barest of a touch. Was he nervous? No, that was idiotic. Perhaps excited, then, though technically he had no reason to be. This was going to be one of countless dead ends; he was just getting it out of the way. Yet as he waited for another nurse to lead him down the hall, there was no denying that something in him seemed eager to get moving again.

Perhaps it was a hunch, some collection of instincts whispering knowledge his conscious mind had missed. That was unlikely; Nick’s observational skills were highly trained, and he generally knew where his hunches came from. This didn’t feel like one of those. It was different, more ineffable.

A new theory wiggled its way into Nick’s mind, seemingly appearing from thin air. In reality, it was a bubble that rose from his memory of last May when his power had been dialed up to an impossible level. This felt just the tiniest amount like he had then: a feeling of certainty, of knowing where all the pieces would fall. But he wasn’t using his power—even if he’d wanted to, the only sunglasses he’d brought were sitting in the rental car.

Unless… was it possible that he was feeling luck’s presence? Nick’s very power proved that luck was more than an intangible concept, at least for him. Maybe being in ultra-mode had heightened his awareness of it. It would be a strange side effect, but no odder than his power was in the first place.

The sound of shoes echoed down the hallway, and the feeling grew stronger. Something was happening, that much was undeniable. If he really was sensing the presence of luck, then there was one very important question he needed to answer quickly.

Was it good fortune or ill gathering around him?

41.

The events of Friday had left even the highly-trained seniors exhausted, and with no call from Nick to stir up trouble, all of Melbrook was fast asleep by ten that evening. Adding to the decadence, everyone—except Chad—slept in as well. Not until almost nine did the others appear in the kitchen, hastily preparing meals to replace all the energy they’d expended the day before. Perhaps nine was still early for most college students, but those people weren’t on a rigorous class and training schedule that often had them up well before the sun.

To their surprise, only a half hour after the Melbrook residents began moving about, Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport emerged from their apartment behind the kitchen. It wasn’t that anyone had forgotten the two men lived there; it was simply that aside from the Saturday chess game and occasional check-in, their eternal chaperones liked to give the younger Supers plenty of space. This was supposed to be like a real college experience, or as much as they could safely allow with test subjects.

“Morning, everyone.” Mr. Transport took a long swig from a coffee cup that would have seemed unnecessarily oversized if it weren’t currently filled to the brim. “Before you all set off for the day, Mr. Numbers and I wanted to have a quick chat.”

Chad noted that everyone else in the room seemed to tense at those words, though he didn’t know why. From his perspective, both men had always been courteous and trustworthy. Of course, they’d never left him stranded at the base of a mountain, so that might have been why he saw them in a different light.

“Relax. It’s nothing that bad,” Mr. Numbers said, visibly reading the room. “Word came down from on high that given your special circumstances, preparations we need to make for your covers could take a little longer than normal. This means we need you all to make those choices as soon as possible to give us ample time to work in.”

“Our covers?” Vince was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, his brain barely working at half-capacity.

“In case you graduate,” Mr. Transport told him. The taller of the misters walked to the living room and took a seat, causing the rest of the group to follow him, some with toaster pastries in hand as they did so. “Once you leave the HCP, the secret identity rule will no longer technically be in effect, meaning you are free to live openly as a Hero, as many have before. However, due to all the risks that come with that, the DVA provides a helping hand in the form of setting up cover identities for those who want them.”

“Basically, we run you through real corporations, just operating under special branches or classifications. You exist on the books, but your real work is as a Hero. That way, you’ve got a ready-made explanation for when anyone in the mundane world asks what you do,” Mr. Numbers added.

“So that’s what we wanted to talk with you all about.” Mr. Transport pulled five flash drives out of his pocket and set them down on the coffee table. “First off, these stay in the dorms. If taken outside, they’re essentially set to liquefy and become unusable. On each one, you’ll find aptitude tests for fields related to every major in order to find a job that fits you well. Choose your major, take the tests, peruse your options, and pick a career path you think you can pull off. Remember, you don’t actually have to do the job, you just have to be able to convince people that you do.”

“Though we are supposed to mention that, should you not make it to Hero graduation, this would be a useful tool for picking a non-HCP career.” The sour expression on Mr. Numbers’ face made it clear how felt about passing along such a message. “Chad, the rest of the class will have to do these later in the year, but since you’re living here, it made more sense to knock yours out along with everyone else.”

“Take a few weeks to make your choices,” Mr. Transport instructed them. “We’ll want to know your chosen covers by the middle of October.”

“You know what, speaking of majors, I’ve got a question for Vince,” Hershel said, twisting over to look at the still sleepy student. “What major did you end up picking, you know, outside of the HCP? Freshman year you were undecided, and with all the HCP stuff, I never thought to ask what you landed on.”

“Oh… well, I had a meeting with an advisor last year, and she asked me what I really knew a lot about and enjoyed,” Vince said. “The only thing I could think of was traveling, since I did so much of it for most of my life. She said that sounded like a good fit for a Geography major, and I just sort of went along with it… Mostly because it didn’t come with any extra math requirements.”

“Huh, I guess it’s not the worst match,” Alice noted. “Though I’ll be damned if I know what sort of cover you can manage with a degree in geography.”

“They’ve had to work with far worse,” Mr. Numbers assured her.

“I have a question.” Chad politely raised his hand as he spoke. When no one talked over him, he took the cue to continue, lowering his arm in the process. “This seems to all work off the assumption that we want to have cover identities. What if we decide to live in the open as soon as we leave the HCP?”

“Well, you’re free to do that, but it will severely limit your internship options,” Mr. Transport replied. “Remember, your mentors will be taking you along, teaching you like a live-in student. If you don’t have a cover, then that exposes them as well, since anytime they’re seen with you without their mask it risks their identity. I’m not saying there are none who would take you, just know that you’d be working from a much smaller pool.”

“Ah, that explains it,” Chad said. He looked around the room at the confused stares and explained. “I always wondered why Angela was so willing to accept keeping her identity a secret when she left the HCP. Her identities are so close to one another, I’d expected her to at least consider not bothering with it. But if it limited her training options, she’d obviously draw a line between Angela and Charon.”

“Most Heroes do,” Mr. Numbers told them. “And that’s not an accident. It’s good to get out into the world and see what things are like before making that kind of decision. Remember, there are a lot of safeguards to protect your identity, but once you choose to release it, that genie can never be put back in the bottle. Your mundane life is a precious thing. Don’t let it go easily.”

“But for now, just worry about taking the tests and choosing a good cover.” Mr. Transport tapped the flash drives for emphasis. “I urge you to take it seriously. This is your fake future we’re talking about, after all.”

42.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” Will whispered. He and Camille were seated by wilting plants, away from the rest of the small group (but still larger than they’d hoped) of attendees waiting for the meeting to begin. The Lander Student Center was vast and largely deserted—not much of a surprise on a Saturday afternoon. One of the more moderately-sized meeting rooms had its doors open, homemade posters alerting all to what was happening inside.

As the time to start drew near, Camille felt familiar knots of tension in her stomach. She would probably never get over having poor nerves, but she’d long ago learned to push past them and focus on the task at hand—be it a battle or something she was less experienced with.

“That’s my line,” she told Will. “I’m the one who invited you along.”

“I was just throwing it out there.” Will turned slightly away, carefully examining the faces of the other nearby students.

“Were you really going to just let this slide without keeping tabs on them?” Camille asked.

“No, but my methods involved a less personal touch.” Will sighed and adjusted his glasses. “Though I suppose there is something to be said for firsthand experience.”

“Excuse me, everyone.” A tall woman with clearly dyed red hair stepped into the hall, drawing all eyes to her. “If you could come on in, we’re about ready to get started.”

Camille and Will joined the rest of the herd as they filed into the room. Rows of padded folding chairs were set up for people to rest on. Camille took a bit of vicious joy in the fact that there were far more seats than people; they weren’t drawing as much of a crowd as they’d hoped. Then again, she would have preferred to see the room entirely empty, so it was a bitter victory.

No one seemed to pay much attention to either her or Will as they made their way to a pair of chairs near the middle of the room, far enough back to not be crowded but not so near the exit as to draw attention to themselves. Both of them had worn loose, layered clothing to hide their physiques. It was one of the reasons she’d asked Will to come along—his naturally slender frame meant that while three years of HCP training had left him strong and toned, when well-covered he could appear scrawny. Being fit was hardly a dead giveaway of HCP students in a school this size—there were dozens of sports and athletic clubs without even counting the people who just liked to exercise—but every little bit they could do to blend in was key. Powers aside, neither she nor Will stood out as particularly remarkable, and for once, that was something she considered a strength.

The room quickly settled as the other attendees found seats; mercifully none of them came too close to Will and Camille. Not that they would do anything as risky or stupid as trying to talk during the meeting, but she still preferred not to sit any closer to these people than she had to. Even being here made her skin want to crawl. She found herself suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude that her power hadn’t forced her to go the Subtlety route.

“Afternoon, everyone.” The redhead was now standing at the front of the room, a large whiteboard and folding table filled with fliers behind her. “As many of you know, my name is Kennedy Dawson, and I’m one of the students who has helped shape this activist group. Now, some of you are familiar faces, but I see a lot of newcomers in the crowd as well, so please forgive me while I briefly introduce what we’re trying to accomplish here. Simply put: in light of last year’s events, we believe that it is no longer safe to house Hero Certification Programs on campuses with normal, non-Super students. While no one here wants to disparage the work that actual Heroes do, this situation puts us in unnecessary danger. It is our goal to make the administration recognize that fact and take action to correct it. We want to take Lander back for the regular people.”

Years of shyness and forced facial control paid off as Camille fought to keep a sour expression from breaking through her placid facade. Will also remained stoic, which was the other reason she’d chosen him to come along. Showing up as a lone woman to something like this risked inviting unnecessary romantic attention—Camille wasn’t particularly prideful about her looks, however she’d been hit on enough to know it was a possibility—but the other men she trusted were a little too passionate. None of them would be able to hold his tongue listening to this. Much as she loved him, not even polite and sociable Vince would remain silent if he heard something he felt was wrong. That attitude had its place, but this wasn’t it. They just needed to know what was happening. Information was worth more than speaking up, for the moment.

“Now, there have been some concerns raised, probably by the HCP members themselves, that this sort of rhetoric falls in line with hate groups like the Sons of Progress,” Kennedy continued. “So I want to take this moment and make it clear that we are in no way a group calling for any sort of harm or end to Heroes or the Supers training to become them. We have lots of respect for what they do; we just want them to do it somewhere else.”

“You know Lander was founded as a school for the HCP in the first place, right?” The voice came from a broad-shouldered man with a buzz cut, sitting by himself near the back of the room. “So saying you want to take it back is inaccurate. This place exists because the Heroes needed a place to train where they could still get an education. Without them, you wouldn’t even be here.”

“It’s just a phrase we picked to encapsulate our goal.” To her credit, Kennedy handled the interruption with surprising calm, even smiling at the man as he glared at her.

“Uh huh. And what about all the Supers and Powereds who aren’t with the HCP? Do you think they need to get off campus as well?”

“Of course not. We are certainly not advocating for any policies that infringe upon the civil liberties of Supers or Powereds.” Kennedy’s words were so crisp, it betrayed the fact that they’d obviously been rehearsed.

“Your type never does, at first.” A few of the other organization members who’d been lined up near Kennedy had worked their way around to the man with the buzz cut, who stood from his chair as they drew closer, revealing just how much larger he was than them. From the way he held himself, Camille had a good hunch it wasn’t useless muscle, either. If it came to violence, her money was on the buzz cut, and not just because she really wanted him to win.

“I’ll go on my own, thanks,” he offered to the people edging towards him. “But if you want to try and grab me, I’ll welcome the chance to exercise self-defense. I’ve heard enough, anyway. I know the makings of a hate group when I see one.” He literally spat on the floor as he walked past one of the men sent to grab him, his face red, daring anyone to try and get too close. “The HCP students weren’t the ones who attacked us, you know. They risked everything to help us. One of them saved my best friends. So you have your little meetings, stir up the same anti-Super bullshit, but know that you’re not going at this uncontested. We stopped the administration from kicking them out of the housing, and we’ll get you shut down as well.”

With that, he pushed open the door and slammed it behind him.

“Sorry about that, everyone,” Kennedy said, somehow still composed after that tirade. “As you can see, emotions on the subject run high, which is why we have to be all the more stalwart in our determination. Some people are going to react poorly, even though we’ve got the school’s best interests at heart. Don’t worry though, we’re all committed to supporting one another, and if we keep at it, together we can make a difference at Lander.”

Her cheery tone lightened the room as the faces of the more devoted students lit up with fresh hope. Crazy as it was, there was always the chance that this movement could pick up steam and, as Kennedy has promised, change the very face of Lander.

And that was exactly what Camille was afraid of.

43.

Alice strolled into the meeting room where Professor Pendleton was already waiting, feet propped on the desk and romance novel in hand. He glanced over to acknowledge her arrival but held a finger up, instructing her to wait, and then turned the page.

“Rodrigo too swarthy to put down?”

“Professing his admiration for the countess in a truly touching scene,” Professor Pendleton replied. “But you’ve already spoken and ruined the spell, so I’ll have to start over once you leave.” He slipped a bookmark between the pages and placed the book in a drawer, simultaneously pulling out a file that he then flipped open on the desk.

“Right then, time for your exam evaluation. So far as combat goes, there wasn’t much in the way of notes to give. You used your power well, controlling the battlefield to make it easier on the other students and only destroying limbs when necessary. You did a good job at keeping the battles quick and contained, which helped minimize the civilian bots that were destroyed. Overall, we were impressed by the way you took charge and handled the situation. That said, you had two key failings in the exam, and I’m sure you already know what one of them is.”

“We’re the ones who allowed a Sim to crush a building and kill a civilian.” Alice could still remember the Sim breaking away, trying to jump Rich from the side. Unfortunately, that path had taken it through a one-story house that it turned to rubble in the process. In that moment, she’d had a hunch they’d lost an innocent, and Dean Blaine’s announcement had only served to confirm it.

“Bullseye,” Professor Pendleton said. “If you want to take charge like that, manipulating the battlefield, then you have to be good enough to account for unexpected movements. As you know, you direct your own training this year, so I’d recommend putting an emphasis on strategic positioning and mock battles. Don’t just expect the unexpected: become a damn oracle. See what an opponent will do before they even know it. This one is easy to shrug off; it was just a robot, after all. But when the time comes that you make a mistake and a real life is lost, it won’t be nearly so easy to deal with. The better you are at what you do, the longer you delay that event.”

“Understood.” Thinking back now, Alice could envision a half-dozen ways she might have halted the Sim before it hit that house, but that was all afterthought. She had to see these options in the moment or she may as well not pick up on them at all.

“Had a feeling you would.” Professor Pendleton flipped a page in the file, even though he barely needed to glance at it to know what was contained there. “Your other mistake was not checking up on Mary’s team after your first fight ended. At that very moment, they were about to be flanked by a second unit of Sims. They won, obviously, but it was a much harder battle than it would have been if you and Shane had stopped by.”

“Hang on. I’ll own the dead civilian robot, that’s on me and I accept it, but I don’t consider trusting my teammates to handle their own work to be a mistake,” Alice said. “I knew Mary was strong enough to get the job done, and I had faith in her judgment to call for backup if she needed it.”

“Which is a point that will definitely get brought up on Mary’s evaluation,” Professor Pendleton agreed. “But for now, we’re talking about you. At the time you made the call to go hunt Sims, both of the active fights were being dealt with. The Sims who were posted throughout the city didn’t pose an immediate threat to anyone, yet you still decided to run off without so much as checking on your allies nearby. Even if you didn’t fly to her, which would have taken moments, you could have radioed in. Yes, Mary and the others won that fight, but it cost unnecessary time and caused collateral damage. If you’d spared half a minute, that wouldn’t have been the case, and they could have gone to assist with the bigger battle.”

“So, I’m supposed to spend every battle babysitting my teammates?” Alice asked.

“No one’s saying that. But you do need to learn to communicate.” Professor Pendleton tapped the file in front of him like he was trying to punch through it with just a finger. “Do you know why one of the first things the Sons of Progress did was try to take out our communications? It wasn’t just so that we couldn’t call for backup; it was an attempt to keep us from talking to each other. As a Subtlety major, you know the value of information. That value doesn’t vanish on a battlefield; if anything, it increases. Communication, strategy, and allocation of assets can make all the difference in combat. The more you know, the more powerful you are.”

Alice met his eyes for several seconds before finally allowing her head to dip slightly. “I guess you might have a small point. In the next exam, I’ll try to be better about talking to everyone.”

“With a team, you’ll often create a verbal shorthand so that you can rapidly relay information between yourselves with only a few words,” Professor Pendleton said. “Might be something to read up on, especially if you can get the rest of the class on board. Anyway, aside from those screw-ups, you handled yourself well. Use the mistakes to learn and improve so that you can make a set of fresh ones in the next trial. Oh, and speaking of improvement: I got word that your special Subtlety training tool should be ready by Thursday, so be braced for something new.”

“You’ve sure got me curious.” Alice paused, waiting for the professor to continue. When she was met with silence, she decided to broach the looming topic herself. “But for now, let’s hit the big question: what are the new combat rankings? You definitely assessed us off of this, right?”

“That we did,” Professor Pendleton said. “However, you might have noticed that not everyone saw much time in battle. Seeing as we have these senior trials monthly, it made more sense to do a cumulative evaluation. The new rankings will be released at the start of next semester, just in time for you all to start debating who to send to Intramurals.”

“Come on, not even a hint?” Alice opened her green eyes wide and put on her best charming smile.

Professor Pendleton’s response was to lean back in his chair once more, pulling out the romance novel and flipping through the pages. “Here’s a hint: you’re training to be a Subtlety Hero. If you want information, dig for it.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?” Alice rose from her seat and headed for the door, but before she took the knob, Professor Pendleton called to her.

“I’ll say just this much: if you keep performing like you did last Friday, I’d be shocked if we didn’t see a Subtlety major hit the top five. And that’s a pretty rare occurrence, so I think I might like to witness it.”

Alice smiled and opened the door. “Then I guess I have some training to do.”

44.

“I’m curious, does this clandestine organization have any sort of requisition form, or do I just submit my order verbally? Because honestly, that seems like a great way to let lots of things fall through the cracks.”

The others had barely gotten in their seats when Nick spoke, taking charge of the meeting before it could properly begin. He, along with Dean Blaine, Mr. Numbers, Mr. Transport, and Professor Fletcher were all gathered in the abandoned Hero bunker, the same place they’d had all of their off-the-books-meetings since Nick’s mental resurrection. Often Professor Stone and Professor Pendleton joined them, but sometimes it was just impossible for everyone to slip away. Better to give reports later than risk discovery. Secrecy was everything here.

“It depends on what you want,” Dean Blaine told him, already too accustomed to the outbursts. “If it’s something standard, I can probably get it whenever I have to order more equipment and Sims—a very regular occurrence, as you can imagine. If it’s something special, that could be a little more difficult.”

“Truth be told, I’m not totally sure which camp it fits in,” Nick admitted. “Basically, I want one of those sleepy-time headbands like Coach George used on Mary freshman year.”

“Ah.” Dean Blaine glanced at Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport. “Those are a bit of an issue. They’re classified as forceful Super suppression gear. Not much use in a real fight, since you have to get it around their head, but once it’s on, you can contain almost any Super indefinitely. The indefinite part is why the DVA regulates them carefully. If that tech fell into the wrong hands, it could be dangerous for a lot of people. Lander has some on hand as a necessary safeguard when training young Supers, but if one were to go missing, it would be quickly noticed.”

“From your look at these two, I’m guessing they have a couple as well, just in case one of us ever totally lost it.” Nick turned to Mr. Numbers, who nodded confirmation.

“The trouble with ours is that they’re hardwired to send a signal to our organization the minute one is used. That wasn’t originally the case, but after Mr. Transport and I stepped in freshman year, there was concern that we might try to cover it up if one of you needed suppressing, so precautions were implemented.”

“Let’s take this a step back,” Professor Fletcher said. “Why do you need a knock-out band in the first place?”

“That much I’d think was obvious,” Nick told him. “For Alice.”

“You might want to elaborate on that,” Dean Blaine said. “And be thankful that Sean isn’t here. I doubt he’d take kindly to you suggesting we incapacitate his niece.”

Nick sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, I’m not saying Alice needs putting down, but we all know that right now there is exactly one—count them, one—real thread we have to pull on: Abridail, the mystery man from her dreams who seems to have all the answers we’re after.”

“Who has them and was very emphatic about not giving them to Alice,” Dean Blaine reminded him.

“Right, but let’s say that just maybe that’s changed,” Nick replied. “For argument’s sake. Now, we can’t keep using Rich to put her down; even he’ll catch on eventually. But Abridail doesn’t seem to show up unless she goes into a weird coma state. I figured one of those sleep devices was as close as we were going to get to replicating what Rich does.”

“Actually, that’s exactly the wrong direction,” Mr. Numbers corrected. “Those bands work by shutting down everything nonessential for life, creating an almost dreamless sleep, like a perfect blackout. Near as we can figure from seeing how Rich’s ability works, he dials up the mind’s processing but turns it inward, trapping it in its own delusions.”

“Well, shit. Do we have a device that does that?” Nick looked back and forth around the room, genuinely curious to see if he’d get an answer. One never knew what the tech geniuses of the world were cooking up behind the scenes.

“Not that I’m aware of, and I’m one of the first people who would be made aware of exactly that sort of thing,” Dean Blaine said. “There are some other options available, but they won’t be easy to obtain, so I’m going to need a little more than ‘for argument’s sake’ to justify going down those routes. What makes you think having her talk to Abridail again will be worth the effort?”

A wry grin wriggled onto Nick’s face. “Her? Nothing. She did a great job getting so much out of him already, but we’ve reached the limits of what guilt and diplomacy can accomplish. No, now that we know Mary can drag folks along into dream states, I think it’s high time that I had a discussion with this Abridail fellow.”

“Mary’s power is hardly news,” Mr. Transport pointed out. “Why now? Why do you suddenly think you can get more out of him?”

“Because I’m not going to try and appeal to his humanity or goodness. I’m going to do exactly what I spent a lifetime being trained to do,” Nick said. “I’m going to make a deal.”

“You’re obfuscating.” Dean Blaine leaned forward, locking eyes with his former student. “I’m keenly aware that trust doesn’t come easy to you, so let me make this clear: what you want will require cost and risk from me, and I am more than willing to pay both if it gets us closer to our goal, but not without a solid reason. Cards on the table, or find your own resource.”

Slowly, Nick reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a thick wad of folded paper. He slid it down the table’s recently polished surface, where it came to a stop inches in front of Dean Blaine, who unfolded it. He read through each page carefully, taking in every detail before handing it off to his right, where Professor Fletcher began to peruse the document.

“Solid enough?” Nick asked.

“It’s still a bit of a stretch,” Dean Blaine said. “We don’t even know if that’s the right person.”

“Near as I can tell, everything lines up. Yes, I could be wrong, but we’re never going to be certain if you don’t help me get that meeting inside Alice’s head. Besides, I’ve got a good feeling about this one.” Nick smiled again, though this one was less showy. It was quick and cunning, much like the young man who wore it.

“And lately, I’ve been learning to listen to my hunches.”

45.

Hershel was pretty sure he felt something in his hand snap as he blocked Vince’s kick, and the throbbing rush of pain confirmed the suspicion seconds later. Still, he kept his focus on the fight, doing all he could to halt the assault of strikes that flowed seamlessly from his opponent, like a river of pain crashing over him. Months of training had made Hershel better, but that only meant he managed to block a couple of the attacks instead of taking them all at full-force.

In a lot of ways, sparring Vince reminded Hershel of Roy’s time with Chad freshman year. The difference between them seemed immeasurable: a lifetime’s worth of training made Vince into a seasoned combatant, while Hershel was struggling just to figure out where the next punch might come from. Oddly, those memories of Chad beating Roy senseless filled Hershel with hope, of all things. Roy might not have closed the gap between himself and Lander’s top student, but he’d unquestionably narrowed it. If he could do something that incredible, then Hershel could at least improve. Besides, in every session where Hershel truly pushed his limits, win or lose, he increased Roy’s potential, and that was the real goal.

His mind had wandered, which was why Vince’s next strike seemed to manifest from thin air—a punch on course to dislocate Hershel’s jaw, more than likely. With no time to think, something like instinct—but not quite the same—took over. Hershel leaned back, just barely avoiding the blow while punching with a counterattack of his own. It was easily the best strike he’d thrown all day, which wasn’t to say it was enough. Vince still caught the blow and flipped Hershel to the ground.

“Going to need a second,” Hershel wheezed, the air from his lungs largely absent.

In an instant, Vince was there, his focused battle expression replaced by the usual mix of guilt and concern. It had taken a lot of convincing to get him to spar earnestly, and every time there was an injury, Hershel feared his friend would call off their training arrangement. This ended up being good, overall, because it forced Hershel to fight through the pain rather than let on how much he was hurting.

“Are you okay? I can go get Jada,” Vince offered. Jada was the bubbly sophomore healer currently on duty outside the sparring rooms. While it was nice to have Camille around, she did have her own training and work to do, which meant that sometimes they had to use whatever healer was volunteering to help people while they trained. Jada wasn’t quite as potent as Camille, and mended the injuries rather than stealing them, but her kind bedside manner helped. And something was working; since they’d returned to Lander, Hershel had definitely noticed an uptick in the ratio of his training to Roy’s increasing potential.

“Fine,” Hershel assured him. “Just catching my breath.”

Vince nodded, but sat cross-legged by his friend, intent on waiting nearby just in case Hershel changed his mind. “That last dodge was really good, by the way. You nearly caught me off guard.”

“Enough training, and even I’m bound to learn something,” Hershel replied.

“You’re making great progress,” Vince assured him. “Remember, all your training partners are seniors in the HCP, and a lot of us were doing this sort of stuff for years beforehand. Comparing where you are to where we are isn’t fair to yourself. By normal standards, you’d be able to hold your own by now.”

“Pity we don’t play by normal standards.” Hershel tested his chest. It was once again taking in breath with only moderate complaints, though there was now an ache in his ribs from where he’d hit the ground. It was always strange, having Roy’s memories and knowing how much his brother could endure, then doing these sparring sessions and feeling every single blow. Sometimes Hershel thought that he might understand the divide between humans and Supers better than anyone.

A loud rumble echoed beyond a wall of their combat cell, causing both Vince and Hershel to tense up. Despite all the assurances from the staff, the countless new security measures, and the DVA’s presence on-site, deep down there was a part of them that was always waiting for the next attack to come.

Several seconds later, the door to their cell opened and Jada popped her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, just wanted to let you know that that was a freshman from a few cells over. Probably won’t be the last one, but didn’t want anyone to worry.” She closed the door behind her, off to pass the message along to the other people currently sparring.

“Did she say a few cells over?” Vince asked.

“She did indeed,” Hershel told him. “I’ve got a pretty good idea about the cause, too. One of the freshman matches I oversaw had a girl with a hell of a lot of power and not nearly enough control.”

“That’s a problem I can feel for.” Vince hopped up in one movement, then reached down and helped Hershel to his feet. “But if she can get that control anywhere, it’s here. Look at what Lander did for me.”

“Trust me, Roy had a great view of you in the trial. I’m all too aware of what Lander has done for you.” Hershel could still see, through his brother’s eyes, the bolts of lightning, blasts of fire, and Sims falling under Vince’s precise punches. More than once, Roy had wondered how he’d beat Vince in a fight if they were ever matched against one another. While there were a few ideas swirling around Hershel and Roy’s thoughts, there was also no question that it would be one hell of a tough fight.

“I’d say the test went pretty well for all of us,” Vince corrected. “The only thing I was disappointed in was my review. They told me the tactical decisions I made were wrong and that I have to work on those, but there wasn’t much commentary on my fighting. Honestly, now that I’ve finally gotten some control over different energies, I’m a little lost on how to proceed. I guess I can keep doing more of the same training, maybe try and experiment with some new ones, but I feel like that’s starting to pay off less. I’d be better off figuring out my weaknesses and working on them.”

“Oh yes, all those incredible weaknesses of yours,” Hershel teased. “How about you live with the diminishing returns and leave a little glory for the rest of us?”

“You forget, I saw Roy fighting too. I don’t think you two are going to have any trouble seizing plenty of glory for yourself,” Vince said. “He keeps getting tougher and stronger, almost by the fight. I’m not completely certain my normal attacks would even work against him anymore.”

“Yet I’m sure there are a few still up your sleeve.” Hershel’s tone was light, but they both understood the truth in his words. They were all friends and would willingly lay down their lives for each other, but that didn’t change the fact that they were also competitors. Eventually, they might be pitted against one another, and if they didn’t have a plan for how to deal with that, then they would be the one at a disadvantage. That didn’t mean they couldn’t still help each other, though.

“Actually, Vince, if you really want a good opinion on what your weaknesses are and maybe on how to train, you should talk to Chad,” Hershel suggested. “He helped Roy see a lot of his failings when they started fighting, and honestly, I think that’s part of why Roy’s been able to improve so much. I would be genuinely shocked if he couldn’t do the same analysis for you.”

“Sounds like a good idea. But would we have to fight each other?” Even as he asked, Vince was getting back into position to resume their match, training overtaking all other concerns.

“Maybe. I’m sure he’s already got some ideas, though he might need a match to test them,” Hershel said.

“Then I’ll have to think it over. Even sparring, the sons of Globe and Intra having a match could be taken the wrong way by a lot of people,” Vince replied.

“Well then, I guess let’s just focus on the one between the sons of Globe and Titan.” Hershel put up his fists, gave the nod that he was ready, and braced for the onslaught.

46.

“I have gathered you all here to discuss a matter of grave importance and personal safety.” Nick made this declaration as he set down a twelve-pack of sodas on his cheap dining room table, around which Mary, Hershel, Alice, and Vince were already seated.

“It’s Wednesday night,” Vince reminded him. “We came over to hang out and play board games.”

“Come on, man, let me have a little theatricality now and then.” Nick coughed lightly to clear his throat and resumed the more somber tone. “Our group faces an imminent threat on the horizon, and while you all may be content to ignore it, I for one prefer to meet my enemies head-on with a plan of battle.”

“Mary, will you please tell us what’s going on in that head of his so we don’t have to sit through twenty minutes of this one-man play?” Alice demanded.

Mary looked up at Nick, who met her gaze with a dastardly smile. “As much as I hate to admit this, and he knows it, Nick’s building up to a point that I somewhat agree with. It’s already September, which means our yearly ritual of something going horribly wrong is just around the corner.”

“Halloween,” Hershel muttered. Between Vince getting jumped, Alice having an emotional breakdown, and Vince’s reunion with Eliza in a crowded bar, the last day of October had a history of throwing them all for a solid loop. Granted, sometimes the after effects weren’t so bad—Alice had also first discovered her true power that night—but few of their group looked back on those evenings with pleasant feelings.

“Exactly what I was building up to, you freaking show stealers,” Nick said. “Seeing as our track record is so spotty, I thought perhaps this year we should get out in front of it and pick a way to celebrate that has the least chance of blowing up in our faces.”

“Screw that.” Alice crossed her arms and adopted a harsh glare. “Tried to get ahead of it last year, rented out private areas, minimized the chances of us getting into trouble, and things still turned messy. I’m going to vote that we lock all the doors, hang some crosses on the windows, and go to bed at six that night.”

“Granted, that’s probably the most sensible plan, but I don’t see it happening,” Hershel said. “Halloween is too much fun; if not for me, then certainly for Roy. History be damned, when the night comes either he or I will be in a costume and out on the town.”

“I sort of like it, too,” Vince added. “It wasn’t something I really got to do as a kid, and it’s still been interesting, even if we do tend to pull in more tricks than treats.”

“Pretty much my assumptions when we started this conversation.” Nick popped open the case of soda and began doling them out around the table. Much as he might have enjoyed a cocktail on these nights, Wednesday meant school and training the next day, so none of his guests would touch the hard stuff. The only thing worse than drinking alone was drinking alone in a crowd.

“So, let’s go over our options,” Nick continued. “There are bars, the yearly frat party, and Screamtopia, if we want to repeat any of the Halloweens past.”

“I’m going to say a firm no to the frat party,” Mary told them. “Wasn’t my scene then, even less so now.”

“Screamtopia was a lot of fun,” Hershel said. “And really, nothing bad that happened was on them. Other than the thing with Rich, it was an enjoyable night all around.”

Alice let out a long breath, her eyes dropping a few inches. “Screamtopia might be a good one to visit again, but I think I sort of ruined that for us. Given the scale of the scene I made, there’s a chance someone could still be working there and recognize me. If it were just the crying, that would be fine, but with me also crashing those lights and causing people to evacuate… the risk of someone connecting the dots just seems too great. Though it’s possible I’m being paranoid.”

“Even if you are, that doesn’t mean you’re wrong,” Nick told her. “The odds of that biting you are slim, but present. Given that it’s your senior year, probably better that none of you take bold chances just to revisit a haunted house.”

“Nick’s right,” Vince agreed. “Which leaves us with the bars, I guess. They’re not really my favorite, but if it’s what makes everyone else happy, then I can still have fun.”

Hershel looked over the table, taking a quick and easy read on what the response to that thought was. It was a simple task; aside from Roy—and Nick, when he was in the right mood—none of them were big on the bar scene. Given their track record, it was hard to blame them for that.

“I don’t think that’s the best fit for everyone, either. Maybe it’s time to revisit Alice’s idea,” Hershel suggested.

“Skip Halloween?” Mary’s expression was quizzical in her confusion, a rare sight on the telepath’s face and something Hershel considered to be a gesture of love. Even after years together, she still made a point to avoid reading his mind.

“Not that part. I meant about locking the doors and hanging the crosses. Except we also add some spider webs, plastic skeletons, and other decorations. Basically, I’m saying we have a Halloween party. Invite our friends over and watch scary movies.”

“Good scary movies.” Alice snapped the words before Nick could so much as get a syllable out, though everyone could see the excitement shining in his eyes. “I’m not saying I’m totally on board, just putting that requirement out there before the talk goes any further.”

“Didn’t we throw that idea out last year and decide that, with our running luck, Melbrook would burn down?” Vince asked.

“Something like that. Yet we saw how well taking it off-site went,” Mary reminded them.

“That was our first year no one got punched,” Alice pointed out. “I think we can sort of claim that as a victory.”

“I’d bet money that Roy would disagree.” Nick dropped the case of drinks to the floor and pulled out tonight’s board game—one of Hershel’s, of course. Evidently, this game required them to be train robbers in the old west, trying to collect the most stolen loot while evading the law. “But there is still the logistical issue of space. If everyone from the class shows up and brings no other friends, that’s eighteen people in the common area. You don’t have any outdoor space, and the lounges require thumbprints to let people in, so that’s tight quarters. Plus, we’re assuming the suits will even let you throw one in the first place.”

“So we’re back to not having any ideas?” Vince said.

“Well, not entirely,” Nick told him. “I don’t disagree that a controlled area might be best, just that yours might not be the right one. I, on the other hand, don’t live in a dorm under constant DVA surveillance. Plus, my apartment building has a big room we can reserve with enough notice, and I’m certain no other resident is paranoid enough to be thinking about Halloween already. Granted, some folks might not want to come to a party thrown by a washout for very practical reasons, but if we make it a masquerade, that might alleviate some worry.”

“That is a very kind gesture.” Despite her words, the gleam of suspicion in Alice’s eye was unmistakable. “But in this room, would there happen to be a place for watching movies?”

“There may be a giant flat screen and DVD player where I could have a constant stream of classic horror gold going at all times,” Nick admitted. “But it will still be a party, so people need only pay as much attention as they want.”

“Well, I’m in,” Vince said. “He was probably going to try and make us watch bad scary movies, anyway; at least this way, we know the circumstances upfront.”

“Vince makes a good point. Plus, it would be nice to have something more relaxed,” Hershel agreed. “I’m in.”

“No bar and in walking distance of the dorm? You have me sold,” Mary added.

“I’m going to agree with this, but I want it officially on record that I think Nick’s up to something,” Alice told them all. “This is a little too easy, and I don’t trust it.”

“Would I ever do something like that?” If Nick’s history didn’t already tell them the answer to that question, the mischievous grin on his face certainly would have.

47.

“Today, we’re going to discuss an aspect of Supers that is more theory than science. One that a scarce few of you may have experienced, even if you didn’t know it at the time. If I remember correctly, the term used by those who study it is Concurrent Effect Dominance, but most of us just call it ‘authority.’”

Dean Blaine had barely waited until the students were in their seats before launching into the lecture. After witnessing so many dry discussions from the head of the HCP, it was impossible not to notice that he seemed a bit more energized than normal. Whatever this topic was, he was excited about sharing it with them, which made every one of the seniors both more intrigued, and more wary.

“Authority is a hard concept to explain to most people, which is why you very rarely hear it talked about outside of Hero circles.” Dean Blaine walked over to his desk and from a drawer pulled out two objects—an apple and an orange—setting them both down on the desk’s surface. “In its simplest terms, authority is who, among two Supers, has the more dominant ability. Not more powerful, mind you, more dominant. This is only measurable in scale to other abilities, since it can’t be seen unless two powers have conflicting functions. For some of you, this is already beginning to sound like nonsense, which is why I brought my learning aids out. Now, I need two student volunteers… Mr. Murray and Ms. Smith will do; please come up here and join me.”

Will and Mary slid from their seats and approached the dean warily, unsure of what was about to happen. He took Will by the shoulder and led him to the far end of the desk, nearest to the apple. Then Dean Blaine took Mary to the other end, where she was slightly closer to the orange. Only when both were installed on opposite sides of the desk did Dean Blaine turned back to face the class.

“For this example, we will assign both of our students new powers. Mr. Murray now transforms all fruit within twelve feet of him into apples, and Ms. Smith turns all fruit within twelve feet of her to oranges. As you can see, they are both easily within twelve feet of both the fruits on my desk. In this situation, all of my statements cannot be true. The fruits cannot exist simultaneously as both oranges and apples. If they both use their abilities, only one transformation will occur. Does anyone have a guess at which it will be?”

A few tentative hands went up, and Dean Blaine pointed to Violet’s. “Ms. Sullivan, if you please.”

“The one who got there first, right? Will walked over a little before Mary, so if they have the same range, then his should turn first, and then she won’t be able to use hers.”

“Why not?” Dean Blaine asked. “She is still within twelve feet of the fruit, and she still possesses her ability. What stops the fruits from being transformed when she draws near?”

“Will’s power,” Violet replied. “His is still going, so that’s what makes them stay apples.”

“You are on the right track, Ms. Sullivan, but took a wrong turn,” Dean Blaine told her. “The truth is, who arrives first is irrelevant in this example. When two conflicting powers are used concurrently, one will always work over the other. That is what I mean when I say that abilities have authority, and that authority exists solely in relation to other powers. What I’ve shown you here isn’t just an example, it’s a test. We would create exactly this situation and send our Supers over to see who had the higher authority. If the fruits turned to apples, then it would be Mr. Murray. Oranges, and its Ms. Smith. Obviously, this is a mundane example, but there are times when authority can play a large role in the field, so it’s something you need to be aware of.”

Dean Blaine gestured for Will and Mary to return to their seats and continued. “Take elemental manipulators, since they were our reason to first begin formulating the theory of authority. Elemental manipulation is one of the more common powers seen in Supers, which means there is bound to be overlap in confrontations with Heroes and criminals. If two Supers with the power to manipulate water try and take control of the same pool, only one will succeed. Thus, Heroes who have tested themselves against others and know they have a high authority are often called in to cut off those with matching abilities. If we can take control of all the water an elemental user is wielding, then they are functionally human and can be apprehended easily.”

“This seems pretty important,” Alice interrupted. “More than ‘fun theory in senior year’ important, I mean. Shouldn’t we have learned about this earlier?”

“For multiple reasons, no.” Dean Blaine’s excitement over the topic seemed to bubble out of him as he picked up the apple and gave it a light toss before catching it in midair. “First off, as important as authority is when it matters, it very rarely matters. The necessary correspondence in a set of powers happens quite rarely in the field; that’s part of why it wasn’t until the last decade or so that the theory was even developed. And the vast majority of abilities don’t ever interact in such a way. A strongman is not going to lose their power when fighting another strongman; they test themselves in a much more upfront manner. Authority generally only comes into play with powers that focus on the external world, rather than augmenting the person wielding them.”

The apple rose and fell a few more times, always snapped from the air by Dean Blaine’s waiting hand. “Secondly, the reason I’ve waited until now to tell you about this is that the concept is not well-known, and we like to keep it that way. As much as we’ve learned about Supers and Powereds since their discovery, there is still a tremendous amount that is a complete mystery to us. Any bit of information is an advantage, and one should always be wary when relinquishing an advantage. But you’re all seniors now, and that means you’ve earned the right to more trust than a freshman. I told you there was still a lot to learn, and this is just a small part of it.”

Silence fell over the room, save for the soft smack of Dean Blaine catching the apple as he tossed it about. Finally, it was broken by Jill, whose voice was an unusual mix of excitement and nerves.

“As Heroes, will we be able to test ourselves against other Supers to figure out if we have high authority or not? I depend on a lot of tech for my combat, so I’d need to know early on if some other Super could just take control of my suit.”

“A very fair question,” Dean Blaine replied. “And yes, those of you who have abilities more likely to meet opposition will indeed be able to test yourselves against others with similar powers. In fact, it’s one of the first things we do with new Heroes, both because it will give you useful information and because more established Heroes are always eager to see who has the higher authority.”

“Seems like a bad system,” Rich pointed out. “If they’ve had years of training, won’t they automatically do better?”

“Actually, that brings us to the final major point you need to know regarding authority,” Dean Blaine said. He caught the apple for the last time and set it down gently beside the orange on his desk. “So far as we’ve been able to tell, it is unaffected by age or experience. Some rookie Heroes have authority that trumps veterans with hundreds of engagements under their belts. Near as we can figure, it’s something innate in Supers, though since the whole concept is still theoretical, no one has found a way to train it, yet. You just get what you get and have to learn to work appropriately.”

There were murmurs throughout the class, and Dean Blaine did nothing to silence them. This was a hard pill to swallow, especially for people this far along in the HCP journey. They’d spent years training themselves to the bone, and they’d just learned there was a function to some powers that couldn’t be changed. They were learning that in some respects, they couldn’t trade blood and sweat to improve. It was disheartening, to say the least. But that didn’t make it any less real, or reduce the fact that they needed to be aware of it.

As much as senior year was about training, it was also about teaching the harsh truths of the Hero world. And, as he’d already told them, this was just a small part of what was to come.

48.

Alice’s head was still swimming from considering theoretical interaction of Super abilities in Dean Blaine’s class as she made her way to the Subtlety room. Truth be told, it didn’t feel much like a class anymore, with only three students left. It was more like a clubhouse, one with a lanky leader who taught them about trickery and subterfuge in between free-study. Will had beaten her there, a laptop open on his desk as he no doubt combed through mock-confidential information streams he wasn’t supposed to have access to. Professor Pendleton had hooked Will into a dummy system designed to replicate the safeguards of real corporations and agencies without actually hacking into them. Breaking that much law for a national emergency was one thing, but it wouldn’t fly if he got caught doing it for training. Not that Will was getting caught much at all, at least from the discussions she’d overheard him and Professor Pendleton having.

Britney was also in class, which was something of a rarity. Her training had largely involved a shifting room that randomized the layout and security features. She was working on her stealth and retrieval skills, being given targets to locate without getting detected on each round. It was a pass-fail system: one detection and she was out. Alice had learned about the room’s workings when Britney requested a multiple life system and Professor Pendleton had replied that she only got one in the field, so she only got one in practice. Without a good rebuttal, Britney had merely doubled down on her training.

Alice’s days had been spent chiefly reviewing books on combat tactics and cypher decryption. It wasn’t the most fun way to spend her time, but she knew it was necessary information. Still, she was looking forward to seeing what sort of training was in store for her social manipulation skills, which was why she felt her stomach drop in disappointment when Professor Pendleton walked into the classroom empty-handed.

“Another delay?”

“Not even a proper greeting, I see,” Professor Pendleton replied. “No, in fact I was just overseeing the last of the test runs to make sure everything is functional. Class, put your equipment away. Today, we’re taking a trip further into Lander’s depths. We’ve got a new toy to play with, and I don’t trust you to read the instructions, so I’m giving you a tour.”

Will and Britney dutifully rose from their seats, while Alice hadn’t even bothered to take hers. They followed Professor Pendleton down the hall to the entry area where the lifts were waiting. As they all stepped inside, Professor Pendleton gestured to a small panel below the buttons for Lander’s main campus and the HCP.

“Alice, if you would do the honors, just press your thumb anywhere inside that slightly raised rectangle.”

Alice complied, not sure what to expect. They’d all seen the odd shape in question on the lifts in their first year, but as it never responded to touch or words, it was written off as little more than an odd design feature. Such was not the case this time. A bright green light flashed the moment her skin made contact, sending them down beneath the HCP’s main floor.

“Britney has already experienced this, but Will and Alice, you’ve both been given access to a special training area in the lower levels,” Professor Pendleton explained. “It’s only accessible to Subtlety students and professors, because this equipment is dedicated to your use. Will and Britney, I invite you both to take some time with the machine I’m about to show you; however, please keep in mind that Alice has priority on using it. Just as you two both have your main fields of focus, this is hers. But the skills it trains are something any good Subtlety major should polish as much as they can.”

The lift came to a stop. The doors opened up at the end of a short hallway with a single door at the end. Professor Pendleton led them forward, asked Will to press his thumb to the door to open it, and then escorted them inside. What awaited them was a touch underwhelming: it seemed to be little more than a black suit draped over an oddly-shaped treadmill. Rather than going in one linear direction, this treadmill was round, and seemed to have a ball in the center. The idea for 360-degree movement was interesting, though Alice wasn’t sure exactly how it would help them train. In the corner was a gray changing screen and a computer terminal.

“Presenting the absolute latest in virtual reality: the Blonk.” Professor Pendleton made a ta-da motion with his hands as he gestured to the machine, eyes all but pleading for them not to ask about the name.

“The Blonk?” Alice said, willfully ignoring his desperate sentiment.

“Look, if you invent something, you get to name it, and the tech Super who made this has an… odd sense of humor.” Professor Pendleton walked over and pulled the rubber suit off the treadmill’s railing. As he did, Alice could see glimpses of circuits woven through it, as well as a black helmet that had been hidden beneath the fabric. “Try and be a little excited here. There aren’t many of these, and they’re expensive as all hell to rent. Dumb as the name might be, it really is top-of-the-line in simulated experiences. The suit tricks your sense of touch, the tread system allows you to move freely, and the helmet handles the heavy lifting with sight, sound, and smell. Supposedly there’s a tongue add on for taste, but we didn’t spring for that.”

“What if I need to learn the taste of poison?” Alice joked.

“Oh, we’re already going to cover that later in the year.” Professor Pendleton was either not kidding or had decided to pay her back by staying uncharacteristically stoic on the subject. “But for now, let’s stick to the training tool at hand. Use is easy: you just load a scenario, put on the suit, get inside the treadmill railing, and then pop on the helmet. We’ve got hundreds of situations programmed in—trying to talk your way into an embassy, or trick a client into giving up information, or even peacefully disarming a dangerous situation. Best training tool there is for a Subtlety major’s social skills, and a damn sight better than what we had to work with when I went to Lander.”

“Forgive me for saying so, but I see an issue here,” Will pointed out. “While the VR tech might be top-notch, no programming will be able to accurately encapsulate the chaotic nature of a real encounter. Won’t it just be us trying to find the right solution, the one the program will accept, rather than any that work? It seems like this will discourage thinking outside the box, a trait you’ve frequently reaffirmed is a Subtlety Hero’s greatest asset.”

“That’s an interesting theory, Will.” Professor Pendleton bunched the suit into a tight ball and threw it forward, directly into Will’s chest. The smaller Super caught it with ease but looked unsure of what to do with it.

“You’ll notice I say ‘interesting,’ and not ‘good,’ because it omits the possibility that the people who designed this also foresaw such a flaw. Being smart is fine; just don’t ever assume you’re the smartest one around. I was going to let Alice have the first test-drive, since she’s why we requisitioned this bad boy, but I feel like Will just made himself a volunteer. Any objections, Alice?”

“None at all,” Alice replied. “I think Britney and I would both benefit from seeing the machine in action, and no one here knows tech better than Will.” There was also the unspoken truth that whatever test-run Professor Pendleton had rigged up, it was bound to be nearly impossible and potentially highly embarrassing, just because he’d find it funny. She liked Will, but if he was going to throw himself under a bus, then he needed to learn to brace for the wheels.

“Then it’s settled,” Professor Pendleton said. “Suit up, Will. You’ve got a virtual mission waiting.”

49.

The world materialized around him slowly. First a backdrop—pink sky that filled bit by bit with multi-colored clouds and a setting sun. Then came the ground beneath his feet—dark stone that strangely felt firmer than the circular treadmill he knew he was standing on. The stone stretched outward, branching off at seemingly random intervals; buildings soon began to rise into those blank spaces. They were an older style and packed tightly together. Will had never left the country, and based solely on what he’d seen from television and movies, his best guess was that he was somewhere in Europe.

Last came the people. They shuddered into being mid-step as though they’d always been there going about their lives, and only now was Will able to see them. More details bombarded his senses: the sound of softly lapping water; the scent of baking bread mixed with fresh rain. Whatever doubts he might have had about the system’s limitations, there was no skirting the fact that this was an absolute marvel. Not even he could figure out how the designers had crafted something so realistic, although his fingers were itching with the desire to crack open the device and find out.

“I see someone isn’t so quick with the criticism now.” Professor Pendleton’s crisp voice came from directly behind Will, who turned to find a perfectly rendered version of his teacher standing on the stone street, browsing a small cart selling baked goods. “Neat, right? I asked them to add me in as a tutorial character. Or you can load me up to beat the crap out of if you’ve got any unchecked aggression to work out. Whatever floats your boat.”

“This is not part of the programming,” Will declared, still a little too taken aback by the realism of his environment to think of something more cutting.

“No. I’m at the terminal, using a direct input function and microphone. Basically, for me, this is like a video game. Except with fewer elves and swords. Wait, hang on.” Professor Pendleton stuck out his hand and waited for several seconds until all of nothing happened. “Yup, no magic swords. At least, none that I could figure out the commands for.”

“You are enjoying this far too much,” Will said.

“Can you blame me? I’ve wanted one of these things for ages, and now we’ve actually got one. But, fine, we’ll stick to the task at hand, spoilsport.” Letting his hand drop, Professor Pendleton began walking down the street, pausing after a few seconds to be sure that Will was following.

The two of them strolled down winding lanes, passing a wide variety of people, which was in itself impressive. Will’s eyes carefully scanned each face they passed, checking for reused assets or outright clones, anything that betrayed cheap redundancies. He found nothing, at least that his eyes could perceive. Each person seemed unique, if not striking. One face did give him pause, however, and as he caught sight of it, he froze in place.

“I’m… me.” Will was staring in the window of a butcher’s shop, looking at his reflection. His real reflection. Every aspect, from his haircut to his glasses, was perfect. The only oddity was his outfit, a tailored suit rather than the usual Lander uniform or t-shirt-and-shorts combo.

“Of course it’s you. We had to upload your basic stats and abilities in here if it was going to be a good training simulator. Realistic practice means having access to your powers,” Professor Pendleton replied. “Plus, between the bodysuit and the helmet, your whole body is pretty much mapped out, so it created a faithful avatar. People will respond appropriately to said avatar, I might add, so don’t step into a lady’s restroom unless you want to get the cops called.”

Will blushed—and so did his reflection—at the outlandish accusation. “I would never—”

“That was the designer’s warning; I’m just passing it along.” Professor Pendleton threw up his hands as if to exonerate himself from the whole debacle. “Now, hurry it up. There’s a mission that needs your attention.”

They continued on for a little while longer before finally arriving at a small dock along a gently moving river. Dozens of boats were tied off with about half as many putting about lazily on the water. Just like the city, everything was perfectly rendered to the point where Will was beginning to wonder if people inside this system could lose the ability to tell the difference between it and reality.

“How do I get out of here?” Will asked.

“Giving up already? I thought you’d at least take a crack at it,” Professor Pendleton said.

Will shook his head. “There’s no menu, and when dealing with any simulated reality, it’s important to know how to discern real from false and how to exit.”

“Creepy that you’ve put that much thought into it, but I suppose it’s a fair point.” Professor Pendleton raised his hands to the side of his head, like he was gripping an invisible bubble. “You’re still moving around in the real world, remember? The system just keeps you in place. If you want out, all you have to do is pull off the helmet.”

Reaching up tentatively, Will could feel the hard surface of the helmet surrounding his head, even though no such object existed in the simulation. The knot of anxiety in his stomach eased now that he had an exit route; this was all a touch too real without knowing how to leave for his tastes.

“So, what’s my mission?” Will asked.

“Nothing too hard. See the riverboat with the bright red paddle?” Professor Pendleton pointed toward it, though the gesture was hardly necessary. The bright splash of crimson stood out like a beacon among the more muted, neutral colors of the other vessels. “It’s a casino boat where people are losing loads of money. One such person on there is a man named Rick Deckard, who—”

“Wait, Rick Deckard? Like from Blade Runner?”

“Yeah, go figure, the people who built and programmed a VR machine were into sci-fi,” Professor Pendleton replied. “As I was saying, on that boat is a man named Deckard. He’s a professional messenger, and in his possession right now is an encrypted list of Supers who are covertly working for an illegal organization. If we can get that, we can scoop them up, cripple the organization, and keep a lot of innocent people safe.”

“A noble cause,” Will agreed. “And how do I do it?”

“Beats me.” Professor Pendleton somehow shrugged, though Will was hardly surprised the real one had figured out how to make his avatar pull off such a feat. “I know how I would do it, but you don’t have the same powers as me… or looks, or experience, or any of it. Besides, it defeats the point if I tell you what to do. Welcome to the Hero world, Will. We don’t get game guides, we get tasks. Find a way to make it happen.”

“And if I fail?”

“Then it should reload to right here, the time when you got the mission,” Professor Pendleton explained. “It’s a learning experience. Fail until you get it right. Or give up. Either way, the rest of us will be watching from the terminal.”

Professor Pendleton flickered for a moment and then vanished. Will was on his own, at least within this world. All he had was a name, a place, and a goal. Despite the fact that this sort of scenario was clearly designed for someone with Alice’s skills over his own, Will found himself a bit excited.

Even if it was virtual, this was his first taste of what waited on the other side of graduation for a Subtlety Hero.

50.

Swimming on board was out of the question, Will quickly learned. While he had the stamina and arm strength for it, the moment someone spotted his wet clothes after climbing onto the riverboat, it was a short trip to being thrown off. He tried lying his way past the hurdle, saying he’d fallen overboard, but the staff demanded to see identification, tickets, and other proof that he lacked. This scenario was set so that the boat was secretive and secure, which meant bullshitting his way past the guards while wearing a dripping suit was above Will’s level of fast-talking, even as he tried to find key-phrases that would trigger the security AI into letting him pass.

After some trial and error, Will eventually found a docked boat that he was able to hotwire without being noticed. Arriving at the floating casino, he was quickly shut down by the staff as they refused to let him leave his boat abandoned in the water—which, he had to admit, did seem like a basic safety issue that he’d overlooked.

In a move born more of desperation than planning, Will checked the pockets of his suit and discovered he had been given a tablet computer roughly the size of a phone and a wallet swollen with Euros. Feeling a touch miffed that Professor Pendleton hadn’t mentioned the scenario came with starting inventory, Will reassessed his strategy. He walked over to a small café that advertised free Wi-Fi, paid too much for a cup of coffee he couldn’t taste, and sat down with the tablet.

When Professor Pendleton had told him they still had their powers in the scenario, Will hadn’t thought much of it. To him, his ability had always only been functional in terms of preparation—building things well in advance, laying traps long before the battle started. But having hit endless dead ends on other avenues, it seemed worthwhile to try and take an approach more tailored to his abilities. And that started with research.

He’d been braced for hours of setting up programs with which he could crack into the necessary systems, but to Will’s surprise, there was no need. Almost everything he wanted was right there, instantly accessible. It took a moment for him to understand why, and when it hit him, he felt utterly ridiculous for forgetting such an important detail. In this make-believe situation, he wasn’t Will Murray, Lander student. He was a Hero, and that meant he had access and support to complete his jobs.

Twenty minutes of speedy work, made easier by the fact that his tablet was above top-of-the-line—in fact, it felt like tech he would have designed—and Will exited the café with something like a plan rooted in his head.

Finding someone willing to take him over to the casino was no issue now that he was flush with cash, and this time, no one made a fuss about an abandoned vehicle because the driver headed back to the docks. Will was immediately approached by two men he knew to be security; they’d thrown him overboard on many of his previous attempts. They asked for his name and invitation, which was met with a lie and a truth. Will honestly admitted he didn’t have an invitation, though the name he used wasn’t his own. It belonged to a smuggler who worked routes between America and Europe, and who was currently at large. He wasn’t particularly notorious—Will had needed to dig deep in the systems to find him—so the man’s priority was low. In fact, that was what made him appealing. The smuggler stayed so below the radar, there weren’t even pictures of him. Yet he was the sort of fellow who was bound to work off of reputation, one that might just earn the benefit of the doubt when walking into illegal establishments. Doctoring up the digital identification had been the hardest part of the job, and there was still a chance they wouldn’t bite, but it wasn’t like smugglers went out of their way to advertise who they were. And it was just a name. More than one person had the same name, if push came to shove.

After a quick deliberation, and a call over their radios to an unseen entity, the guards parted, allowing Will access to the casino boat’s main floor. There were still dozens of hurdles left to clear before the task was done, but Will was finally on board. He was making progress.

*             *             *

“Not bad. I thought he’d get dunked a few more times before making it inside.” Professor Pendleton was bent over the screen, watching Will’s avatar stroll past the roulette wheel. He glanced at the clock and let out a slight wheeze of disappointment. “Looks like we’ll have to pull him out soon. Class is almost over, and you’ve all got lesser sessions to attend. Before you go, however, let’s make this a learning opportunity for everyone. Tell me how you think you’d have gotten on the boat. Then, before we meet again, come down and try it. We can all talk next time about whether your idea worked or not, and how you changed things in the face of failure.”

“Do we start with the same stuff as Will?” Britney asked.

“You’d both be given dresses as fancy as his suit, although you can change that in the settings if needed,” Professor Pendleton said. “And you’d get the cash, too. The tablet was just for him, though. In contrast, you’ll have access to your powers within the system via digital tools, so that advantage more than evens out.”

Alice and Britney were both silent as they watched Will’s character navigate the casino on-screen. They’d witnessed all of his failures, as well as his small triumph, so they knew much of what would and wouldn’t work.

“I think my first move would be to buy a wetsuit and a waterproof bag,” Britney said. “Life isn’t James Bond, so my clothes wouldn’t stay dry under just the suit. But if I sealed the dress off in a quality waterproof bag, went invisible, and swam over, I bet I could slip into a bathroom and change with minimal risk of being caught. Once I’m in the casino, I think it would be smooth sailing. The guards are looking for people sneaking onto the boat; the scrutiny on the floor seems highly diminished in comparison.”

“You’d need something to cover your face, too,” Alice suggested. “All the women inside are wearing makeup; you’d stand out if yours was smeared.”

“I imagine I’d have to hit a few dive shops. But in a town on the water, I feel like there would be a good chance of me being able to get the supplies.”

“You’ll have the chance to test it before next class.” Professor Pendleton reached over to the keyboard and hit a few buttons, causing a small timer to appear on the screen. He leaned into the microphone and said, “Will, sorry, but time is almost up. I’m shutting you down so you can make your next classes. Just sit tight as it powers down, or the switch can be disorienting.”

That done, he turned to Alice. “And how would you get on board? Flying?”

“Since I don’t have Britney’s power on top of my own, I think that might be a touch conspicuous,” Alice replied. “But I’m also better at fast-talking than Will. Plus, I imagine there’s a very different attitude toward a fully decked-out lady trying to enter their club versus a random guy in a suit. I think I’ll buy a ride like he did, and try to charm my way past, maybe see if any other latecomers are making their own trek to the boat and ask if they’d like company.”

“Can’t say either way if that one will work; it depends on how well you can execute it,” Professor Pendleton told her. “I do want you both to take note of how Will handled his failures, though. He tried new strategies, and when they didn’t work, he changed his approach. That is the right way to use this sort of tool: learning to think through your problems and see what works. Almost every scenario in here is based off real situations Subtlety Heroes have had to deal with. Learn from the experiences, and don’t be afraid of failing. Failure is just learning one way not to succeed.”

The computer let out a series of beeps. Over on the treadmill, Will carefully pulled his head free of the helmet. He looked around at the comparatively dull room, blinking away the bustling casino atop the slowly moving river.

“Still worried that the AI won’t make it an interesting challenge?” Professor Pendleton asked.

Will set the helmet down on the railing, pressed his hands to his eyes in attempt to clear out the lingering visions, and let out a long sigh. “I hereby officially withdraw my concerns. And I want to know when Alice will be busy in class, because I’m going to get Deckard no matter how many tries it takes.”

51.

Despite the fact that it hadn’t been her choice to take the job, Mary had grown to enjoy working at Supper with Supers far more than she’d ever expected. It wasn’t just because the stakes were lower than what she dealt with in class, although a forgotten basket of breadsticks was far less likely to get someone hurt than an out-of-control Sim. It was that working there allowed her a glimpse into what life was like for normal people her age.

Thanks to the other servers, the hostesses, and the myriad of Lander students who didn’t slink away underground every day, Mary was able to get a full dose of the most common troubles plaguing her peers. Initially, this had been done as necessary research so that she knew what to complain about when the monster of small talk reared its head, but over time she’d found it interesting enough to justify itself. Mary was fascinated by the fact that, while humans’ problems were less dire in scale, to their owners they were equally as important as the problems of those fighting to make their way into the ranks of Heroes. By this point, she’d gotten along far enough in her psychology classes to know it was all just a matter of perspective, and she didn’t fault them for how they processed challenges. Rather, she often found herself wondering if, perhaps, there was another scale out there, one by which her problems and those of her friends would seem mundane and trivial to someone peeking in.

It certainly helped her enjoyment that she’d quickly mastered the job, able to keep mental tabs on her tables so that she anticipated their every need. She actually had to hold herself back occasionally; otherwise, the service would have seemed a little too perfect. People were paying for the illusion of Supers, not the reality. That topic, always a bit thorny and lurking beneath the surface, was even more troublesome after such a bold move by the Sons of Progress. Most of the time, everyone tried very, very hard to ignore the fact that there was a sub-species of human capable of dominating the original version. Heroes helped the matter a great deal, making Supers seem like near-saints, stopping the few bad apples that occasionally popped up. When divergent movements appeared, however, it wasn’t quite so easy to deny that uneasy truth: that Supers were people too, and not all of them were content with living in humanity’s shadow.

More than a few times over the last month, between refills of iced tea and delivering sandwiches, Mary’s mind had flashed to the visions that Abridail had shown them: a world torn apart by the division of Supers, Powereds, and humans, versus one that still rested in a tentative peace. She was always listening, to the humans and Supers alike, trying to glean some insight to what could steer them toward the less destructive future. Unfortunately, people and their fears were far from uniform, which made finding a single idea all but impossible.

It was because she had this policy of always listening that she noticed the thoughts directed at her, even though they came from a table that wasn’t hers. She nearly frowned, halting the expression only because she was at a table and that would be poor service. This wasn’t someone she especially wanted to talk to, but he also wasn’t the kind of person it was smart to ignore.

Finished with taking her customers’ orders, Mary made a quick stop by the computer in the back to punch in their appetizers, and then walked around to a small table near the back of the restaurant. At night, this was the desired date table because it was tucked away out of sight, creating a romantic atmosphere. During the afternoon, on the other hand, it was nicknamed the Office because anyone wanting to do work or read while they ate was sat there, out of the way of distractions. He didn’t have a laptop open, or a book in front of him, but it was clear at a glance that Ralph Chapman was here on business.

“You could have asked to be put in my section,” Mary said. She didn’t sit, even though she knew he was waiting for her to. He could deal with it; she had other tables to keep up with and didn’t need to look like she was slacking.

“Your section is right in the center of the restaurant; this is a better place for private conversation.” If that was Ralph Chapman’s idea of an apology, it certainly didn’t sound like he was sorry.

“Those aren’t conversations I have at all in my place of work. If you want to talk about that stuff, you know where to find me.” Mary whirled around to leave, but Ralph spoke before she could get more than a few steps away.

“I want to know why Globe took you.”

Her eyes went wide and she scanned the area, relieved to see that none of the other servers were in earshot. The Office’s location was removed enough from the other tables, so being overheard by customers shouldn’t be a problem either. She spun on him, fire in her eyes, only to find him looking completely placid as he took a long draw from his glass of sweet tea.

“The usual place has too many ears around it,” Ralph said. “I thought this conversation was best had just between the two of us. Now, I can have it loudly, or quietly; that’s up to you.”

“I’m pretty sure this is an abuse of power for a DVA representative.”

“Interviewing a kidnapping victim to try and gain insight into a wanted criminal’s activities? No, that’s well within our spectrum of abilities. True, the venue is suspect, and you could complain about that, but if I can show that it was my only free time in the day, it will be hard to prove anything malicious about it.” Ralph stared at her, stirring his drink slowly, rattling the ice cubes as they smacked against the glass.

“I’ve been asked about this at least a dozen times, by my people and yours.”

“They’re the same people, Ms. Smith. Don’t forget that. I just have a few follow-ups of my own that were not already covered,” Ralph said.

Mary checked around her again. It was still clear, but that wasn’t going to last forever. Sooner or later, someone would happen by, and if it was at the wrong moment, then more than just her own secret could slip. Ralph had her over a barrel, at least for the moment. She tried listening to his thoughts, but all he was thinking was that the tea was too sweet. DVA agents were apparently taught how to deal with telepaths.

“Can we at least talk after my shift? Somewhere not in my place of work?”

“I think I can swing that.” Ralph pulled a business card out of his pocket, along with a ten-dollar bill. “Address is on the back of the card. The money is for my server. Tell her to keep the change.” With that, Ralph rose from his seat, polished off the last of his drink, and walked past Mary, offering one last bit of unsolicited advice hiding a thinly veiled threat.

“Try to be prompt. I’ve got a lot to do, and I’d hate to reschedule and come back here another day.”

52.

Chad was studying for a test as Vince approached him. Of course, in Chad’s case, “studying” meant he was flipping through his textbook and notes, making sure to get a good look at each page and then moving on forever. For the most part, Vince was grateful for the ability he’d been given—exponentially more since finally getting it under control—but it was hard not to envy Chad’s gifts when it came to everyday life. His power meant he would be successful at almost any activity he tried, physical or mental; Chad could breeze through life effortlessly, if he wanted. Yet he’d chosen the hardest path available to him and was still dominating it. Tempting as it was to hate Chad for that, his own work ethic made it impossible to begrudge him the success. No one trained more, or harder, than Chad Taylor.

Which was exactly why Vince had to interrupt his friend’s study session.

“Hey.” Vince sat down on a chair near Chad, who paused his “reading” and looked up from the book. They both knew he didn’t have to stop—Chad was more than capable of carrying on a conversation while still getting work done. This was merely a courtesy. It was happening slowly, but he was beginning to get the hang of customary social skills.

“Good afternoon, Vince. Can I help you with something?”

“I, uh, what makes you say that?” Vince asked, flustered by being called out on his plan.

“You’re usually very conscientious about keeping quiet when others use the common room to study,” Chad replied. “If you’re interrupting me, then the safe assumption is that there is a purpose in mind.”

“Guess you’ve got me there.” Oddly, Vince felt a bit relieved by Chad addressing the situation straightforwardly. He’d have probably danced around the topic awkwardly with bad small talk before finally getting to the point, but this saved them both time. “I wanted to speak to you about training.”

“Much as I would enjoy testing my own skills against yours in a sparring match, I think we both know that would be a bad idea in the long run,” Chad said, managing to sound gentle, like he was letting Vince down easy.

“Trust me, I know that better than anyone,” Vince assured him. “I’m not looking for a fight though, just some insight. Hershel said that you see everyone’s weaknesses better than anyone else in the class, because, well, you’re always ready to fight them. I’ve been having some trouble deciding how to train and better myself, so I thought working on my weak spots would be the best use of time. But it’s hard for me to see my own blind spots.”

“I see.” Chad allowed his book to close entirely and set it down on the coffee table before fully turning to Vince. “Just so we’re clear: you want me to outline what your biggest weaknesses are, the things I would most likely capitalize on in the event we were pitted against one another, so that you can strengthen them and become a more powerful threat overall?”

Vince’s face began to flush, and he fidgeted with his hands on the chair’s worn fabric. “Sorry. I didn’t realize how selfish it was until you said it like that.”

“In most cases, it certainly would be,” Chad agreed. “However, I’m actually quite grateful for the opportunity. A match is always possible within the program, and against your very best, I might learn much. That’s assuming you’re able to reach your best, however. You are a strong Super and a dedicated friend, Vince, but as you are now, I’m afraid you wouldn’t be that much of a challenge to defeat.”

The flush faded quickly as Vince tried to figure out if he was insulted or not. From almost anyone else, that would be a psych-out attempt or a veiled barb, but Chad was one of the few people whose honesty was genuine. He never really meant to hurt, at least not primarily. If someone asked for his opinion then he would give it, and that was what Vince had been seeking in a roundabout way.

“How so?” Vince said. “I’m not saying it would be an easy win for me or anything, but the only time you and I really engaged, I did manage to send you flying.”

“Perspective is important,” Chad told him. “For one thing, that was over a year ago, and we have both been growing in that time. But more importantly, you were not my goal on that hill, Vince. My goal was to get the orb inside the device you were guarding, and on that account, I succeeded.”

Vince allowed his head to nod slowly in agreement. “That’s true, though I’m still pretty proud of that punch.”

“You should be. It was a good one,” Chad said. “It also doesn’t change the fact that, as you are now, I could easily best you.”

“If you’re willing to tell me how to get better, I’m here to listen.”

Chad smiled, a rare sudden sign of the emotions locked away in that controlled brain of his. “You are, aren’t you? That’s one thing I admire about you, about everyone in this dorm. Each of you is willing to put the desire to be better ahead of your ego. Even Roy, albeit he needed some convincing. All right, Vince I’ll tell you what your biggest weakness is, although figuring out how to train it is ultimately going to be on you. To put it simply: you are trying to spread your power too thin.”

“You mean with all the different energies?” Vince asked.

“Not at all. Those add to your arsenal and make you more dangerous. I’m referring to your offense and defense. You’re trying to use your power for both, when you need to focus on one.” Chad looked at his dormmate for a long moment, brow furrowing slightly. “You and I are both doers by nature. I think it will be easier to show this lesson rather than tell it.”

There was no denying the truth of that; Vince always learned better through actions than words. Of course, that idea came with the same caveat they’d started the conversation with. “It would probably make things easier, but we still can’t spar.”

“No, we cannot,” Chad agreed. “However, if you’re willing to let someone else—Alex, specifically—in on your weaknesses, I think he can provide an excellent demonstration of what I want to show you.”

It was a dangerous prospect, letting Chad teach someone else what Vince’s biggest weaknesses were. Just because he’d figured them out didn’t mean the rest of the class had. And if Vince couldn’t find a way to overcome them, then he might be opening the door to someone else beating him when it really mattered. Of course, Chad was doing exactly that by trying to teach a competitor how to be better, making the running harder on himself in the process. What right did Vince have to shy away from the same risk?

“I’ll call Alex and book a combat cell.”

53.

Mary had only been to a few bars in her college career, a tally she was quite happy with, so she didn’t have a great standard of comparison as she walked into the one at the address Ralph Chapman had provided her. All the same, it came off as a bit dingy, with dark walls and battered stools instead of the usual cornucopia of bubbly wait staff and bright neon signs advertising drink specials. This was a real bar, a place people came to drown their troubles, not where college students gathered to engage in intoxicated revelry. It was also almost completely deserted, save for a thick-necked man in a stained apron standing behind the bar and the barely visible profile of Ralph Chapman tucked away in a corner booth.

Vacant as it looked, Mary still scanned the area telepathically, just in case there were unseen presences hidden in some shadowy nook. She came up empty. The only thoughts in the building seemed to be Ralph’s, the bartender’s, and a busboy in the back who was worried about making this month’s rent. She eased into the opposite side of the booth from Ralph Chapman, who was drinking a lemonade.

“Can I get you anything?”

“I don’t suppose they have tea here, do they?” Mary asked.

“Just the iced kind. But they do make a mean lemonade.” He leaned out of the booth and motioned to the bartender, tapping on his glass to signal another round was needed.

“If it’s alcoholic, you’ll be drinking that yourself,” Mary warned him.

“Not a drop,” Ralph assured her. “I’m like you, Ms. Smith. I prefer to keep a clear head about me. It’s an important trait in this line of work.”

“The line of work that involves illegally coercing off-the-books meetings with students who are supposedly under your care?” Mary could have played it more aloof—she was sure that was what Nick or Alice would have done—but she didn’t have their tolerance for bullshit. Ralph might be able to compel her to show up here, but that didn’t mean she had to be nice or pretend this was anything other than the forced meeting it was.

“Fair enough. I’m playing loose with the rules, and you don’t like it. Hard to begrudge you that. And I’m sure that neither you nor your friends nor your professors have ever taken actions that fell outside the rules. Otherwise, I can’t imagine you’d be sitting quite so easily on that high horse of yours.”

Mary didn’t think she let his jab show on her face, but Ralph Chapman smiled like he’d just glimpsed what he was looking for. “If I could prove even half the things I know have happened, this would be a very different conversation, but we both know you’re all too clever for that. So instead, just try to appreciate what it’s like to be on the other side of the equation for a change.”

“You wanted to talk to me about Globe.” Mary didn’t have a comeback for his accusation; her mind was flooded with all the semi- to totally illegal activities they’d undertaken over the years, from secret dream conversations with Globe to reviving Nick’s memories and all the smaller stuff in between.

“Maybe a little bit.” Ralph Chapman paused as the bartender walked over and set a fresh glass of lemonade in front of Mary. “Mostly I wanted to ask if you have any guesses as to why he tried to abduct you once and only once. You probably don’t know this, but Globe was a tenacious Hero, never the sort to easily give up on something once he’d set his mind to it. Yet, after one failed attempt, he’s left you completely unperturbed. Even stranger is the fact that you are the one he wanted in the first place, when his son was living in the same dorm.”

Mary tried a sip of her drink. It was good, if a bit tart for her tastes. “There’s not a week that goes by I don’t ask myself some of those same questions. I’ve tried my hardest to figure things out, and eventually, I had to accept that I just don’t see enough of the board.”

“The board?”

“I like chess, Mr. Chapman,” Mary explained. “But right now, all I can see are the few pieces around me. I don’t know what Globe is doing or what moves he’s making, so I can’t make sense out of the few actions I glimpse. Truthfully, I don’t even know if he’s playing the same game as the rest of us.”

“That is… well put,” Ralph agreed after a brief pause. “None of us have any idea of what Globe is after, which makes him all the more dangerous. He has incredible power and a gift for leading others. When he strikes, it will be hard and ferocious, and I’d very much like to have any bit of warning I can manage to glean. So, again, I ask not for well-thought out ideas or provable points: do you have any guesses at why he may have taken you?”

“Nothing I’d want to share.” Mary stared at the DVA agent, stone-faced. She’d taken the meeting, and she’d answered the questions she could. Compelling random speculation out of her seemed like more than he could demand, and she wanted to set boundaries in this conversation. He needed to know that he didn’t have all the power in this booth.

Ralph seemed to take the message, draining the rest of his lemonade and then motioning to the barkeep for another. “Ms. Smith, I’m keenly aware that all of you think of me as the bad guy. I’m not part of the club, I’ll never understand the job, yet I’m the one who determines whether or not you’ve done it well. You don’t have to like me or the existence of my department, but I think you, out of everyone in your peer group, should be able to understand that we are necessary. You can see into people’s minds, the best and worst of them. Do you really want to live in a world where Supers have no checks or balances? Where Heroes are free to enforce the law as they wish without oversight?”

“I know the DVA is necessary,” Mary replied. “But you’ve been gunning for Vince since the moment you stepped foot on campus. That’s not part of your job; that’s personal. And he’s never done a thing to you or anyone else.”

“Yet.” Ralph’s face darkened for a moment, and his composure slipped. Mary picked up a few scattered thoughts whirling through his brain before he got it under control: something about a bridge, and mistakes, and a white-hot core of fury buried beneath all the platitudes and red tape. Then it was gone, replaced by milquetoast thoughts about the weather. “Mr. Reynolds is a fine young man with a good heart; I’m not going to debate that with you. But he lets his emotions overtake him more than is wise or prudent. I’ve seen what happened in your sophomore year, and I’ve read the reports from May’s incident. Did you know he almost killed a man in cold blood?”

She did. Vince had been tormented by thoughts of that moment almost as much as his memory of Sasha’s corpse. It had made the first few weeks of summer so morose that sometimes she had turned off her telepathy entirely. “He made the right choice in the end, and I don’t blame him a bit for being tempted. ‘Almost’ doesn’t count.”

“Until the day it does,” Ralph Chapman countered. “I don’t hate Vince Reynolds. I don’t hate any Super or Hero. I hate what they can do, what people will let them do because love and camaraderie and friendship cloud their judgment. I don’t have that luxury. I’m not in this business to be liked; I’m in it to get a job done.”

The bartender arrived with another drink, and Ralph handed over a small wad of bills. “If you want to know why I take the threat Vince poses so seriously, then I’ll show you. And him. Just call the number on the card I gave you and pick a day. We can even use your teleporter, so that I can’t pull a fast one.”

“Why would you do that?” Mary asked, struck by a rare moment of genuine confusion.

“Because while we may not all see eye-to-eye, we all do agree that Supers should work to keep people safe and make the world a better place, unlike what the Sons of Progress want to see happen,” Ralph told her. “We’re on the same side. If I want you all to realize that, it means I’m going to have to start showing you some trust.”

“Does that mean no more restaurant visits?”

“That was a bit of theatrics, Ms. Smith. Necessary to get a conversation started. But no more of them, regardless. If you want to talk, whether you think of something to tell me or to take me up on the offer, just call the number on the card or stop by my office,” Ralph told her.

Mary stood to leave, fully intent on walking out the door without so much as a glance back. Except… he was right. They—the DVA and the Heroes—were on the same side. And when push had come to shove, Ralph Chapman had remembered that, legally protecting the students so that they could go forth and do good.

“I have one guess, and it’s barely even that,” Mary said. “I don’t know what Globe is planning, but if he needed someone to work with him at Lander, I might have been the easiest person to convince to join him.”

“And why is that?”

“Because if what he was doing was good, then I could have listened to his thoughts and believed him. Not saying it would have worked, just that it might be what he was thinking,” Mary explained. “I doubt it helps much.”

“We won’t know until things are fully settled,” Ralph Chapman replied. “But thank you, Ms. Smith. For your time and your candor.”

54.

Vince waited patiently as Chad and Alex talked outside the cell. He didn’t know what they were saying, but the general subject matter was certainly how Alex was supposed to bring Vince down. It was strange to stand idle while someone was supposedly being handed the methods to his defeat, yet, Vince oddly found himself more excited than worried by the prospect. If Chad was right, this would end with a better understanding of his abilities and what he should be working on. That sort of growth wasn’t usually pleasant, but it was necessary in an environment like this one.

The door opened to reveal Chad and Alex, who entered. The blond Super nodded up toward the observation window. “Just for documentation that this is a match between you and Alex, and that I am only here in a consulting role, I asked Professor Fletcher to oversee us.”

“Keep it civil. I’d rather not have to come down there.” Professor Fletcher’s voice crackled over the intercom, causing both Vince and Alex to give polite waves to their teacher.

“Now then, this will be a simple sparring session, so breaks and pauses are perfectly allowed,” Chad continued. “This is not a match, merely a training exercise. That said: Vince, when it begins, I would like you to attack Alex seriously, as if you are going for a win. You need to be giving it your best to understand the flaw in your techniques.”

“Alex, can you handle that?” Vince asked.

Alex grinned, adjusting something tucked into his pockets, and gave an enthusiastic nod. “Seeing as I can block energy attacks, I was going to ask you the same question.”

“Okay then, but I’m going for just a knock-out,” Vince replied.

“That will suffice.” Chad walked over to the edge of the room, exchanging a long look with Alex. “The fight begins now.”

Vince didn’t waste any time, gathering a blast of electricity in his hand and aiming it at Alex. Normally he might have given his sparring opponent a little more time to brace, but Chad had told him to take it seriously, and he was here to learn. If they wanted him fighting for real, then that was what they would get.

The lightning danced in his hand as Vince fired, a crackle slicing through the air that was quickly joined by an unexpected scream of pain from Vince’s lips.

The shot went wide as he collapsed to one leg. He stared in shock at the small blade sticking out of his knee, still quivering with force from the throw. He looked up to find several more identical blades floating near Alex, who seemed ready to use them at the first sign of aggression.

“That is your weakness, Vince. It’s the same one almost every absorber has to deal with. Your power is either offensive or defensive, but it’s never both.” Chad pulled open the door and motioned for Jada, who came in and went a bit pale when she saw the blade in Vince’s knee. Quickly jerking it out, she healed him.

Vince let out a long sigh of relief as the pain faded. “Okay,” he said, watching as Jada headed out to check on other sparring students, “I can see how that would work for a telekin—sorry, Alex—for anyone who can move things with their mind.”

“Do you think I’d be unable to make such a throw?” Chad asked. “Or that other powers couldn’t be used to strike while you attack?”

“But you use your abilities for offense and defense.” Vince made to rise, which led Alex to come over and offer an arm in assistance. Vince pulled himself up slowly, testing his leg and leaning on Alex. It bore the weight fine, with no sign of any injury.

“Our powers are very different,” Chad told him. “Ones like mine and Roy’s are akin to a suit of armor. They protect our bodies, while also causing harm to those we strike with them. Alex’s is more like a sword and shield. He can use it to strike and defend at the same time. But yours is different. You can only ever be expelling or absorbing energy. You have a mighty shield or a powerful sword; however, you cannot wield both at once.”

Chad was right; Vince couldn’t absorb and blast at the same time. Even at his most potent, during the rage-induced hallucination sophomore year, he’d had to drop the lightning and fire whenever he absorbed another student’s attacks. The only reason no one had ever tried such a simple tactic as the one Alex had used was probably because his attacks were so big and flashy; they drew people’s attention away from his vulnerable body.

Except… one person had used a similar technique, now that Vince thought about it.

“Shane cut my leg tendons when I tried to blast him in a fight,” Vince recalled. “It was just like what Alex did; he waited until I was vulnerable then struck.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Shane is easily as good as I, if not better, in assessing an opponent’s weaknesses,” Chad said.

“Okay, so let’s try this the other way around.” Vince looked to Alex. “New match?”

“Whenever you’re ready.” Alex headed back across the cell, and a moment later, Chad called out for them to begin.

This time, Vince didn’t go for the attack; instead, he watched Alex’s movements and those of the floating blades. One swirled around, trying to catch Vince from behind, but the summer’s training had honed his kinetic absorption reflexes. That blade was stuck pressing harmlessly against him. Alex looked dumbfounded, and Vince enjoyed a moment of triumph… until he realized he had no idea what to do next. He could charge Alex, though that would likely just get him tossed across the room. Whether it was telekinesis or the Force, Vince had never found a way to absorb whatever people like Alex and Mary used.

“Wow… this is tough,” Vince admitted. “I’m used to leaning on my power for attacks.”

“And perhaps that is what you should do,” Chad said. “Armor exists, and if you can focus through the pain, then there are precious few Supers out there who could withstand your attacks. Alternately, if you can master your hand-to-hand skill or pick up a weapon, you’d be nearly impossible for most Supers to stop before you could get to them. And switching off on occasion or in dire need is certainly going to be useful. But you can’t lean on your power for offense and defense at the same time—that spreads it too thin, beyond your abilities. You’d be far stronger if you picked the sword or the shield, and then used your other skills or tools to compensate on the other side.”

“You said almost all absorbers have to switch off, didn’t you?” Vince asked. “Is there a chance I’m one of the few who can do both?”

“Anything is possible,” Chad told him. “However, to my knowledge, those types are very rare. And I suspect you’d have shown signs of the ability by now, if that were the case.”

“Crap. I was sort of hoping I’d get lucky.” Vince nodded to Alex for a pause. The blade floated harmlessly away from him, back to where the others hovered around Alex’s head.

“Vince, you have the ability to absorb more types of energy than anyone I’ve ever heard of, and your storage capacity is incredible. There are countless absorbers who would kill to have the gifts you’ve been given,” Chad reminded him. “I have no doubt you’ll find a way to work past this weakness and come out the other side far stronger. And when you do, I hope I have a chance to test myself against you.”

“Maybe one day,” Vince agreed. “If we both graduate, and it’s not such a big deal anymore.”

Chad smiled, a touch too wide to conceal his hunger for the bout. “I look forward to it.”

55.

Despite the strange new self-directed training regimen and monthly tests, the Lander seniors slowly fell into habit with their new schedule, as they did every year. September’s exam passed without significant incident: this round pitted them together in teams to hunt down a few Sims representing high-damage criminal Supers. Soon, the air turned chilly as October made its arrival known.

While people were bundling up outdoors, inside the newly reopened Six-Shooter, coats were tossed aside and forgotten as the constant crush of bodies and ample alcohol left everyone warmer than the inside of a toaster.

Roy looked out happily on the sea of college students from his position at the sidebar. Roger had offered to move him and Chad to the main area since they were now among his more senior staff, but the duo had elected to continue running their own smaller section by themselves. Between Chad’s efficiency and Roy’s charm, they churned through nearly as many customers as the bigger spaces, and they didn’t have to worry about any of the newer kids getting in their way.

Roy had been seriously concerned that an explosion going off inside the club would have kept people away after it reopened. He, Chad, and Alice would be fine—there were always other service jobs out there to fill—but Roger was a good man who didn’t deserve to have his livelihood fall apart.

That concern turned out to be utterly unfounded. If anything, Six-Shooter was busier than it had ever been before. These were the students who’d come back to Lander after the Sons of Progress attack. Anyone who scared easily—or rationally—was long gone from the college, which meant that this group was the sort to spit in the eye of people trying to drive them away. It was a sentiment that Roy appreciated so much that he poured the drinks a little heavier, at least at the beginning of the night.

“Holy crap. These new girls are way better than I was when I started.” Alice plopped into a vacant seat and set down an empty bottle of well whiskey, which Chad immediately took away and replaced with a full one. The shots were clearly flowing freely tonight.

“Really? Our new bartenders aren’t as impressive,” Roy replied. While the customers had returned in droves, the wait staff had effectively been cut in half since Six-Shooter’s closing. This was less a casualty of the fire and explosion than it was a far more predictable, insidious enemy to a college town’s bar workers: graduation. Just as Roy and Chad hoped to be gone next year, so too had their predecessors graduated college and moved on. Granted, many of them were still bartending in different towns, but they nevertheless left holes in the roster that needed to be filled.

“Aside from Chad, have you ever met a bartender you considered impressive?” Alice asked.

“He even complains about me,” Chad threw in. “Despite the fact that my pours are near-perfect.”

“It’s not about perfection; it’s about style.” Roy filled a glass with water and a few ice cubes and set it down before Alice, who promptly drained the thing half-dry.

“Thanks.” Alice took a breath, then polished off the rest of her water in one go. It was a hectic night, all the more so because she was trying to watch over the new shot girls just as Angela had watched over her. Well, not exactly the same way. Alice’s method involved a lot less cursing and threats.

Roy quickly checked in on the people sitting at his and Chad’s bar, making sure everyone was topped off and having fun. His job was more the latter; Chad was as precise in tracking his customers’ need for new drinks as he was at everything else he did. While Roy was scoping things out, though, he noticed a woman staring at him from across the dance floor. That in itself wasn’t something Roy considered remarkable; he’d come a long way in a lot of areas, but his ego still had a mind of its own.

What did strike him as strange was that he was almost certain he’d seen her glance over several times already. That was a bit peculiar. As a bartender, he was the easiest person in the entire building to come talk to: all she had to do was order a beer. But even that he might have dismissed if not for the fact that there was something familiar about her. The black dress and wavy brown hair didn’t ring any bells, and it was hard to get a good look at her face from across a crowded bar. All the same, something in Roy’s gut told him he’d seen that girl before. Once upon a time, it was the sort of feeling he’d dismiss as coincidental, or at most, curious. After everything his group had gone through, however, Roy now found such sentiments to be a cause for caution.

“Hey, Alice.” Roy kept his tone the same as before, impossible to hear over the racket of voices and loud country music. He did angle himself slightly away from where he’d last seen the girl, so that his mouth was impossible to read. “There’s a gal who keeps eyeing me over near the east bathrooms. Brown hair and a black dress that doesn’t fit the theme here. When you’re doing the rounds, can you take a peek and see if she looks familiar to you?”

“Since when do you need my help scooping up women at a bar?” Alice’s joking smile faded as she caught sight of the serious look in Roy’s eyes. “Something up?”

“Probably not. Got an admirer who seems familiar, but I can’t place her. Odds are it’s just someone I chatted up who didn’t stick out in my mind. All the same…”

“Yeah, I understand.” Alice picked up her tray of Jell-O shots, slipped the full bottle of whiskey into her left holster, and walked back out into the happy, drunken sea.

Roy tried to watch her go, but the hole she left was quickly filled by thirsty patrons and a little paranoia was no excuse for not doing his job. He popped the tops off beers and poured well-cocktails methodically, smiling and making chit-chat while barely hearing the words anyone spoke. He’d lost sight of both Alice and the mystery girl despite combing the bar with his eyes at every opportunity. Finally, Alice’s familiar blonde figure reappeared in the ocean of bodies, making her way back over to the bar.

Before he could even ask, Alice shook her head. “Nothing. I thought I saw someone who fit your description for a second, but then I got swarmed by a group wanting shots. By the time I was able to look again, she was gone. Did a full sweep around the place, but no other sightings.”

“Thanks anyway,” Roy replied. “It’s probably nothing. Just a shy lady who couldn’t muster up the courage to come talk to the walking Adonis that is Roy Daniels.” Beneath the bravado, Roy sincerely hoped the words were true, despite the bitter taste of doubt they left on his tongue.

56.

The door to his classroom clicked shut before Sean Pendleton could so much as look up from his desk. The sound of the lock being turned followed immediately after.

He expected to find Dean Blaine staring back at him, here to offer news about their off-campus activities, or perhaps dole out a covert assignment. Instead, Sean found himself looking at his half-brother: Professor Blake Hill. They hadn’t spoken since Alice had chosen to go into Subtlety, not even nodding at one another in the halls. Alice’s decision was only the latest in a long line of problems between the two, although it did manage to reopen some old wounds.

“You finally here to do this?” Sean wasn’t sure who was stronger, he or Blake. As the older sibling, he’d been the first to both get and train his abilities, but they were a long way from the playground now. Most likely, it would come down to reaction time.

“I wanted to see how she’s doing.” Instead of housing his usual sneering confrontation, Blake’s face was turned downward. It was the most humble Sean had seen him in years, and he didn’t trust it for a moment.

“I submit my weekly reports just like everyone else. I’m sure Blaine would let you browse them.”

“For god’s sake, Sean, she’s my niece too. I’ve got the right to make sure she’s handling the program well,” Blake protested, a bit of his usual fire coming back into his eyes. Now that was more like the brother Sean knew and couldn’t quite stop himself from blaming.

“Maybe so, but I trust you so little that I don’t buy that you’re really the one asking. Did your owner jerk the leash and tell you to come sniffing around?” Sean asked.

Blake froze in his spot, turning his head the rest of the way upward and meeting Sean’s gaze with a fierce expression of his own. “Charles Adair is my friend, not my master. And no, he’s not the one checking in on her.”

“Of course he isn’t. Since when does Charles give a fuck about his daughter?”

“And what would you know about it? Where were you when Alice was diagnosed, growing up with a power that put her at risk anytime she got a little too happy or excited?” Blake’s voice was rising, and Sean said a silent prayer of thanks that the rooms in the HCP had thick walls. This would get worse before it got better. It always did, and neither of them could seem to stop it. “Oh, that’s right, you were in jail! Because you went off the deep end and started robbing people when Shelby died.”

“I went off the deep end when Charles fucking Adair destroyed her and then tried to cover it up!” Now it was Sean who was yelling, leaping from his chair so fast he knocked a coffee mug to the floor. Its shattering didn’t reach either man’s ears over the sound of their own voices. “I was funding my search for proof because your friend hid my sister away and I wasn’t going to stand for it.”

“She was my sister, too.” Blake lurched forward, hands half-closed as though they weren’t sure if they wanted to be fists or not. “Shelby was my twin; you think I don’t miss her every day? That I don’t love her as much as you? Go fuck yourself, Sean. We both lost her, but instead of leaning on each other like a damn family, you couldn’t accept it. You had to fill your head with insane conspiracy theories and start blaming everyone around you.”

“You don’t blame him?” The tone of Sean’s voice fell, barely above a whisper now. For the first time since he’d arrived at Lander, he seriously considered the possibility that he might be about to get thrown back in jail, depending on his brother’s answer. “You like to call me crazy, Blake, but I’m not wrong about who it was that took Shelby away.”

“Shelby made a choice,” Blake shot back, his own voice growing quieter as well. “We both know that. She talked about it with us. Hell, do you even remember her in those final days? It was barely even her; she was a ghost of the woman we knew. I’m damn sure not happy with how things turned out, but what she was going through… I don’t blame her for taking a long shot.”

“I don’t blame her, either,” Sean agreed. “I blame him for giving in, and I blame you for introducing them in the first place. She’d have never met that son of a bitch if you hadn’t played matchmaker in college.”

“Goddamn it, Sean, why not blame our parents for birthing us, too, if you’re going back that far.” Blake shook his head and stepped backward, putting some space between him and his half-brother. “You know, I’m the one that should be throwing blame around. As awful as what happened was, you made it so much worse. I’d just lost my twin sister, and then you took away my brother. In a few short years, I lost almost all the family I had left. And you are the one responsible for the second part. Not Charles, or me, or anyone else.”

“A man does crazy things when his family is threatened.” Sean slowly stepped back toward his desk, forcing himself to get back under control.

“We’re family, too.”

“We’ll be family when you tell me what really happened to Shelby. Until then, you’re a stranger.” Sean slumped back into his chair, looking at the desk in an effort to keep his temper in check.

“She died, Sean. I don’t like it any more than you did, but running from the truth just makes it worse. She died, and we’re still stuck here, dealing with it the best we can.” Blake turned and began walking over to the classroom door. “I’ll read your reports about Alice, but if she needs anything I can help with, please let me know. I think we can at least agree that we want the best for our niece.”

“You know, I was in jail,” Sean said, remembering Blake’s earlier accusations. “But you weren’t. You should have been a presence in Alice’s life, someone she trusted and cared about. Yet she had no idea who you were when she got to Lander. So tell me, oh-great-uncle, where exactly were you when Alice was growing up?”

“I was avoiding her, like a coward.” Blake’s voice had no shame in it; this was clearly a truth he’d made peace with long ago. “Probably for much the same reason that Charles does: she looks so much like Shelby. Every time I even glance at her, I see the fact that we failed my sister. It just hurt too much for too long.”

“Well,” Sean said, noticing the shards of broken mug on the ground for the first time. “That just sounds like a wet pile of bullshit to me.”

“Of course it does,” Blake agreed. “Because of us all, you’re the one who always told her not to try it. So you get to walk through life without the crushing weight of guilt, even though you should feel every ounce of it. Deep down, you know it. If Shelby had listened to you, she’d probably still be dead. And we might have lost Alice, too.”

Blake didn’t wait for a reply. He just threw open the door and strode into the hall, leaving Sean behind with nothing but a slowly cooling temper and a shattered mug to clean.

57.

The woman across from Dean Blaine was impressively nondescript. Even after sitting with her for half an hour, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to pick her out in a crowd. Of course, that was possibly because she might not even look like this. He was paying for her time, not her secrets, and someone in her line of work was bound to be private by necessity.

She flipped through the pages of the contract slowly, taking in every detail. “This is an odd one. Most folks hire me to see if their spouse is willing to cheat on them or to dig up a little secret information behind someone’s back.”

“I appreciate the discretion, but I know you’ve also been tapped to publicly fill in for more notorious Heroes should they be indisposed.” Dean Blaine had gotten this recommendation through no small amount of effort; Galina was not an asset many in the world knew about. As a Super with a useful and potent gift, she wasn’t rated to engage in actual field work, though she had been called upon to assume a Hero’s public image more than once. Healers couldn’t fix everything, especially when considering the mental toll the job could take. No one wanted to hear that their champions were going through intensive therapy, however, so sometimes a substitute was needed for the times when the real Hero was on the proverbial couch.

“You understand that I cannot in any way confirm what you’re suggesting, don’t you?” She didn’t look bothered or surprised that he knew—the mere fact that Galina had taken the meeting meant that she was up to speed.

“And that sense of discretion is why you came so highly recommended for the job,” he replied. “What we’ll be doing is not technically illegal, but it also cannot become public knowledge. The safety of several people hinges upon that fact.”

“Understood.” Galina kept flipping, reading each page carefully. Aside from confirming her fees, which were far from cheap, it detailed the nondisclosure clause she’d agree to by taking the assignment. It was a thorough document, but nothing she hadn’t seen before. For one in her line of work, secret-keeping was the most important skill to learn.

Finishing her perusal of the documents, Galina slid them back across the desk to Dean Blaine. They were seated in her office, a brightly lit space with no discerning paintings or markings of any kind, located in an unremarkable strip mall. The room housed a desk, a laptop, and a mini-fridge filled with local craft sodas, one of which she’d offered to Dean Blaine when he arrived. Upon the desk was a small cup holding a few pens, and it didn’t escape Dean Blaine’s notice that her hand hadn’t reached for any of them to sign the contract.

“Is there a problem?”

“Not with the papers; that’s all perfectly in order.” Galina leaned back in her chair slowly, eyes never quite leaving her visitor’s face. “But this feels off to me, and I don’t take jobs where I don’t know what I’m really getting into.”

“I assure you, everything is exactly as outlined,” Dean Blaine said.

“Maybe so. Yet you’re clearly a Hero, and this is HCP work, but the DVA isn’t footing my bill. I know what their contracts look like, and this isn’t one of them,” Galina said. “Now, don’t get me wrong, those people can be first-class pricks. I’ve got no love lost for them. All the same, that doesn’t mean I’m going to mix myself up in some shit that will have them breathing down my neck. Whatever’s going on, you’re trying to keep it off the books, so I think you can understand why I might be concerned about becoming an accessory.”

That was the trouble with working with skilled people; they were often too good to be easily managed or kept in the dark. Galina was an exceptional investigator by reputation, and Dean Blaine had known going in that he might have to give up more information than he’d have liked to secure her services. With so few other options available, it seemed he was going to have to take that gamble after all.

“You’re right,” Dean Blaine admitted. There was no point in denying what she obviously knew to be true. “We’re doing off-the-book work, but it’s not for a nefarious reason. What we need you to do is mimic a person whose power allows us to talk to someone who might provide us with answers to a mystery. The only actual crime that will occur is the theft of the hair samples, and, technically, those are trash anyway. Plus, you won’t be the one stealing them. As for why we’re keeping the DVA in the dark about what we’re doing… well, to be frank, it’s because we don’t know who we can trust. I’ve already been betrayed by two people I’d never have suspected to be turncoats. If the wrong person gets wind of what we’re looking for, they could shut us down, or worse. That’s why I’m coming to you. By all accounts, you serve only the contracts that you sign.”

“Sounds more intriguing than off-putting.” Galina studied him, no doubt searching his face for any sign that he was selling falsehoods. “But those seem like the sort of secrets I’m much happier not knowing. Will I be a facilitator or a witness?”

“Facilitator,” Dean Blaine assured her. “The way this power works, you won’t be able to overhear the conversations. All we need from you is to show up, mimic the power, put someone in a trance, and release them when the work is done. It might take more than one go, given your time constraints, but your duties will never change, nor will you be exposed to any sensitive information.”

She stared for a while longer, then slowly reached over and pulled the contract back to her side of the desk. “You’re not the only one who did research, you know. I talked to a few former clients who know you before I agreed to this meeting. The consensus they gave was almost universal: you can’t trust Blaine around your good scotch, but he always keeps his word and his people safe. This is a gig I’d normally turn away; I want you to understand that. But it seems interesting, and your colleagues think the world of you.” Galina plucked a pen from the cup holding them and signed her name to the first of a myriad of blank spots on the pages.

“I urge you not to make liars out of them,” she told him. “You’re not the only one here who is owed favors by powerful people.”

58.

As gym class came to an end, the senior students began making the familiar trek off to the showers where they’d clean up, don normal clothes, and return to the serene normality of Lander’s above-ground campus. Their route was blocked, however, as Alice floated over to the double doors and placed herself directly in front of the exit.

“Quick announcement to make,” she told them, dealing with their curiosity before anyone could ask what the hell was going on. “This seemed faster than letting everyone know one by one. Since Halloween is coming up, we decided to throw a party. Everyone is welcome to attend. Anybody who wants details, hang around for a few minutes. Those who already have plans, sorry for the delay.”

With that, Alice moved to the side, allowing free access to the doorway. Rich, Allen, Amber, and Britney exchanged a brief stare before Britney ultimately stepped forward to speak for her group. “We appreciate the invitation, but the four of us were going to check out Screamtopia since Amber and I haven’t gone before. Last year here and all; we’ve already bought our tickets.”

“Totally understandable. No offense taken,” Alice assured her fellow Subtlety student. Screamtopia was a good time—unless one had an unexpected journey into their own mind—and probably should be experienced at least once. She watched as the four made their way past and moved towards the showers beyond the double doors. Alice waited patiently to see if anyone else would automatically step away, but there were no other followers. The rest of the crew was at least interested enough to hear the details.

“It won’t be anything too fancy, just an apartment party on Halloween night, so to those hoping for another club outing, sorry to disappoint. Friends, food, drinks, and horror movies playing in one of the rooms. I think games, too, for those who like that sort of thing.”

“Drinking games?” Violet asked.

“Have you ever played a game you couldn’t turn into a drinking game?” Thomas said.

“The man makes a point,” Violet agreed. “Alice, please continue.”

“Glad to. Anyway, since it’s Halloween, we do request costumes, and that’s for more than one reason.” Alice hesitated; so far, everyone seemed more or less on board with the plan. This was going to be where she lost people, though. “This won’t be an HCP-only party. You’re welcome to bring friends from your regular classes if you want. Hence why we strongly encourage costumes and masks. Never hurts to put a little extra protection over the identities.”

“Hold on a minute,” Shane interrupted. “You’re going to try and cram regular people, on top of most of our class, into Melbrook? I’ve been inside; I’m not sure there’s enough room for that.”

“And that leads me to the last pertinent detail.” Alice felt grateful for Shane bringing up the space limitation—this offered her the chance to address the issue without a forced, awkward segue. “The party won’t be held at Melbrook, for the very reason that Shane just pointed out: we don’t have nearly enough room to do it well. Instead, we’re reserving the general use room at a nearby apartment complex.”

She took a deep breath and braced for whatever came next. It was now or never time.

“More specifically, it’s being reserved by one of the occupants, and an old friend: Nick Campbell.”

*             *             *

“Uh huh. Are you sure? I really think I should—yes, ma’am.”

Nick picked up those last scraps of conversation as he entered his apartment, textbook-filled-backpack in hand. Of all the things he despised, few were quite as annoying as professors who took attendance in their classes. Wasn’t it enough for them that he could ace the tests and homework on his own? Why did they demand to steal his precious, useful time week after week? Walking in on Eliza in his apartment, getting orders no less, was a welcome distraction from the hours he’d just spent trying not to fall asleep at his desk.

“I have to go.” She closed the phone immediately, wisely not trusting Nick to resist the urge to eavesdrop. “How was class?”

“A thrill a minute.” He tossed the book bag unceremoniously to the floor, where it would lay untouched until his next forced educational outing. “What was that about? The guy who books kegs giving you a hard time?”

“No, just… home office. You know how it goes.” Eliza was unusually squirrely today, a very rare occurrence. She was obviously hiding something from him, but that was par for the course in their line of work. Everyone was hiding things from everyone, except Ms. Pips, who oversaw all their little secrets and personal plots. She alone knew it all, and she was the one who decided when to force her people to share their hidden gems with one another. Eliza hiding something was well within the norm, something he’d long since grown accustomed to. So… why the odd behavior?

Rather than press the issue like a novice, Nick decided to back away. Right now, she was on-guard: no amount of pushing or prodding would uncover whatever she was concealing. Better to let it mull, play a slower, more careful game to extract the truth from her.

“I do, indeed. Gotten more than my share of those calls, and I’ve truthfully lost count of how many times Ms. Pips called me into her office for a ‘chat.’ Is that why you broke into my apartment? Didn’t want Jerome to hear you getting chewed out?”

“Actually, I was waiting for you, since someone decided to be a controlling douche and demand regular updates about the party.” Eliza seemed to be shaking off her jitters, slipping back into their familiar dynamic of verbal jabs. “The pool table is rented, Jerome bought the kiddie pool, and I’ve hired some people to lay down plastic sheeting over every inch of the floor so we don’t have to buy the whole room when this is done. Also got the keg booked: nice stuff, but not too nice.”

“Cheap booze: the never-ending curse of my façade,” Nick moaned. “What about liquor and wine?”

“What about it?” Eliza asked. “I was going to go grab a few bottles of everything the day before and then just duplicate the entire stock until we’ve got enough to fill a bar. Speaking of, how many kegs do you want there? I can’t start busting out my power mid-party.”

“Let’s go with two. There won’t be a lot of people coming, but some are notoriously heavy drinkers.” Nick imagined Roy might be able to nearly put down one of those by himself, if given the inclination. “I trust Jerome is following up on security?”

“Doing all we can to keep the DVA out using legal means,” Eliza assured him. “By all accounts, this will be a hell of a party. I’m not sure why you keep riding us on the details.”

“Experience,” Nick said, the group’s Halloween history well catalogued in his mind. Just this once, he’d like his favorite holiday not to be looked back on with wincing and regret.

59.

October’s chill managed to bring the California temperature from hot to merely warm as it blew in winds from the oceans. Across campus, shorts slowly evolved into pants, and the occasional windbreaker could be seen on the more cold-sensitive students. Protesters for the “Take Back Lander” campaign could still be seen gathering signatures, though their activity seemed to be dropping right along with the temperature. The HCP remained as climate-controlled as ever—deep beneath the surface and immune to the fickle decisions of Mother Nature.

Miles from campus, tucked away in a hidden bunker all but forgotten by time and those who’d once needed it, Dean Blaine had gathered up his trusted circle to discuss their next step in trying to acquire answers about Globe. Nick, Professor Stone, Professor Fletcher, Professor Pendleton, Mr. Numbers, and Mr. Transport all sat around the large table, waiting for word of what came next. With only dead-ends greeting them at every turn, Dean Blaine had run out of other good leads. Though he disliked it on multiple levels, it was time to seek out the dream-walker.

“I’ve procured the services of a very talented Super with the power to mimic others,” Dean Blaine began. There was no file to hand out on Galina, no references to check. Either they trusted his judgment on using her or they didn’t. She wouldn’t tolerate being vetted. “Her power allows for full transformations and power absorption from as little as a few strands of hair. This will permit us to use Rich Weaver’s ability without actually bringing him in.”

“Hang on a second; wouldn’t it make more sense just to find someone else who has the same power?” Nick asked. “A mimic seems kind of dicey.”

The urge to chastise him darted across Dean Blaine’s tongue as he exchanged weary looks with his fellow educators. Though an undeniably smart young man, Nick lacked enough experience in dealing with other Supers to grasp one of the fundamental truths of their kind. Having failed out sophomore year, the HCP hadn’t been able to fill in that gap for him.

“There are other Supers who can subdue people with a look, though very few of them. More importantly, it’s impossible to know whether their abilities would cause the same reaction to Alice’s mind as Rich’s does. While many abilities are similar, each Super is unique. There are always variances, and in a case like this, we don’t have the luxury of risking that a similar power won’t get the result we need. Thus, a mimic is the more pragmatic solution.”

“I know there are risks,” Nick replied. “But potential variance sounds better than allowing that sort of mimic near us. I mean, no one needs me to point out that a Super who can work with as little as a strand of hair is insanely dangerous, especially around Supers with your power sets.”

“He raises a fair point.” Professor Fletcher was polite in his objection, but his decades of experience dealing with people of less-than-savory natures had clearly left him wary about associating with someone so strong.

Dean Blaine nodded. It was a concern worth addressing, and one he’d considered before hiring Galina. “The tradeoff to our mimic’s ease in taking on forms is that she cannot sustain them for long. Even with fresh hair samples, her body reverts back to its natural state after approximately an hour, and she is unable to retake the form for nearly a day. That is part of why she’s deemed trustworthy enough to have been recommended to us; it would be impossible for her to mount any real assault unless she’d taken an Armageddon Class ability.”

“An hour a day is plenty long enough to ruin someone’s life, if you know what you’re doing,” Nick pointed out.

“Mr. Campbell, if you have another mimic you’d like to bring on board, one whom you would trust with not only your life and ours but the lives of all of your friends, then by all means present them.” Dean Blaine’s patience was slipping. No one knew better than he how dangerous this was, which was why he’d tried for weeks to avoid doing it. “Yes, using this asset comes with risks. I am doing all I can to mitigate them. If you find them to be unacceptable, then feel free to propose a better system.”

Nick leaned back in his chair, distancing himself from the conversation. “I didn’t mean to step on your toes, just pointing out potential security issues. You’re right; this mimic probably is our best option for getting at Abridail. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to take precautions to keep my friends safe.”

“On that subject, we wholeheartedly agree,” Dean Blaine replied. “If you would let me finish, I’ll outline the contract that Galina has signed, as well as the security measures I intend to put into place. The first issue to tackle, however, is yours, Mr. Campbell. Have you informed Alice and Mary about our plan?”

“Mary knows, obviously.” Nick tapped his own temple, just in case anyone had missed the insinuation—which they hadn’t. “It didn’t seem like a good idea to tell Alice until we had some details, though. She’s not squeamish, but she does prefer to go into situations knowing exactly what’s going to happen. No sense in leaving her with questions that none of us would be able to answer.”

“Seems like that’s no longer the case, now that Dean Blaine has the details ironed out,” Professor Pendleton said. “If needed, I can broach the subject with her.”

“Probably better to let me handle this,” Nick told him. “You two are already on a bit of thin ice, what with the whole ‘secret uncle’ thing.”

Professor Pendleton raised an eyebrow. “And you think she’ll take the news of secret plans involving her better from you, her… romantic entanglement?”

“Well, at least she’s used to it from me. It’s part of our dynamic,” Nick said.

Professor Pendleton gave the younger man a long, hard stare before shaking his head. “Why in Heaven’s name am I not trying to scare you off from dating my niece?”

“Because deep down you know it wouldn’t work. I don’t scare that easy, and Alice isn’t inclined to listen to your advice outside of class.” Nick’s ever-present smile dimmed a bit. “And you also know that I’d do whatever it took to keep her safe.”

“A sentiment that will come in quite handy when the three of you are negotiating with a dream-walker inside her brain,” Dean Blaine said, forcefully grabbing the conversation and steering it back under his control. “Now, let’s flesh out the details so that we can get on with this. The sooner we talk with Abridail, the sooner we might get our hands on a lead about Globe.”

60.

Vince ambled through the aisles of costumes, plastic and fabric of countless colorful designs meant to mimic characters from a pop culture to which Vince had hardly any exposure. Beside him, Hershel scanned a rack of what looked like outfits meant to resemble giant turtles, though why they would come with eye-shielding masks, Vince couldn’t fathom.

Alex and Chad were already in the store’s “dressing rooms”, makeshift though the facilities were. Chad had grabbed the first costume that seemed like it would fit, and Alex had come in with a game plan, which was a surprise to no one. Nick, Vince’s usual guide into the world of playing dress-up, had texted that he was running late, which left Vince and Hershel to walk the racks until something jumped out at them.

“This might work.” Hershel had yanked an outfit free from the jumble of clothes, one with orange colors and a pale piece of plastic perched near the top. “I could go as a monk, wear the robe for my part of the night, then Roy could ditch it when we do the hand off.”

“You’re supposed to have a mask,” Vince reminded him. He stepped forward, inadvertently activating a spring-loaded spider that jumped out from the shelves. Only constant training and discipline kept Vince from roasting it on the spot, though the area around his hand did grow warm as he suppressed the urge to summon a fireball.

“Roy hates masks. Covers up the goods, as he’d no doubt say.” Hershel’s expression seemed to pinch for a second as he tucked the monk costume back into the racks. Vince had been noticing that look on his friend’s face more and more over the recent months. It didn’t seem quite like worry, more as if Hershel was feeling unsettled by something. It also wasn’t the sort of thing Vince felt was his business to push, and certainly not in a Halloween store filled with other shoppers. There was a reason Hershel used terms like “hand off” instead of “shift,” after all.

“He might have to make peace with it, at least for one night,” Vince said. “Maybe we should start from there. Can you think of any masks Roy would be okay with wearing?”

“Nothing that jumps to mind,” Hershel replied. “Let’s focus on you, though. We both know that if you don’t have some sort of game plan by the time Nick gets here, you’ll be entirely at the mercy of whatever half-cocked ideas he has. Do you know what Camille is going as? A couple’s costume is probably safe ground.”

Vince shook his head. “She got roped into Alice’s outing this weekend. Apparently, it’s going to be a full-day event.”

“Oh, I’m aware. Mary hasn’t stopped trying to scheme a way out of it since Alice roped her in,” Hershel said. “She did her best to resist, but then Alice started in about how it’s our last Halloween in college together, and who knows when we’ll all be together like this again, and… well, the girl knows how to guilt.”

“At least Violet and Jill are going as well. That should make things a little easier on them.” Vince glanced down at his footing to make sure there weren’t any other spider-traps lying in wait. As it turned out, there were not, though there was a pad with wires running to a nearby skeleton. Rather than discover what happened if he trod on it, Vince merely stepped to the side, smacking into a hanging rack of the most garish outfits in the entire store.

“Careful!” Hershel darted forward, snagging the top of the metal stand with speed and reflexes that would have been impossible for him freshman year. Endless training and sparring were having a noticeable effect, though: as with every passing month, he’d grown stronger, and now the Hershel perusing costumes with Vince was almost unrecognizable from the one who’d first stepped foot into Lander all those years ago. In fact, nowadays, he and Roy actually did look something like brothers, albeit with some serious differences in height and mass.

“Hey… this might not be a bad idea.” While Vince had been dwelling on Hershel’s improvement, Hershel had taken a hard look at the costumes he’d saved from falling to the floor. To Vince’s eyes, they looked like little more than brightly colored outfits with no discernible theme or pattern, but Hershel was staring at them with an unusual sense of nostalgia and interest. There were masks on some of them, Vince noticed, though he couldn’t fathom why these would be different enough to garner Hershel’s scrutiny.

“Does Roy prefer the full head-covering models?” Vince asked, trying to suss out what had grabbed Hershel’s attention.

“It’s not the style. It’s the context.” Carefully, Hershel pulled one of the costumes out to study it, taking in the details with a discerning eye. “Do you know what these are?”

“Um… truthfully? They look a bit like what some people were wearing at that gay pride parade on the news a few weeks ago.”

Hershel snorted as he tried to keep his laughter in check, a sound that made it seem like he was about to blow his nose into the open air. “I guess I can’t entirely disagree with you there, but no, that’s not what these are. This, Vince, is a wrestling costume. Actually, a luchador, with the mask and all. Going to take a wild shot and say that’s something you haven’t had time to learn about.”

“It’s the one that’s fake, right?” Vince was a bit proud of himself for knowing this much, though in truth, it was only because Thomas had used wrestling as a touchstone when explaining MMA fights several years prior. Still, he knew something, and for Vince and pop culture, that was considered a victory.

“Whoa now: the outcomes might be predetermined, but what those people can do is anything but fake.” Hershel was barely even looking at Vince or the costume anymore. He seemed to be staring past it all into a chunk of time that only existed in his eyes. “When Roy and I were kids, we’d watch the matches alongside our dad, and of course try out the moves and hurt ourselves. Well, I’d hurt myself, anyway. Point is, we used to love wrestling. I bet Roy would be okay wearing a mask for this costume. And it comes with a vest for me that he can ditch when it’s his turn.”

“Really? I mean… you just said it was something you did with your dad.” Roy and Hershel had managed to keep things civil with Titan during their summer training, though there was never much personal interaction between any of them. Vince was led to believe that this was progress, but he was still surprised at the idea that Roy would take joy in such a memory.

Hershel’s face pinched again, just for an instant, before he replied. “I’m sure it’s fine. Roy and I have been holding on to that grudge for so long, we’re both exhausted. This is something that brought us a lot of joy; I don’t think Owen should get to ruin it for us. And there’s a bonus to choosing this idea.”

“What’s that?” Vince asked.

Digging through the rack, Hershel yanked out another costume that was similar, though not quite identical, to the one he’d selected for himself. “Tag teams! Now you’ve got a costume option, too.”

Though he put a large smile on his face, Vince covertly fumbled in his pocket for his phone, hoping to see a text about Nick’s impending arrival. Suddenly, getting railroaded by Nick’s taste in costumes didn’t seem quite so bad.

61.

“You want to blackmail a dream-walker?” It wasn’t the craziest plan Alice had ever heard, especially not from Nick, though it did almost demand a bit of theatrical reeling as she processed the boldness of what he was proposing. While the others were off at work or costume shopping, Nick had called her over for what he would only describe as a “very important discussion.” She’d thought perhaps he wanted to talk over the idea of a couple’s costume, though what she’d gotten was much more true to the man she’d accidentally fallen for.

“‘Blackmail’ feels a bit strong. I’d prefer to use the carrot before the stick,” Nick said. “But yes, I will have the stick on hand just in case it’s needed. The bigger question is whether or not you’re okay with this. The whole plan somewhat hinges on using your brain to make contact, since you’re the only person he comes running to.”

Nick wasn’t wrong; outside of allegedly doing a favor for Globe, Abridail hadn’t been so much as mentioned in anyone else’s Rich-induced naps. The “why” was simple to puzzle out at least —Abridail was checking in on her, since he was good friends with her mother, or at least claimed to be. Nick’s idea certainly had risk: there was the chance that Abridail could ignore them, leave, and never show up in a dream again. But it also had merit. There was a chance she could finally squeeze the answers she so desperately wanted out of the mysterious man: what had happened to her mother, where she was hidden, and what on earth any of it had to do with Globe. Freshman Alice would have rejected the idea outright, but years of Subtlety had changed how she thought. Now Alice’s first concern was making sure all the details were in order.

“And you’ve got someone who can replicate Rich’s power, an unknown Super that I’m just supposed to trust?” Alice asked.

Nick fidgeted slightly, the sofa cushion beneath him gently rustling. It was the sort of thing she’d have missed before; now she knew it marked his discomfort with the topic. He didn’t like this aspect of the plan either, it seemed.

“We’re using a carefully selected resource, one who understands the scale of importance in discretion without knowing the actual stakes. As much as we can trust someone under contract, we can trust her,” Nick said.

“This woman is who, exactly? Another contact from Vegas, like Eliza and Jerome?” Alice kept pushing, determined to root out whatever Nick was hiding from her. She knew he kept her in the dark about a lot of his off-campus activities and could even appreciate the need for it, since she spent her weekdays underground with DVA agents. Still, what kind of Subtlety student would she be if she didn’t try and glean every bit of information she could from a source?

“She’s someone who comes on excellent referral.” Nick’s fidgeting stopped. He’d realized she was probing, and his expression visibly went from “empathetic friend” to “information defense” in the span of a glance. “We can call it off, if you’re not comfortable. I know it’s asking for a lot of trust from you. Just know that if this lead peters out, I don’t have any more strings to pull on. The hunt for your mother is going to hit a dead end.”

Alice rested her arm on the back cushion of the couch as she considered her next move. She didn’t entirely believe Nick that this was their last hope—that seemed a little too convenient and melodramatic to be factual—but she could accept that this was their last good lead. Shelby Adair was clearly hidden extremely well, and someone was intent on keeping her that way. Even Nick’s sources of information had limits. Abridail knew something, or he was the world’s most incredible, sadistic bluffer. Either way, she could live with taking on a strategy where some parts were kept secret from her far easier than she could live with letting a real lead on her mother slip away.

“I want a show of trust,” Alice said at last, arriving on the decision Nick had no doubt been expecting. Her conditions, however, she hoped would take him by surprise.

“The asset doesn’t do that sort of thing,” Nick told her. “Just the contract and the pay.”

“Not from her, from you.” Alice leaned a few inches forward, narrowing the small gap on the couch that separated her and Nick. “You’re asking me to take a lot on faith here, and while I can understand why, you have to admit it’s a bit lopsided. So I want a show of trust from you, just for good measure.”

Nick’s eyes scrutinized her carefully while he tried to puzzle out where she was going with this, completely absent any golden glow—Alice watched carefully for the telltale giveaway. “What did you have in mind? You do know that a lot of my secrets are actually the Family’s secrets, meaning I can’t share them without endangering you.”

“Oh no, I don’t need anything as grand as all that. I just want you to trust me with something very near and dear to your twisted little heart.” Alice let a pause drag on between her words, savoring the rare occasion of keeping Nick uncertain for a few moments. “I want you to let me choose your Halloween costume this year.”

From the way he recoiled, Alice had a hunch he’d have preferred if she asked for the Family’s deepest, darkest secrets.

“I’d get some veto approval in this process, right?” Nick asked, hurriedly trying to define the deal’s parameters.

“Not a bit. You stay in the dark until the actual day arrives, at which point, I show up with a costume and you wear it. No argument, no worming out of the deal, and I expect any complaining to be kept to a minimum.” She didn’t even try to hide the sadistic grin on her face as she laid down her terms, her mind already spinning with possibilities. This, at least, would give her something to focus on until the dream-meeting could happen. Her other option was to dwell, and she had neither the time nor inclination for that. “It’s a pretty paltry request, compared to you asking me to let a stranger trap me in my own head. I do promise not to make you look too bad, though. After all, I can’t have an embarrassment on my arm.”

If he really tried, pushed and prodded in the right ways, they both knew he could slip out of the deal. What he had asked was necessary; hers was nothing more than fun. Nick was smart, however, and he recognized that even if he managed to weasel free from the demand, it would be a hollow victory. Sometimes winning wasn’t as important as everyone walking away happy with a deal, or at least not mad about it.

“Fine.” He lowered his head in defeat. “Just try not to make me look any sillier than what Vince comes up with. I’m supposed to be helping them shop right now, so odds are he’s going to pick something completely idiotic.”

“I’ll do my best,” Alice assured him. “When do we get this show on the road, anyway? I can ask off from Six-Shooter this weekend if needed.”

“Sadly, the asset has a schedule of her own, which means we have to use her when she’s available.” Nick pulled his head back up, and Alice noticed a bit of the old taunting spark back in his eyes. He’d given in to her condition, but it seemed he still had a trick or two of his own to unveil. “If you’re ready to get a jump on things, I’ve got the date of her first availability. It won’t be until late, and she can only work for around an hour at a time, so I doubt it will even interfere with our plans.”

“We don’t have any plans,” Alice said. “Just work, Wednesday game nights, and of course… oh, you have got to be shitting me. Really? That’s really the first night this asset of yours is available?”

“I triple checked, just to be sure,” Nick replied. “After that, we can’t book her again for three weeks. So, if you don’t mind waiting—”

“No, no, I’d rather get this done with, or at least find out it won’t work.” Alice tilted her head back and let out a long breath at the ceiling. “Of all the days, though… it really had to be Halloween?”

Nick nodded in agreement at the awful timing.

“Fucking Halloween.”

62.

The costume rested on Alex’s spare bed, furniture that would have been inhabited by another student if he hadn’t sprung for the single occupancy dorm room. Not many seniors were left in university housing; most had moved off campus to rent houses or apartments, stifled by the dormitory rules that prevented things like passing out drunk in the hallways. At first Alex had stayed for so long because he’d had no reason to leave. His closest friends lived on campus as well, and with all the time he spent at the HCP, it made more sense to be within walking distance. Near the end of last year, he’d considered seeking out a different home, somewhere with a little more privacy and a cleaner bathroom for when Sasha stayed over. Then the attack came, and suddenly Alex couldn’t bring himself to leave this dormitory. He told himself it was because he wanted to be here, always around in case another attack came. And some part of him knew that was true.

It just wasn’t the whole truth.

Though Alex’s eyes were closed, he could sense the costume, or rather the barebones-beginnings of what ultimately would become his costume. There wasn’t much time left to craft one—he’d purposely put off the decision for as long as possible—but now that he was committed to the choice, he was going to do it well. If nothing else, he took pride in his costumes, regardless of what they were. No discount-Halloween-store, off-the-rack ensemble would cut it for him, no sir. He’d be spending as much free time as he could finding ways to improve and augment his outfit before the Halloween party arrived.

Letting out a deep breath, he pushed the thoughts of patterns and designs out with the air. That would all come later; right now, he had a different task.

Keeping his body still, he narrowed his focus, trying to work deeper into the mysterious energy that he used to locate and move objects, what he’d always considered to be the Force. For a long time, it had only been a point of pride, something he felt to be true and preferred others to recognize. In the long run, it hadn’t really mattered if he was an advanced mind or a Force user; the effects were nearly the same. There was the usual bit of variation between the categories, but that would be true regardless: as their professors constantly reminded them, every power was unique.

Now, things were different. Alex couldn’t be content just believing that what he wielded was the Force. He needed it to be true. What he was trying to do, no telepath on Earth would be able to manage. So far as he knew, this went outside the realm of anything an existing Super had ever accomplished. It was uncharted ground; all he had to guide him was his power, bolstered by a relentless belief that what he wanted was possible.

It had been months, and still no progress could be seen. Yet Alex remained undeterred. Whether he was a Jedi or not, whether his task actually was impossible… he couldn’t let those thoughts inside. All he could focus on was the effort at hand. If he let himself give up, accept that it couldn’t be done, then Alex knew he’d fall apart. And he wasn’t entirely certain he’d be able to put himself back together again.

*             *             *

Every check had come back clean. Well, not clean, clean—these were still college students, after all. But among the highest members of the Take Back Lander campaign, Will had managed to uncover four speeding tickets, two public intoxication arrests, and one off-campus suspension for fighting in high school. That last one had seemed promising, since it belonged to none other than Kennedy Dawson herself, but digging into the records had made it clear that she was fighting in self-defense and had been punished only because of a zero-tolerance policy.

What wasn’t showing up, no matter how deep Will dug, were any connections to anti-Super groups like the Humanity First Movement. He’d been sure that their type was lurking somewhere in the shadows, offering guidance or funding to students not savvy enough to recognize that they were being used as pawns. And yet, everything continued coming back clean. Will had even gone the other route, seeing if perhaps it was an anti-human group using Take Back Lander as a way to make Supers seem more sympathetic. Again, nothing but dead ends.

It wasn’t bad news, really. Will sat at his computer, resting his fingers on the custom keyboard he’d crafted to fit his hands perfectly. If there was no bigger threat at work then the campaign would likely continue to fizzle out and lose steam. Already, he and Camille had noted a roughly thirty percent drop in meeting attendance when they showed up, which was making their own investigation more difficult. The smaller the group became, the harder it was to exist on the sidelines. He could always switch to remote work, but there was something to be said for getting the read on a room in person. If the pattern held, there might not be much need for reading the room, though. All in all, coming up so dry should have been good news.

But Will didn’t trust it. Maybe the campaign was organic, grown out of terror from last year’s events. It was easy enough to believe. In some ways, he didn’t even blame them. Most of what he saw among the meeting’s attendees wasn’t hate, it was fear. Given what the campus had been through, there was good reason to be afraid. All the same, if Take Back Lander did have benign origins, that made it all the more tempting a target. True, it could peter out and die as people lost interest; however, if someone with a little vision happened to take notice, they might recognize a grassroots student movement as the perfect vehicle to further their own cause.

Logically, it was unlikely. The idea was convoluted and would be difficult to execute. Will might have dismissed it outright, save only that manipulating the movement would be exactly what he would have done, were his situation different. Professor Pendleton had told them time and again to always assume their enemies were equally smart, if not smarter than they were.

Pulling open a new file, Will began to search the history of some of the other meeting attendees. Perhaps it was paranoia; perhaps it was caution. Either way, he refused to let Lander be caught off guard again. If he found nothing, then that was a blessing. But if he found a threat, then he would be ready to meet it head-on.

63.

“A complete dead end? This isn’t like you, Sherman. Usually you let nothing stand in your way.” Crispin reviewed the files, printed papers that had been brought to him in his insulated safe house. They told the same story he’d been hearing for weeks, underground accounts suggesting five Powereds had in fact been made into Supers, although no one had the slightest information about the details surrounding the procedure.

“And I won’t stop this time, either,” Sherman assured his leader. “Though someone took great pains to keep the information secret, they must have made a mistake somewhere along the line. I will keep picking at the details until I uncover it for you, sir.”

Crispin gave a half-nod, mind still focused on the information he was digesting. “Whoever put it together had some serious funding. Memory-wipes on every member of the staff who worked on the procedure, a facility that was purchased and then demolished as soon as the work was done, to say nothing of the costly medical equipment you’ve found broken in the rubble.”

“A hefty investment indeed, though nothing compared to what one could reap from selling the conversion to all the Powereds out there who long to control their abilities,” Sherman added. “I daresay many would spend their life savings just for a chance at being human. To become true Supers, there is precious little they wouldn’t part with.”

“But only if it’s safe, and it works,” Crispin said. “That’s why they did it in a small batch, I assume. Run the beta-trial, gather the necessary proof of function, and then sell it to the world at large. Putting them in the HCP, though, that is a stroke of marketing genius, assuming it’s true. Have we been able to confirm anything about that?”

Sherman turned his gaze down toward the rough concrete floor. “No, sir. The HCP and DVA were always difficult systems to crack even slightly, and after our assault they’ve become nigh impregnable. Rumors say that the test-subjects are at Lander, but there is also chatter that they’re in Sizemore and Korman. Misinformation is obviously being spread to conceal the true location, if they are in fact enrolled in the HCP at all.”

Slowly, Crispin lowered his files to the desk, thinking carefully over everything they’d learned about Lander in the lead-up to the assault. “Tell me something, did we ever receive confirmation on how Nathaniel Evers died?”

“He was found in a pile of our mercenaries, throat cut,” Sherman replied. “The general consensus is that he was either mistaken for a student, or, given that his bank account showed him to be an associate of the Sons of Progress, he tried to assault a Hero during the infiltration and was neutralized. At least, that’s what his family was told.”

“Which is quite curious, really.” Crispin had a far-off look on his face, the kind that Sherman had learned meant his leader was deep in thought. “By the time I amplified him and sent him off, most of our mercenaries had already fallen. With the power he was wielding by then, he should have been able to escape even a trained Hero. Nathaniel was many things, but senselessly brave was not among them. Knowing the fight was lost, I’d think he would have turned tail and run. In fact, I can only imagine one reason why he might have stayed and fought.”

“Nicholas Campbell.” Sherman knew the name well. No one who’d worked with Nathaniel had escaped hearing about Nicholas; the man had been cursed on a near hourly basis. Nathaniel had hated Nicholas with such fervent passion that he’d never cared about the fact he was being used as a pawn in something much grander. All he’d wanted, all he’d demanded from the deal, was the opportunity to put Nicholas Campbell in the ground. Certainly, the boy had had plans for what came after, but those were secondary to the burning fire of hatred he’d kept stoked at all times.

“Exactly. Nicholas Campbell. Nathaniel’s old rival from Vegas. Excuse me, Nathaniel’s old Powered rival from Vegas. Who up and decided to go to an HCP school roughly three years ago, seemingly out of nowhere. Who our people confirmed charged onto campus during the attack, not away from it. Who might have bested Nathaniel, even in his augmented state.” Crispin let the words flow gently; they were coming as quickly as his brain could dredge up the carefully tucked away details. “That, to me, seems far more like the actions of a Super than a Powered.”

“It is possible, sir—though, forgive me for saying so, unlikely.” Sherman hated to disagree, but it was his job to provide as accurate of information as possible, even if it went against what Crispin was thinking. “Given that Nathaniel and Nicholas both had deep connections to organized crime, the latter being allowed into the HCP seems like quite the long shot. Even the odds of him being selected for the beta group of such a procedure are exceedingly slim. If it went wrong, whoever organized it would have had very powerful enemies seeking vengeance for the death.”

Crispin set his hand on the files that had shown new facts implying the same conclusion: they were stuck for leads. “I understand that it’s a long shot, and I know snooping near an HCP campus is now exceptionally difficult. Just do a little digging for me. We don’t have much else to go on for the moment, anyway; this is the perfect time to spend a few of our resources grasping at straws. If something more promising turns up, we can shift our efforts toward that. Until then, it couldn’t hurt to do a bit of reconnaissance. For the sake of our dear departed colleague, Nathaniel, if nothing else.”

“I’ll find someone capable of handling the task,” Sherman said. It would be tough. The Sons of Progress was a shadow of its former self—the enraged Heroes had more than seen to that—so personnel was a precious commodity. Still, Crispin was right; thin a chance as it was, if this paid off, it would do more than just restore the organization to its former glory.

If they could uncover the secret of turning Powereds into Supers, it would throw off the shackles humanity had bound them with once and for all. That future, one where Supers took their rightful place as rulers rather than servants, was worth some risk. Even if Sherman had to do it himself, he would see Crispin’s orders carried out to the very end.

64.

Dean Blaine looked over the Sims carefully, casting a critical eye on the newest units brought in to Lander’s HCP. Beside him, Professors Pendleton and Baker examined the automated combat robots as well. Although she was far from tech-Super level, Ariel Baker had gotten a master’s in Mechanical Engineering during her own HCP and intern days and often served as the on-campus consultant for basic Sim-maintenance issues. Sean Pendleton, on the other hand, had just been nearby when Dean Blaine was alerted to the delivery and had tagged along out of blatant curiosity, with perhaps a hint of boredom mixed in.

“Is it me, or are these way better than previous models?” Professor Pendleton asked, hunching down over what was clearly meant to be a strongman-type Sim and poking it in the chest, taking note of the new, more dynamic designs.

“From what I can tell, it’s a marked improvement, though I was expecting as much,” Professor Baker replied. Her red hair was a blur as she darted between different groups of Sims, checking over details that neither Sean nor Dean Blaine completely understood. “It’s not something being spread about too much, but after last year, when they dealt with some pretty impressive robotics tech at Brewster, our people dug into the designs. Bit by bit, they’re reverse-engineering it, and the newer Sims have already benefited from the research.”

Despite what should have been good news, Dean Blaine let out a frustrated sigh. “Which means we no longer have an accurate assessment of their combat abilities, and therefore can’t allocate the right number for Friday’s trial. Why, why do they always insist on springing these upgrades on us midway through the year?”

“Probably something to do with budgets or red tape,” Professor Pendleton proposed. “Or the DVA just gets a kick out of screwing with us.”

“I’m going to second the screwing with us theory,” Professor Baker added. She finished looking over the batch of Sims equipped to simulate elemental-based abilities before moving on to a set built for flight.

“Well, in that regard, they’ve certainly succeeded. As if this trial weren’t hard enough.” Dean Blaine watched as his people worked, the gears in his head already spinning. They were only a few days away from an activity he dreaded every year. Sometimes it came in September, sometimes in October, and on rare occasions he’d even pushed the test back to November, but regardless, it had to happen. This was a key part in the students’ training, perhaps one of the most important moments they would face in all their time at the HCP. Necessary as it was, Dean Blaine abhorred it. Not because he found it unfair, or pointless, or even cruel.

No, Dean Blaine hated this trial because, when the dust settled, several of his students would be out of the program. It happened every year. Sometimes there were more, sometimes there were fewer, but loss was inevitable. Hard as those kids had worked to make it this far, once they got a real sense of the stakes they were playing for outside these walls, there would be some who walked away. Nothing could prepare them for this moment, not even last May’s campus attack.

Knowing that was what his kids were facing, Dean Blaine would be damned if he let them go into a battle that wasn’t properly calibrated. Moving slowly, unnoticed by Professor Baker and Professor Pendleton, Dean Blaine removed the jacket from his suit, folding it carefully and setting it down on a nearby chair before he proceeded to loosen his tie and roll up his sleeves until they passed his elbows.

“Professor Pendleton,” Dean Blaine called as he finished tucking his left sleeve into its new position. “Since you’re not actually needed to inspect the Sims, I want you to do me a favor. Go fetch Professor Cole and Professor Fletcher. Tell them to meet me in the Intramurals combat cell. And make sure they come ready to fight.”

“You know, usually a written reprimand is customary if you want to show an employee your displeasure,” Professor Pendleton replied. His snarky grin lasted until he made his way past the Sims and saw that Dean Blain had indeed been readying himself for action. “Um, I was joking around, but are you seriously going to try and beat up those two? ‘Cause if so, I need to run by the campus dining halls and see if I can buy some popcorn.”

“I am not fighting with my employees,” Dean Blaine replied. “Or not fighting against them would perhaps be a better way to phrase it. But I also will not subject the senior class to a battle where I don’t properly understand the power-level of their opponents. If I put too many in, they could easily be overwhelmed, and if I use too few, then the exercise will fail at its purpose. This trial, above all the others, demands a delicate touch. And since the DVA has decided, in their infinite generosity, to send me new Sims right now, I’m left with only one option. The staff and I will have to test them personally to ensure we have a firm understanding of their abilities.”

Professor Baker’s head popped up from behind the nearest group she was checking over. “That’s not a terrible idea, but you might want to leave it to Carl and Sonya. I haven’t had the chance to update these things with the conditional defeat protocols for the actual students yet, let alone for you.”

While conditional defeat protocols were an absolute necessity during exams—they were what allowed the Sims to shut down at a glance from Rich or a touch from Camille—Dean Blaine usually only had his own added in as a precautionary measure. In the event that things went completely out of hand, his presence could neutralize entire sections of a battlefield, allowing the students to be moved to safety. Useful as that was for the actual trials, however, it wasn’t strictly necessary for what he had in mind.

“I can work with that,” Dean Blaine replied. “In fact, it’s better this way. I’ll serve as a stand-in for the students with no protection or endurance abilities.”

“But they at least have offense,” Professor Baker pointed out.

“I’m surprised at you, Ariel. As an instructor, you should know better than anyone that a properly trained Hero is never truly without the ability to fight. We are more than our powers, after all.” Dean Blaine paused to take another look at his mechanical opponents, wondering just how much stronger they were than the last batch he’d dealt with.

“Professor Pendleton, find Dr. Moran as well, please. I’d like to have our staff healer on standby, just in case.”

65.

Camille’s hand, dainty and graceful as a twirling blade, slipped through Vince’s guard and brushed lightly against his neck. He froze, then nodded to recognize her victory before backing away.

“You’re slower,” Camille said, also retreating to her side of the combat cell. Sparring with Vince was usually for her benefit more than his, as a lifetime of training had left him with reflexes and instincts she couldn’t match. Today, things were different, and the score reflected that. In the hour they’d been going at it, she’d managed to accumulate seven wins, while he’d only scraped out three.

“So I’m realizing.” Vince sat down on the cold concrete floor of their cell and began to adjust his body armor. Through Professor Fletcher, Vince had checked out protection for his torso, arms, legs, feet, and hands, all separated into sections that allowed for the maximum amount of flexibility. Unfortunately, the maximum amount still represented a steep degradation from what he could manage on his own, and the extra weight was shaving time off his reactions, time that Camille was using to slip between the cracks of his defense. But that was why they were training, so Vince could understand what the addition of armor would cost him, and if it was a price he could lessen through effort.

Though the kind side of Camille wanted to offer to help, to change the rules so that her victory demanded more than a touch, the pragmatic side of her squashed such notions instinctively. If she were fighting Vince for real, one touch really would mean his defeat, and there were more Supers than just Camille in the world who could win like that. Training, losing, made him more aware of his weaknesses and built the foundation for him to overcome them. Caring for Vince meant that she couldn’t afford to be gentle with him in these moments. If anything, she had to press harder, fight with all she had to forge them both into more powerful Supers.

Of course, she couldn’t actually say any of that. Even if they had cleared the major hurdle in their relationship, some things were best left silently understood. Instead, she turned the conversation to more relevant matters. “Are you going to wear armor for Friday’s exam?”

“To be honest, I’m still deciding,” Vince admitted, tightening the guard over his shin. “We’ve got two under our belt, and so far, things have been going smoothly. But knowing the professors, it will probably get a lot harder soon. I don’t think even they would crank things up on our third trial, though. End of November seems more likely. So if I want to give the armor a test-run, now’s my best chance.”

“You could always try and use your abilities defensively instead. It might be a better strategy overall, especially since I’m pretty sure the armor you get as a Hero is better than the generic stuff the HCP keeps,” Camille pointed out. “Probably won’t hinder your movements as much.”

“Maybe so, but that’s not going to do me any good if I can’t make it to graduation using this equipment,” Vince replied. “Besides, I might not always have the best gear on hand. If I want to use my power for offense, I need to be able to make it work wearing anything, even stuff that barely fits. I may try fighting defensively next time, depending on how this exam goes. But offense just seems like a better starting point. I’ve got all these energies and such a big capacity, I feel like that’s what I was made to do.”

Finished with his adjustments, Vince rose from the floor and took a fighting position. Though he had the advantage at range, Vince’s abilities were off-the-table for this training. Camille won with a touch, but Vince had to land a solid blow to claim victory. In an odd way, Camille appreciated that. She knew it wasn’t easy for him to attack her; however, Vince understood as well as she did that any enemies they faced would have no such hesitations. Fighting seriously, showing their failings, that was the best way either had to help the other grow. This was how they could protect each other, even when they weren’t around to do so in person.

Vince locked eyes with Camille, making sure she was prepared. “Ready when you are,” he said.

Camille gave a quick nod and got into a stance of her own. “Then bring it on.”

*             *             *

Mary sat, alone in her room, reveling in the quiet. Of all the things she’d learned since coming to Lander, all the tactics and strategies and techniques for using her power, none of them compared to the ability she’d been given before setting foot on campus. Being able to turn off her telepathy was still the greatest gift she had ever received. Even after years of having control, she sometimes enjoyed the freedom simply to exist, alone with her thoughts and disconnected from the world.

Now was a good and necessary time for such a peaceful moment, as the thoughts around campus were more hectic than usual. Though she hadn’t been able to glean the exact details, she knew that the professors were paying extra attention to their upcoming exam, which would no doubt prove troublesome in its own right. More concerning was the fact that the day after their trial—at a Halloween party, no less—she was going to bring Nick into Alice’s head in hopes of cajoling Abridail the dream-walker into giving up the goods about Shelby Adair. That alone was enough to strain her nerves, but it was not the reason Mary had been driven to find a bit of solitude, an island of peace amidst the sea of minds.

No, that honor belonged to Eliza—or rather, Eliza’s inability to marshal her own thoughts. The girl was good, no question about that. Despite going to Nick’s every Wednesday and being only one apartment away from his criminal associate, Mary almost never got anything of interest from the brain under those dark curly locks. But this week, things had been different. Guilt had fractured the mental wall Eliza normally kept in place, inadvertently revealing a secret that Mary would have been far happier never knowing.

That was what had left Mary taking sessions like her current one, turning off her ability and searching her soul for what to do next. She had to get through this weekend; that much was clear. Too much was at stake on both fronts for her to risk sharing the information she’d accidentally gleaned. But from there on, things grew murkier. As a rule, Mary always held that what lived in the heads of others stayed secret unless there was a dire need for the thoughts to be exposed. This was harder, though: more difficult, more delicate. By all accounts, she knew she should stick to her rule and let Eliza reveal the secret in her own time. But when it came out, if for one second Nick suspected that Mary had known, he would probably never forgive her for hiding it.

And she wasn’t entirely sure she would blame him for that.

66.

The senior class moved slowly as they gathered in the gym. This wasn’t due to any particular malaise or lack of sleep; no, these students were conserving their energy, making sure everything they had could be brought to bear in the coming trial. Throughout the room, small gestures of pre-battle jitters could be seen: Vince, adjusting his borrowed body armor; Chad, fixing the strap on his band of throwing knives; even Roy, testing the heft of his once-again upgraded bat. Rustling uniforms and careful movements were the only sounds that echoed off the gymnasium walls until the crisp steps of Dean Blaine commanded their attention to the front of the room.

“Good morning.” Dean Blaine scanned the faces, noting the anxious looks barely masked in some of their expressions. He didn’t consider that a bad thing; any Hero who didn’t sometimes suffer from a case of nerves was one who didn’t truly understand their job. It was the ability to push those worries aside when the time for action came that mattered, and he’d seen that skill demonstrated by this group time and time again. Still, he lingered, looking them all over carefully, wondering which ones he was seeing in this gymnasium for the final time.

“What you are facing today is something we consider a worst-case scenario in the Hero world,” Dean Blaine said. “Last night, a group of captured Supers were in transport to a permanent containment facility when their vehicle was ambushed. The Heroes working escort duty are down, with most confirmed dead. The freed Supers, along with their accomplices, have fled to town. Since most of them were already facing serious jail time for their previous crimes, they have no expectation of being allowed to escape. To that end, they have dedicated their remaining time to causing wanton destruction and mayhem, along with working to kill any Heroes who try to stop them.”

Dean Blaine hated this scenario. Not because it was too hard or asked more than was fair of the students, but because he knew it was important. Most Hero work was containment of individual or small teams of Supers; very rarely did situations like this escalate to such levels. When they did, however, they went from bad to hellish in almost no time at all. Dean Blaine hated this scenario because at least some of the class needed this training for when they’d eventually be called in to handle something similar. And if they survived, the memories they carried would weigh them down for years, perhaps the rest of their lives. Not even healers could fix those kinds of scars.

“Your units are the unlucky first to arrive on the scene. You are all being given communicators once again, and as before, they will allow you to speak to a central representative for information. Additionally, this time you should expect to receive more direct orders, as the situation demands immediate containment. Orders given are to be executed if at all possible, and failing to do so will result in serious discussion once the exam is complete. Be ready for that. I urge you not to hesitate.”

The students nodded like they understood, and Dean Blaine had no doubt that they believed they did. It was a forgivable mistake; the error in their minds was one of ignorance, not hubris. That, too, was what this exam was here to correct—along with testing the hardest part of being a Hero.

“There will be civilians in the city,” Dean Blaine continued. “And again, I urge you to remember that no matter how lifelike any Sims may look, you are the only real people in the exam space. Please keep that in the forefront of your mind at all times.” He paused, letting that last point sink in before he moved on to the one that would overtake all other concerns.

“Additionally, in this scenario the priority is shifted. Due to the highly destructive nature of the criminals and their demonstrated dedication to causing as much damage as possible, you are to prioritize neutralization of the criminal Sims over saving the civilians.”

For the first time that day, muttering floated up from the senior class. Not all of them were caught off guard—Dean Blaine had been hinting at this possibility for some while, even if he hadn’t yet explained to them what the Super classification system really meant. That talk generally went better after this test, when they’d seen for themselves why sometimes saving the most people meant letting a few die. That truth was a little too bitter for such idealistic people to swallow without context. Even knowing that their priority was shifted had shaken several of the students, who’d thought themselves mentally prepared for whatever came next.

“I don’t expect you to like that condition,” Dean Blaine told them. “In fact, I’d be deeply concerned about your place in the program if you did. But the fact remains: Heroes serve the greater good. We cannot allow criminals to cause unchecked destruction. We must stop them; you must stop them. And if that means letting one person fall from a building to stop someone from demolishing a school full of children, then you have to learn to live with that on your conscience. That is a Hero’s burden.”

Slowly, the muttering faded down as they wrapped their heads around it or resolved to be strong enough to just not let anyone die. There were always a few hopeless idealists who believed they could stop the bad guys without letting a single soul perish. Blaine had never been among that lot; he knew his limitations too well. That sort of dream had been left to people like Phil and Joshua. Even though the harsh reality of what they had to do would eventually crush such ambitions, Dean Blaine still took joy in watching his students try each year. Wanting to save everyone was pure delusion, yet he considered it among the most important aspects for future Heroes all the same. That hope—that dumb, boundless, impossible hope—was what assured him that perhaps the world wasn’t such a dark place as it sometimes seemed. And it was always possible that one day a student would prove him wrong. That was a day Dean Blaine Jefferies would very much like to see.

“Do not take the priority shift to be an open invitation to wreak wanton destruction,” he cautioned them. “While losses are inevitable, if you cause needless death, I assure you that you will be held accountable. You must walk a careful line in situations like these. Better you master that now, than when real lives are on the line.”

He gave one last look at his students, who were about to be fed into one of the hardest moments of their HCP career—but that, within a year of graduation, wouldn’t even crack the top ten of the toughest things they’d face. When it was all real, it was so, so much worse.

“For this trial, you may assume you are part of teams that were on call, if you want to be,” Dean Blaine said. “You have ten minutes to split into groups of no more than five, or you can work on your own. This will determine who starts off together and nothing more. Once you’re on the battlefield, everyone is part of the same team—Heroes versus criminals. Still, starting with people you trust in a hostile environment is no small thing, so make your selections carefully.”

The last of the instructions presented, Dean Blaine gave the nod for them to begin talking amongst themselves.

67.

Owen watched carefully as the students began to pair up. While the other Heroes—more than had come to any other trial, in fact—were bearing witness from the communal room, he’d once again elected to take a more rustic, and private, seat in one of the lesser facilities. It came with a bucket of beer, Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport to fill him in on students he hadn’t helped train that summer, and the added bonus of not having to deal with anyone who might still have old grudges or agendas to grind. Getting back into the Hero world had been tough enough; dealing with the community was a task all on its own, and today, he didn’t want to bother with it. His attention was on the kids, especially the one he was genetically connected to.

“That’s interesting,” Owen said, noting the way the groups were forming. “Isn’t the Taylor boy living with Roy and his friends? I’d expected him to fall in with their group; instead, they’re bringing in the other telepath.”

“Strictly speaking, Alex Griffen isn’t exactly a normal telepath,” Mr. Numbers corrected.

“More to the point, they have a long history of working together.” Mr. Transport was a few seconds behind his normal clarification of Mr. Numbers’ detached analysis, due largely to the shock of hearing his coworker acknowledge Alex Griffen’s odd abilities. “Chad and Shane DeSoto are close friends, so in a hard battle he’d want to be covered by the person he trusts the most.”

On the screen, Chad and Shane were pairing up with Amber and Britney, making a team of four. Mr. Transport considered that an interesting combination. Between Britney’s reconnaissance abilities and Amber’s echolocation, they could be the most informed group on the ground: a fine complement to Chad and Shane’s precision, if played properly.

“They could have at least snagged the healer,” Owen grumbled. “Roy might be tough, and Vince has his absorption, but Alice, Mary, and Alex are all physically vulnerable. Camille would have been a useful asset.”

“Again, strong bonds,” Mr. Transport told him. “Camille has been close to Violet and Thomas since freshman year, and since Stella failed out, she no doubt wants to look after them. Besides, the Murray twins are both quite vulnerable as well, so she probably considers herself more useful to them. In terms of fighting power, that team needs a healer more than your son’s.”

“Looks like they aren’t the only one.” Owen pointed to the screen. Adam had talked briefly with Camille and, moments after touching her hand, shape-shifted into a perfect copy of her. “I almost forgot the class had a mimic. That is damn useful. Too bad he didn’t come up for training; a good mimic always has a place on Hero teams.”

“Adam Riley isn’t as close to your son’s peer group as some of the others,” Mr. Transport said. “Although there is no animosity between them, either. Different social circles, as I understand it.”

“I can see that. He’s linking up with a whole group of people I didn’t get to meet. The taller girl, Selena, she can enchant people with songs from what I remember during the other trials. And the one with the goatee stops people by looking in their eyes. What about the other guy, the one pacing?” Owen asked.

“Allen Wells. Destructive energy blasts,” Mr. Numbers informed him.

“Guess he didn’t make much of an impression in the last exams,” Owen said. “Hope he does better this time around. Still, two people with containment powers, a damage absorber, and a long-range attacker. That’s a risky combination. Theoretically great at neutralization, but without anyone to handle the heavy hits, they could wind up in trouble fast. Might work out well, though, if they play it smart.”

“The same could be said for any of the four groups.” Mr. Numbers walked over to the screen, carefully examining the structure of the teams. “It’s interesting, though. You can already see the results from last year’s attack on their thinking.”

“You can?” Mr. Transport followed Mr. Numbers’ gaze, not quite sure what those blue eyes were seeing.

“Oh yeah, you can,” Owen said. “Normally in a situation like this, the students try to figure out what the best overall team compositions are, gaming the system to give themselves an edge. They completely ignore the fact that working with people in a high-stress, high-stakes environment is more about trust and familiarity than specific powers. This group didn’t do that. They linked up with people they know, people who they’ve worked with before and trust to have their backs. That’s the kind of thinking that comes from tasting real action, from understanding just how crazy things get once you leave the safety of an HCP.”

“I see.” Mr. Transport reached over to the bucket of beer, twisted a top off, and took a long sip as he watched the students begin to leave the gym and head into the chaos waiting in the floors below. “Think it will work out better for them?”

“Hard to say.” Owen walked to the table, helping himself to a beer and sitting down across from Mr. Transport. “The emotional support is a good thing—you both know this is meant to push the kids in ways they aren’t comfortable with—so that element of trust might pull some through. But the downside is that people who think alike and have similar morals tend to befriend each other, and in this case, that could hurt.”

“Once the trial starts, the more emotionally detached students will have a serious advantage,” Mr. Numbers said, making no motion to sit at the table or take a drink. “If they were scattered throughout, they could help pull every team along until the others adjusted. Without that element, there’s a risk of entire teams freezing up and failing to execute their orders.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Owen agreed. “Most of them will get there eventually, but those first few minutes are crucial. Especially given the Sims they’re fighting.”

Mr. Transport took another lengthy draw from his beer, eyes trained on the now empty screen. He couldn’t help the students he looked after; what came next was entirely in their hands. All the same, he felt compelled to watch every second, as if doom would slip in the minute he glanced away. It was a silly, superstitious idea, like wearing unwashed socks when his favorite football team played, but all the same, he couldn’t shake it.

68.

It was the same city where they’d taken their first exam, yet things were different. New prop buildings of various heights had been constructed, altering the view. Roads that had once branched off in certain directions now went in entirely different ones. In some ways, this was worse than going somewhere utterly foreign, as the desire to lean on memory caused the students to mistrust their locations. Ultimately, this resulted in no more than a few seconds of hesitation for every team, but all of them were well-trained enough to know how precious those moments might turn out to be.

“We’ve got a group up ahead,” Alex said, waving for the others to follow him. Given the spread-out situation, the class had agreed on a divide-and-conquer method. Each team would make its way around, suppressing whatever rogue Sims they could find. The scenario was too volatile to risk working as one massive unit, even if it did make things more dangerous for individual teams. Luckily, between Alex’s ability to sense objects and Amber’s echolocation, information was being relayed across the comms and teams were moving toward their nearest targets. So far, no one had engaged yet, or at least not mentioned it if they had. Sooner or later, though, that would change.

“Can you tell which ones are civilians?” Vince whispered. He was keeping close to Alex, as was Roy, in case anything took him by surprise. Mary and Alice hung back, ready to unleash hell on whatever attacker didn’t have the sense to bring them down first.

Alex shook his head. “There are some huddled up in nearby buildings. I can’t get a read on the group, though. Some of them are destroying stuff, but they all feel about the same size. Maybe these are new models.”

“Well, no one has nearly gotten killed in a while, so fresh robots seem par for the course,” Alice muttered.

With no warning, Alex came to a stop, holding up his hand. “I don’t know if they heard us or not, but they’re coming this way. We’ve got maybe thirty seconds before they get here and we lose what little chance of surprise we might still have.”

“Attention team.” This was a new voice, one they’d never encountered before. It was crisp, female, and with a slight accent that none of them could place. Before they could ask who was speaking, it continued. “I am serving as your DVA relay for this exam; you may refer to me as Dispatch if you need to communicate directly. Right now, I’m here to alert you that the units approaching are all confirmed to be escapees from the prison transfer truck, ones with multiple murders on their records. In this engagement, you are to neutralize the targets as quickly as possible. Lethal force is authorized and recommended.”

“Don’t suppose you’d care to tell us what powers they have,” Roy asked, not expecting an answer.

“Two strongmen types, one energy blaster, one obfuscator, and one acid manipulator.” Dispatch didn’t hesitate, reading off the abilities at a pace so brisk, it was like she’d had the information in her hand, just waiting for a chance to use it.

“Wow. I could get used to that,” Roy said.

“Don’t. Knowledge of enemy abilities is usually limited, and full rundowns are rare,” Dispatch cautioned.

“Guys, they’re getting close.” Alex pointed to the corner of a nearby building, evidently the only thing keeping the Sims out of view.

“Given that grouping and no civilians in sight, we’re probably best off going in hot,” Vince said. “Roy and I will lead the charge, and I’ll drop an electric blast to knock out the three without enhanced endurance. Alice and Mary can swing around to mop up anyone who survives the first charge, while Alex lends aid to anyone who’s having issues. Objections?”

Even if they had some, there was no time to voice them, as now even those without Alex’s senses could hear the approaching footsteps. Waiting only a moment for someone to pitch new ideas, Vince took silence as agreement and tore off running toward the building’s corner. Roy was behind him by only a few steps, trying to keep a little distance between himself and the impending blast. After years of training together, Vince knew that he couldn’t take down Roy without concentrated effort, but an attack was still an attack. With Camille elsewhere, they needed to minimize damage as much as possible, especially given that Vince was going to try and drop all five with the first strike. They’d been given the clearance, and if he could bring the Sims down fast it would minimize chances of civilian involvement, plus allow them to move on to the next group and help the other teams.

All of that was on Vince’s mind as he rounded the corner, electricity already sparking from his hands, yet it was washed away the moment he laid eyes on his opponents. These were not the big, bulky Sims with the faceless heads, exaggerated appendages, and intimidating design. No, what stared back at Vince, blinking in what had to be simulated surprise, looked like a group of people. People wearing tattered white prison jumpsuits, sure, and one with his hand pressing against a wall, dripping green liquid that burned through the fake building’s exterior, but still… people.

The electricity faded as Vince’s resolve faltered. He’d run in ready to destroy a group of robots with no second thought because he’d allowed himself to forget one of the basic truths of what they were learning: the robots were just stand-ins. When it came time to do the real work, it wouldn’t be Sims he was “neutralizing.” It would be living, breathing people.

Behind him, Roy pulled up short as well, caught off guard by the unexpected opponents greeting him. All told, they probably only lost a few seconds due to shock. But it was long enough.

A man near the back of the group, with dark hair and impossibly realistic facial scars, took a deep breath and then blew. From his mouth poured a tidal wave of fog, washing over Vince and Roy first, then spreading over the rest of the team and the nearby landscape before anyone could react. It swallowed the whole terrain, leaving them functionally blind; neither Vince nor Roy could see more than an inch or two in front of their face.

It was only in that moment, suddenly cut off from their sight, that they realized perhaps they should have asked Dispatch for some clarification on just what, exactly, an “obfuscator” was.

69.

It was a curious, unexpected sight. Perhaps if they’d been facing a normal Sim, the wielding of a streetlight as a makeshift club wouldn’t have come across as quite so odd, but with its human camouflage in place, the scene became somewhat surreal. The Sim swung toward Chad in an attempt to crack open his skull. Nimbly, he darted to the side, sparing a single glance for the rest of his team and the six Sims they were going up against. Between Amber and Shane, crowd-control was something they should easily have had in hand, but the Sims’ new appearance seemed to have momentarily rattled both of them.

The human-like skins were quite impressive, although Chad’s careful eyes could easily pick out the small details that marked them as unnatural. For most people, he knew the illusions would be near-perfect, which was no doubt the point. This was why Dean Blaine had looked so worried before sending them in: not just because the scenario itself was dangerous or due to the orders to deprioritize civilians, but because he was moving the class closer toward facing the truth. Killing a giant, inhuman robot was one thing. Killing something that seemed human, even if they rationally knew it wasn’t, presented a much greater obstacle. Right now, many of his classmates were facing up to that harsh reality. There would likely be some who realized it wasn’t in them to take life, even in situations like these.

Chad, however, suffered from no such faltering of conscience. He’d known from the very beginning what he was signing up for. Killing wasn’t pretty or easy, but if he didn’t do it, innocent lives would be lost instead. That was not an exchange he was willing to make.

Dashing around another clumsy swing of the light pole, Chad took a blade from his armband and jabbed it into the spinal column of the attacking Sim. Ideally, it would paralyze the faux-man until a healer and more jailers could get to the scene. Just because Chad could take life didn’t mean he would do so needlessly. That, too, was part of what made a Hero.

Turning around, prepared to aid the rest of his team, Chad was surprised to find that the remainder of the criminal Sims had been effectively neutralized. Amber was staring in shock at Shane, whose eyes were just beginning to fade back to normal as the sclera lost its inky coloration. Taking a quick glance at the nearby area, Chad noted that most of the Sims had been cut in the spine, although one was in pieces and another looked as though it had taken too deep a blow to survive. From near Shane, Britney shimmered into view.

“Holy shit,” she whispered, surveying the wreckage. “You took those things apart.”

“I hesitated once before, and it nearly cost me my life.” Shane’s tone was anything but apologetic. “I was determined not to make the same mistake again.”

“Looks like you did a good job.” Chad walked over, eyes still trained on the fallen opponents, just in case they had any fight left in them. “Though the one in bits is sloppier than your usual work.”

“That was actually me.” Amber raised her hand, perhaps a touch sheepish as she fully took in her handiwork. At least when broken, the Sims were nothing more than scattered parts. If they’d been stuffed with fake blood and organs, Chad had a feeling some classmates might not have recovered from their first “kill.” “Shane couldn’t cut that one, and it started to charge us, so I panicked and hit it with a powerful sound bomb. Though I might have overdone it.”

“Absolutely not,” Chad told her. “If it was able to withstand attacks from Shane, using high levels of force was unquestionably necessary. While this Sim may have shown some restraint, a real opponent wouldn’t have. They will kill you, if you don’t stop them first. Never forget that, and try not to burden yourself with guilt over surviving.”

He turned from his team, looking toward the city, the sounds of combat drifting in from far away. Elsewhere, the others had probably learned what they were facing, though he would still relay the information over the comms just in case. It was all he could do to help them, for now.

*             *             *

As Will drove his staff into the sternum of the Sim with lifelike green eyes that fluttered shut before collapsing to the floor, he realized that perhaps he should have hesitated. The rest of his team had, surprised by the human-like opponents, but Will had expected this for a long while. It had been inevitable. So when the moment arrived, he’d raced forward to deal with a Sim on the sidelines, away from the other four. If his team had acted in concert, it would have been a tactically sound decision. Violet, Thomas, and Jill could have attacked the central mass of opponents while Camille alternated between healing and dealing damage as needed. That hadn’t happened, though. In the heat of battle, Will had made a miscalculation and overextended himself.

Now, while the others still struggled to kick into gear, the rest of the Sims advanced on him. Aside from the downed Sim at Will’s feet, only one of them wore a prison jumpsuit, which meant the others were part of the team that had stopped the transport. That in itself wouldn’t have mattered, except that the Dispatch woman had been unable to give them any information on their abilities.

The biggest of the lot, a woman nearly seven feet tall with wide shoulders and broad arms, led the charge toward him. If the physical clues could be trusted, which wasn’t always the case, she’d be some manner of strongman. Will flipped the staff over in his hands; the electrical end he’d used to bring down his first opponent wouldn’t be as much use if this one had enhanced endurance. From the corner of his eye, Will saw movement in his team, but it was too little too late. He’d have to withstand the initial assault on his own before they’d be in a position to lend aid.

As it turned out, Will underestimated his bloodline and his own technology. Jill bolted forward, the augmented suit around her body pushing her speed well beyond its normal limits, and leapt atop the back of the giant Sim advancing on Will. Without a moment of delay, she pressed the palms of her hands against the Sim’s ears, and just like that, the attacker’s steps began to falter.

“Sonic Taser, Version Three,” Jill announced, pushing her hands as hard into the synthetic ears as she could. “Even the tough ones have eardrums, and this’ll make them bleed. That’s what you get for messing—”

The Sim, in a desperate, fierce motion, whipped its arm around. Though just barely, it managed to get a hand on Jill’s shoulder. That was, unfortunately, all it took. The Sim ripped her off its back, hurling Jill through the air until she slammed into a nearby building with a crack that dropped the bottom out of Will’s stomach.

She slid limply to the ground and laid there. No cursing. No yelling. Jill had gone completely still.

70.

As the fog swallowed his team, Alex’s mind raced through the possible options they had for dispelling the dense white mist. Roy was useless; muscles weren’t going to help with this issue. The same went for Vince. Unless the fog was flammable his energy attacks wouldn’t matter, and if Vince did set it aflame then they’d have much bigger concerns. Mary and Alice both had abilities that could, in theory, affect fog so long as it had some mass, but the power would impact the team long before it managed to clear away the mist. This only left Alex himself to try and do something about their predicament.

Were this their junior year, he would have become nearly overwhelmed by doubt and anxiety. Being the second-tier telepath in the class and failing to carve out many wins had left Alex unsure of how useful his abilities sometimes were. But that was an Alex who had not yet seen what happened when he truly failed, who didn’t understand what it meant to have people depending on him. The doubt and fear were both still there as Alex reached deep inside and concentrated his focus; he just paid them no mind. He couldn’t—his team couldn’t—afford for him to fail. Do or do not, there was no try.

Even Alex didn’t entirely understand how he’d done it. The fog was driven away, a circle of unobstructed air that started from Alex and rapidly radiated outward clearing the vision of both his teammates and their opponent Sims. The best way he’d eventually think to describe it was that he had focused on moving the fog and just the fog, which had somehow worked. Pushing out one element selectively was something he’d never done before, but as the mist cleared, Alex made a mental note to start adding this training to his drills. It seemed like one that could come in quite handy.

Around him, movement could be heard as, suddenly, the other Supers could see their targets once more. Heavy footsteps signaled a fresh charge from Vince and Roy. Alex was almost certain he heard something whooshing through the air—probably Alice getting into position to launch a gravity attack. It was hard to tell, because the fog was demanding so much of his attention. More of it kept pouring out, though now Alex could see the hidden vents along the landscape, explaining how the Sim’s “power” was spreading so rapidly. Fast as the fog rose, it was no match for Alex, who continued driving it off until it was out of their way and slowly beginning to dissolve. To anyone looking in from the outside, it probably seemed like a giant white bubble had simply appeared on the battlefield. Even if the effort pulled him out of the melee, that was fine; so long as his friends could see, that was all that mattered. He trusted his teammates, and, deep down, Alex suspected that taking on this role might have made him more useful than he’d have been in actual combat.

Unfortunately, Alex was concentrating so hard on clearing the field that he wasn’t able to properly take it in. Otherwise, he’d have noticed the Sim with acid dripping from its hands had circled around and was sneaking up on Mary.

*             *             *

“Jill Murray. Heart rate is steady; blood pressure is elevated, and just from what the system can tell there are several broken bones.” Dr. Moran read stats from the screen monitoring all the students’ vitals into a communicator that fed directly to Dean Blaine and Professor Fletcher. While the dean was standing in the room with almost all of the watching Heroes, Professor Fletcher was tucked away in the shadows of the cityscape, ready to step in at a moment’s notice if called upon.

Though they’d never made a point of broadcasting it, the student uniforms were designed to do more than just mark the passage of years and each student’s class; basic health monitoring technology was woven into the fabric of every one. It was a feature designed exactly for moments like these, so that the staff could decide whether or not to make a forced extraction or allow the students to handle the issue themselves. That was also why the monitoring capabilities were kept secret; it was better if the kids didn’t know about the safety net. Experience had taught the educators that their charges made smarter decisions when they thought they might have to live with the consequences.

“What’s your recommendation?” Dean Blaine asked, not quite whispering but still keeping his voice low.

“The impact didn’t appear to center on her head, but without examining her I can’t be certain,” Dr. Moran replied. “Were Jill on one of the other teams, I’d say she needs to be pulled immediately, just in case. However, with Camille on the scene, she might be able to heal Jill faster than Professor Fletcher could bring her to me. We’d have to cut through all the tech on her suit as well, and I’m assuming Will can do that more quickly.”

Dean Blaine was silent on the line for only a few seconds; he understood as well as anyone that time was of the essence in these moments. “We’ll give them a window. One minute, or until her vitals start dropping. Carl, be ready to get Ms. Murray to the good doctor as soon as I give the word. But as long as Jill is stable, this is a good opportunity for them to learn about healing on the battlefield.”

To an outsider, the decision likely would have seemed cruel, but Dr. Moran made no protest. She was the one who’d pointed out that Camille might be able to respond faster in the first place. And besides, Dean Blaine wasn’t wrong about the training opportunity. Healing in a nice, clinical setting was a lot different than trying to patch people up while dealing with enemy attacks. If Camille Belden wanted to be a healer in the Hero world, she had to be able to perform in moments like these.

Otherwise, she’d end up the one who needed saving.

71.

It was only a glance: one swift movement of the eyes to scout the battlefield and be sure he wasn’t getting snuck up on. Roy could see Alice hovering above, pinning down the nearest cluster of Sims. Vince was letting out repeated shocks to one off on its own, though why he wasn’t just knocking it clean out was a mystery. Maybe the thing had electrical resistance. Behind Vince, Alex was focusing so hard that a thin film of sweat was on his forehead as he somehow kept the fog at bay in spite of how impossible that seemed. Mary was near Alex, eyes trained on the group Alice had downed, hands raised as she readied some manner of telekinetic blast. In that fleeting moment, Roy’s eyes caught a slight ripple in the shadows of the alley behind Mary, but he didn’t have time to process the anomaly as he turned to help Vince.

However, somewhere in his brain another, more analytical part, also took notice of the shadow, and it was better than Roy at math. Good enough to realize that one of their opponents was still unaccounted for.

There’s a Sim sneaking up on Mary!

Roy’s eyes widened as he swung back around. Sure enough, just a few feet away from their tiny telepath was the Sim with the acid hands, skulking up on her in a surprise attack. It saw him just as he saw it, and suddenly there was no more time for thought. Bursting off the ground so hard he broke the pavement, Roy leapt through the air, swinging his bat with a fury he didn’t recognize as his own, smashing directly into the Sim’s center of mass.

The Sim didn’t break so much as explode into shrapnel; had it been made of flesh, there would have been a streak of red stretching out behind it along with a fine bloody mist drifting to the ground. Disconcerting as it was to see the effect of his strength on things not built with enhanced endurance, the broken bot before him was nowhere near the top of Roy’s list of concerns. Slowly, he turned around and met Mary’s eyes, which were wide with shock. That alone might have answered his question normally, but since she’d nearly just been attacked by a sneaking Sim, there was more than one potential cause for her surprise. Roy needed to know if they were on the same page, and it wasn’t something he could wait around to find out.

“Tell me you heard that, too.”

An inch at a time, Mary began to nod her head. A wave of relief crashed through Roy. He wasn’t crazy, at least. No matter what might be going on, if nothing else, he didn’t have to waste time debating with himself about what he’d heard. Because the voice in Roy’s mind hadn’t been his own. He hadn’t seen the Sim, not consciously, and it wasn’t some intruding telepath either.

Though he’d never gotten to hear it in person, there was no mistaking whose voice that was. The one who’d warned him to save Mary was none other than her boyfriend, Roy’s brother, and someone who absolutely shouldn’t have been able to speak.

The voice had belonged to Hershel.

*             *             *

Will was fuming. He was beyond furious at the sight of his sister’s collapsed form. Worse than the rage though, so much worse, was the feeling of complete impotence to vent his anger. Will’s technique, his battle skill, all of it was built around playing smart: working the edges, finding the angles, using wits over brawn to make a difference. No amount of rage made it possible for him to charge in and start knocking down Supers, not even if they were just Sims with fake powers. Furious or not, they’d make short work of him in straight-out combat. Will had to swallow the white-hot cinder of anger trying to claw its way from his heart to his brain. He couldn’t afford to lose his head, and more importantly, Jill couldn’t afford it either.

“Thomas! Make Jill some fucking cover. Camille, get over to her. I’m going to pop a hatch on her suit to give you access to her skin. Violet, I’m sorry, but I have to ask you to buy us some time by fighting the entire group. Thomas, help her if you can, but the priority is keeping Jill shielded until she’s out of danger. Now move!”

Whatever fugue state seeing the anthropomorphic opponents had put the others in, watching one of their own get dropped proved to be far more compelling. With a guttural scream that sent shivers down Will’s spine, Violet leapt into the fray, swinging that spiked chain like the blades of a helicopter and trying to chop the head off every Sim she could get near. Camille was already running, and Will hurried to join her. No sooner had they arrived at Jill’s body than a glowing orange dome formed around them, an energy barrier extended from Thomas’s right hand even as his left was forming energy tendrils to strike at the Sims.

Dropping his staff, Will carefully flipped his sister over. There was a chance he was doing spinal damage by moving her at all, but Camille should be able to heal that with the rest, so it was a necessary risk. As he reached for the panel on the back of her neck, Will noticed that his hands were shaking. The anger tried to bubble up again, but this time it wasn’t directed at the Sim who’d thrown her. No, this time Will was angry at himself. For getting into a position where Jill had needed to try and save him. For not making a suit strong enough to protect her. And now, for his cowardly fingers trembling instead of getting the goddamned job done.

Camille’s hand was resting on his shoulder for several seconds before Will noticed it, and even then she had to give him a squeeze. “Will, just focus on what’s right in front of you. Jill is tough; it’s going to take more than that to stop her. All she needs now is a quick patch-up.”

Taking a deep breath, Will gave a curt nod and put every bit of focus he had into stopping those traitorous shaking fingers. Mercifully, they calmed down—not stopping entirely, but enough to give him control to work the delicate mechanism where Jill’s suit joined to the helmet. Pulling aside a small panel, he revealed a rectangle of exposed skin wide enough for Camille to rest three of her slender fingers on. As soon as contact was made, a soft white light began to glow on Jill’s skin, and had he not already been crouched Will’s knees would have given out in relief.

“It’s not too bad,” Camille reported. “Broken bones, a concussion, and slight internal damage. I’ll have her fixed in less than a minute, though she’s going to be pretty worn out.”

“Thank you.” Will’s voice was barely higher than a whisper. “We just have to hope Thomas and Violet can hold out that long.”

Camille chuckled, though there was nothing mirthful about the dark noise that rose from her chest. “They just watched their friend get seriously hurt, and neither of them know that she’s going to be okay yet. The more relevant concern here is whether or not the Sims can hold out for the next thirty seconds.”

When the bubble over them vanished a short while later, it turned out the answer had been no: the broken rubble of utterly crushed Sims scattered around a panting Violet and dour Thomas made that outcome abundantly clear.

72.

Vince was holding back. No one yelled at him about it or called out the fact that he was taking twice as long as it should have to drop his opponent. The rest of his team was busy dealing with their own challenges, and besides, Vince didn’t need someone else to point out his current failing: he knew it from the moment the new Sims had appeared.

As much as he’d tried to treat the old Sims like stand-ins for real people, at a certain level he’d always understood they were just machines, circuits and wires that could be rebuilt after he tore them apart. And, yes, on a fundamental level, Vince grasped that nothing had changed. The problem was that seeing these human-like models was driving home just how different it would be when he was actually in the field.

Maybe it wouldn’t have been as bad if he’d never left the HCP’s safety on that fateful night in May. Then he’d be able to dismiss the concerns, convince himself that when staring down real criminals, he would have the strength of his convictions and the knowledge that they were killers to carry him through. But Vince wasn’t blessed with such ignorance. He understood—he knew—what it was like to look into someone’s eyes as their life slowly drained away. If not for Camille, Vince would have seen the task all the way through.

Dodging an energy blast from a woman in one of the prison jumpsuits, Vince came up with electricity dancing in his hands. For a moment, looking at her, he saw past the artificial enemy: in her place stood the speedster from so many months back. Before this battle, Vince would have expected such a sight to bring him up short, for guilt to cause him to falter. Instead, the electricity in his hands surged, sparking brightly as Vince fought to regain control. All these months, and he was still so goddamned angry—angry at the man who’d killed his friend, at all of the criminal Supers who would chip away at other Heroes, to say nothing of civilians.

Pushing the rage down, Vince throttled his energy and hit the woman with what he hoped was enough juice to knock her out. Unfortunately, all it did was stun her. He readied for another attack. The issue wasn’t that Vince didn’t want to attack the new Sims; it was that he wanted it too much. All the pain, and fury, and loss, it was all still there—and now that he was being handed a supposedly appropriate target, that darkness wanted to come bursting out. Vince was pulling his punches and holding back because he had to. If he didn’t, if he let himself give in, he feared it would become a rampage.

That was when he noticed them. More Sims, though these weren’t wearing jumpsuits and slinging powers. No, this duo was a woman in a red jacket crouched over a shivering child, the two of them peeking out from the corner of an alleyway. Civilians. The team was still on the outskirts, but the deeper into the city they went, the more civilian Sims there would be. Vince had been so caught up in the second curveball he nearly forgot about the first one: saving the civilians was deemed secondary to stopping the criminals.

His opponent had noticed that something had diverted his gaze. She began to turn in place, swiveling her head toward the hidden pair. As soon as she saw them, there would be hostages in the equation. Maybe, maybe Vince could stop her before she unleashed a few blasts, but if he failed then he’d have to bring her down while she hid behind innocent people. Those lives would be as good as lost, all because Vince had hesitated.

The bolt of electricity that roared through the air was so powerful it half-blinded anyone who’d been looking in his direction. When the spots in their eyes faded, what remained on the scene was a smoking, melted husk where an energy-blasting Sim had once been. That, and Vince, slowly lowering his hand as small sparks danced between his fingers.

“No more.”

The words came without stopping by Vince’s brain to see exactly what message they were supposed to impart, surging up instinctually, just like the massive attack he’d unleashed. As soon as they hit his ears, Vince understood what a more primal part of him was trying to say. No more innocent lives lost. No more bystanders buried. No more friends’ funerals. He refused to let his anger overtake him, to forget that the people he’d be fighting were just that: people. But all the same, he wouldn’t lose any more lives, not when he had the strength to protect them. And he would protect them, no matter the cost, no matter how the blood weighed him down.

Around Vince, the rest of his team was finishing up their opponents. Alex released his focus from clearing out the mist. The others had made it through largely unscathed, and as Vince did a full sweep of the field, he realized something that lessened the tension in his heart a touch. Though there were other civilian Sims tucked about in the building and on the street, none of them had been injured. Even with their vision reduced, the team had managed to bring down its opponents without sacrificing a single civilian. One fight down, unknown more looming before them.

“We’re clear,” Alex said. “Next cluster is a ways up to the north. Should be around seven in total. This time, we won’t let them catch us by surprise.”

Wordlessly, Vince joined the others in jogging down a nearby street. He noticed the worried look on Roy and Mary’s faces but thought little of it. This was a test meant to tax them mentally; it wasn’t exactly a surprise that the others might be struggling as well.

*             *             *

By far, the fastest moving team was Chad, Shane, Britney, and Amber. Though the latter two had shown some initial hesitation, by the end of the first battle they were adjusting to the new dynamics. After the third fight, Britney was sneaking up on Sims and slicing spines with her rapier while Amber’s sonic attacks stunned entire groups. With Chad and Shane quickly cutting through the enemies, striking before most criminal Sims could recover and endanger nearby civilians, their group was tearing through opponents at an exceptional rate. Dean Blaine couldn’t help but feel a small hint of semi-paternal pride as he watched Chad handily dispatch Sim after Sim, though of course he showed none of it on his face.

Jill’s team was having a tougher time of it. While she’d been healed, thankfully, that much damage had worn her out, and as a result she was slowing the others down. Combat was still going briskly when they engaged, the stoked fires of seeing a downed teammate burning in their souls and giving them the willpower to overcome their enemy’s human facades, but the time between those moments was dragging. Fights were taking longer than needed, and more than once that slowness had dragged unnecessary civilians into the fray. Were she on his team in a real fight, Blaine would have pulled Jill from the field. As it stood, she was endangering herself and the others.

Allen, Adam, Rich, and Selena were doing well in their own right. A team without any capacity for withstanding heavy attacks, they’d chosen the calculating route. Selena’s songs lulled nearby groups into letting their guards down, and then Rich and Adam (in his Camille transformation) raced closer to neutralize them, while Allen fired on any who resisted Selena’s abilities. Their tactics made them the slowest group on the field, but they also had by far the lowest casualty rate—only Allen was accidentally killing a few in every engagement. Thanks to the heavy emphasis on containment, none of the fighting spilled over into nearby buildings, which meant they were protecting the hiding civilian bots as well. But Dean Blaine knew more than they did, and he was aware of a few Sims in the field they wouldn’t be able to contain so easily. If they ran across one of those, their only options would be to hope Adam-Camille could manage a hit, or to break and flee.

The Melbrook team and Alex had gotten off to a rocky start, though they were quickly picking up speed. Alice’s ability to increase the gravity on her enemies, Roy’s strength to stay mobile in spite of Alice’s gravity fields, and the others’ versatility with ranged attacks were enabling them to handle their opponents quickly, if not delicately. Pinning entire groups down stopped the criminals from fleeing into buildings, thus adding more lives to the mix, but also trapped any civilians that happened to be too nearby. Vince seemed to have taken on the responsibility of balancing that aspect, striking hard—perhaps too hard—at any Sim close enough to injure a civilian. That strategy was a sound one, for this exam. In the future, it wouldn’t be so easy. The civilian bots would be mixed in with the criminals; sometimes knowing which was which would be a struggle in itself. Area attack methods would either be dismissed or used with the understanding that innocent lives could be lost. That came later, however. For the moment, they would make one adjustment at a time.

Still, as Dean Blaine looked on, watching his senior students slowly quell the fabricated uprising, he couldn’t help but notice that they did so with a certain ruthlessness, sometimes even hinging on brutality—something that had been missing in the Supers of years past. From the whispers amidst the watching Heroes, it seemed they’d taken notice too. This was something Dean Blaine had expected; after all, this was his only class to have seen what it was like to fight with real stakes. They understood that this was more than just a battle for grades or ranking; it was about survival. Overall, the sentiment would serve them well after graduation, giving them a leg up on the new Heroes who hadn’t quite grasped that lesson yet.

But for the moment, Dean Blaine couldn’t help thinking that this probably wasn’t doing much to disprove their reputation as the Class of Nightmares.

73.

“Did it just come out of nowhere?”

Roy shook his head, a vacant look shuttering his eyes as he stared down at the concrete floor. Finding a private place hadn’t been hard once the trial ended; no one had been feeling particularly exuberant after battling human-shaped Sims or failing to protect civilians. Some teams had done better than others, but none of them had managed to save every person they encountered. Those losses, simulated though they were, were weighing the students down—to say nothing of facing the fact that when they went into the real field, it wouldn’t be robots they would be forced to tear apart. Dr. Moran had been waiting for the class when it exited the gym, and the last Mary had seen a line was forming in front of her to book appointments, with Vince leading the charge. With no eyes upon them, Mary and Roy easily and discreetly slipped into a small, unadorned room outside the gym.

“I think... I think it’s been building for a while.” Absently, as if he weren’t even aware of the motion, Roy reached up and carefully touched his temple. “For the last few months, I’ve been getting something like hunches, half-formed thoughts that didn’t seem like stuff I would come up with but that were impossible to pin down. Hershel’s been experiencing the same. I guess maybe we both thought our connection was getting stronger or something. We’ve always been linked, and not just by memories; I can feel Hershel’s consciousness in my head, and vice versa. But direct communication, that’s totally new.”

“This didn’t happen even when—” Mary faltered, her tongue getting ahead of her mind as she realized that she might be about to blunder into discussing a fear Roy didn’t wish to deal with yet. She was too far along, however, and Roy understood where she was going.

“No, not even when we were Powereds,” Roy said. “But back then, it was contentious. We were fighting for control. Nowadays, it’s a lot more like a partnership. We’ve both found our roles, and it feels like we are making progress.”

The powerful hands wrapped around the grip of his bat tightened, and Mary didn’t need to read Roy’s mind to know he was mentally running through all the possibilities, many of them awful. Gingerly, she laid one of her own small hands atop his wide ones, and after a few moments, the clutching grip loosened slightly.

“Mary… what’s happening to me?” Roy whispered.

“As I see it, there are any number of potential reasons for this. Some are more likely than others. The first, which I’m sure is at the forefront in both our minds, is that something with the procedure has gone awry and you’re regressing. But that also seems to be the least likely explanation for hearing Hershel’s voice. For one thing, the rest of us haven’t seen any regression in the slightest. If anything, everyone’s control has only gotten stronger. For another, direct communication wasn’t an aspect of your Powered condition—that means you’re probably moving forward, not back.”

“That actually scares me more,” Roy said. “Ever since Owen told me that I was just a projection of Hershel’s wishes, some part of me has been terrified this day would come. Now that he’s getting stronger, what if he doesn’t need me anymore? What if he’s taking over, shifting in body only? What… what if I disappear?”

Roy Daniels was not a man to cry, not from fear at least. Instead, he merely stared at the ground with a lost, haunted expression more suited to someone facing a deadly disease than the strapping young Super who wore it. In a lot of ways, Mary would have preferred tears. Those might have been easier to comfort.

“Roy, I won’t lie to you: it’s a possibility. Your power is unique, and while that’s true for all abilities, yours is especially odd. Maybe the two of you are joining; I’m not going to say it can’t happen. But I will say that, given the evidence so far, it also seems unlikely.”

“How do you figure?” There was something almost like the pale ghost of hope that sparked in Roy’s eyes.

“Several factors, the biggest of which is that it sounds like the communication is going both ways. You said Hershel was getting the same hunch feelings, so that would speak to merging rather than him absorbing you. Looking at it objectively, it seems far more like a growth of your ability. Hershel is the smarter of you two, but you’re the bolder one with better fighting instincts. Perhaps you’re beginning to hear the other because you’ve been stepping onto each other’s turf; Hershel learning to fight and you developing tactics. All speculation aside, I do have one very compelling argument against the idea that you’re just some wish-fulfillment of Hershel’s.”

Mary paused to look around the room they’d ducked into. It was small and sparse, probably a closet at some point in time, and she couldn’t see any sort of monitoring equipment. Still, this was the HCP, and it was best to assume they were being overheard at any given time. Were it just the staff to worry about, Mary wouldn’t have been so concerned, but with the DVA around some topics had to be touched upon delicately.

“Last year, when I was working on my dream-walking and I did the group dive, you both came along,” Mary said. “Roy and Hershel, side by side. Hershel didn’t show up in your body, or alone, because the two of you aren’t one broken person. Maybe you started out that way, I can’t say for sure, but as of now you’re a pair. You’re brothers, each of you your own man. And neither of you are cowards, so we have to face this development head-on—with some additional help.”

“The dean?” Roy asked. He seemed… not upbeat, but less morose than before. She’d managed to assuage his more immediate concerns; now, she just had to get him something to focus on. A task, a trial, any method he could use to fight his way forward. Roy didn’t fare well against existential dilemmas, but once he was given a path, something concrete, there was nothing that could knock him off course.

“To start with. Probably Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport as well, and Dr. Moran eventually, though I assume her day is going to be pretty booked.” Mary stood from the small bench where she’d perched, offering a hand to help Roy up, despite the massive difference in their size and musculature. To her surprise, he accepted, taking her fingers and carefully pulling himself to his feet.

“Then let’s get started. The sooner I have a handle on it, the better I’ll feel.” Roy hesitated, looking at Mary with an almost familial affection. “And thanks for the talk. Really.”

“My pleasure.”

“You know, I might be better than Hershel at a lot of things, but even since we were kids there’s one area where he’s whupped me good,” Roy said, yanking open the door and gesturing for Mary to go first. “Damned if my brother doesn’t have much better taste in women than I do.”

74.

There were no beeping monitors or tubes running to Jill’s veins; such technology was unneeded when their friendly damage absorber could completely remove all injuries with just a touch. The trauma, however, was another matter. No sooner had they left the battlefield than Jill was taken to the infirmary to rest. Her body was trying to react to a slew of broken bones and other wounds that were no longer present, and it would take a little while for reality to catch up with her brain’s expectations. It was an aspect of healing every senior student knew quite well, having encountered the fatigue ample times in their tenure at Lander. Yet something about this still felt different as Will sat silently, resting on a plastic chair with a thin cushion and keeping watch over his sister.

Jill seemed to be awake, which was a pity, because sleep would do her a world of good. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Will filed away the idea for some sort of device to induce immediate REM sleep. It would be helpful in situations like these, and—if he could make it work fast enough—have potential offensive capabilities as well. If today had made nothing else clear, it was that he’d failed to give Jill’s suit enough tech. Already his brain was abuzz with ideas on how to better protect her.

“Sorry.”

The word was so soft that Will nearly missed it. He only realized it had been spoken because Jill rolled slightly over to better face him.

“Sorry? You jumped onto the back of a giant Sim to save me. If anyone here should be sorry, it’s me. I should have made your suit stronger, more adaptable.” Will leaned forward, eyes burning as the words continued to spew. “Don’t worry. As soon as you’re better, I’m going to get started. I don’t care how much time it takes: by the time November’s test arrives, you’ll be unstoppable. I’ll reinforce the armor, upgrade the muscle augmenters, add in external shielding generators coupled with—”

Jill reached out and bopped Will on the nose with her index and middle fingers. “Enough.”

“That’s not nearly enough. To compensate for today’s failing, I’ll redouble—”

“I’m the one who failed, Will.” Jill pulled herself a little higher off the bed, meeting her brother’s eyes. “Not you, and not your tech. I made an impulsive call and didn’t pay enough attention to my opponent’s counterattack. I’m the one who got myself hurt. I’m the one who slowed down the team; I’m the one who made a mistake. You and your tech were both great.”

Will shook his head. “That’s not true. If I’d just planned a little better, worked harder on your suit, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

“Heroes get hurt. It’s part of the job,” Jill told him. “I know you want to keep protecting me like you did when we were kids. Hell, I have a hunch that you’ve stuck an interfering hand in my dating life a time or two as well. But Will, if I graduate from this program, you can’t constantly be there to look after me. Our jobs won’t always be together, and if they are, you can’t split your focus between worrying about me and your own tasks. You have to accept that if I become a Hero, I might get hurt, or worse, and you won’t be able to stop it.”

“There are many things I have had to accept in this life. Mom’s mental issues, having a power that no one thought counted, and my own physical frailty in a world of unstoppable Supers just to name a few. But—and hear me well, Jill—I will never stop trying to look after and protect you.” Will lowered his head, not wanting her to see his eyes grow moist. “Since the beginning, you were the only one who understood what it was like to be different. You were always there for me, forcing me to participate in the world, reminding me that we were as much human as we were Super. Without you, I’d be a half-crazed shut-in locked away in some basement, surrounded only by technology and inventions I saw no reason to share with the world. You’ve saved me at least as much as I have you, and I don’t intend to stop, ever. We watch over one another. That’s what family is supposed to do.”

“I guess you’re right.” Though Will couldn’t see her move, he felt his sister’s hand gently settle on the top of his head, mussing his brown hair with an affectionate scratch. “But I don’t agree that our scorecards are even, Will—from the stuff I know about to the things I only suspect you’ve done. All this time, you’ve easily taken on the lion’s share of the burden. I think it’s about time I stole some of it from your shoulders.”

Will raised his eyes, inadvertently causing Jill to drop her hand. “What are you talking about?”

Jill said nothing at first, merely lowered herself back into a resting position on her cot. “Between the two of us, who do you think will make the better Hero?”

“Your martial capacity exceeds mine by quite a ways.”

“That’s just fighting,” Jill snapped. “And by this point, we both know Hero work is about more than throwing punches. So, be honest. You with your tech and trickery, me with a suit: who among us do you think is going to do more cumulative good in the world?”

“There’s no way to know.” Will had a firm idea of where she was leading the conversation, and he refused to play along.

“Bullshit. I’m middle of the pack in my fields, and that’s being pretty generous. Meanwhile, you’re kicking ass at Subtlety all day, every day. Having you on a team means your Heroes will get access to gear and tech that most people could only dream of. You’ll make the better Hero, between the two of us, Will. And it’s okay to admit that.”

“It’s possible,” Will said, words still hesitant. “But I suppose we’ll have to wait and see when we’re a few years into the job.”

“No, we won’t.” Jill didn’t turn away from him, but she also made no effort to reestablish eye contact. “I’m quitting the program.”

“Jill, I know today was traumatic, but after I improve the suit—”

Jill’s head spun around, eyes filled with fiery determination that Will had rarely seen in her outside of a battlefield. “No, Will. There is no tech you can invent, no gear you can make, that will somehow keep me safe from everything. But if I keep going with this, you’ll never stop trying. You just said so yourself. And the world needs you as a dedicated, non-distracted Hero. Way more than it needs someone like me—at least, in the field. So I think it’s better for everyone if you don’t have to worry anymore.”

“I won’t… you can’t quit just for me,” Will stammered.

“You mean a lot to me, and this is the final nail in the coffin, but it’s about more than just you.” Jill’s ferocity ebbed and her body relaxed as sorrow appeared behind her eyes. “Ever since last May, since Sasha’s funeral, I’ve been wondering if this is really the life for me. I thought I knew what I was getting into, but, shit—I was eighteen and had no real perspective of how dangerous the Hero world really was when we started. After that it was all about the competition; momentum kept carrying me through, making me skim past whatever doubts and fears were cropping up. Sasha’s death brought it all to the surface, though. My own mortality, that of my friends… I don’t want to spend my life burying the people I love. And I don’t want to die because some asshole with super strength got in a lucky punch. And… and I don’t think I want to kill people, Will. Even if it’s for the greater good. Even if it’s in self-defense at the time. Those Sims today looked so real; that’s why I went for the stun rather than the drop. Maybe it’s something I can fight my way through and grow past, but I’m not sure I’d like who comes out the other side.”

Jill extended her hand from over the side of the cot, and Will carefully grasped it with his own.

“I love you, Will, but I’m not like you. I can’t go to the places you can in order to get things done. I’ll always have your back, I’ll always be in your life, and I’ll always be there for you. Just maybe not in the same profession. So don’t feel guilty about this or obligated to join me. Being a Hero is your dream. It has been since before you even knew it was possible. I want to see you realize it. I want you to be the best damn Subtlety Hero this world has ever seen.”

“But no pressure or anything, right?” Will wasn’t expecting to get a laugh from such a weak joke, but Jill’s chuckle still echoed through the room. They sat like that for a long while, neither quite sure what next step to take on this new path toward the future.

The one thing they did know was that neither would have to walk it alone.

75.

By the time Friday’s dust had settled, the senior class of the Lander HCP was two smaller than it had been in the morning. Jill Murray and Allen Wells both officially put in their resignations within a few hours after the completion of the trial, and none of their peers could blame them for it. Fighting human-like enemies, watching as faux-civilians fell while the Supers were unable to save them, had been a hard, jarring experience to say the least. Memory-fogging sessions were scheduled for Jill and Allen, and each was given time to make new housing arrangements if they so chose. Really, that matter was up to the HCP members they shared living space with, and whether those students trusted Jill or Allen enough to expose their identities to them after the memory wipe. It would be a hard choice that would no doubt demand serious discussion, but since both were leaving the program voluntarily, they were at least extended some time to figure things out.

Mercifully, this trial hadn’t ended with a meet-and-greet among the Heroes who had come to watch. Though Dean Blaine couldn’t tell them that at the outset, at least without betraying why they would feel so taxed once the exam was over, afterward he’d explained that since this step in the training process was notoriously draining, no one expected them to mingle afterward. Instead, everyone was dismissed for the weekend, and they all headed back to their respective homes and dorms.

Melbrook was unusually solemn as Alice entered the common room, having forgone a quick shower below ground in favor of a long, stress-draining bath in her actual home. Vince and Camille were both sitting on a couch, and Mary rested in a chair, watching a news program without paying much attention to it. Neither Roy nor Hershel was anywhere to be seen, though Alice was hardly taken aback by that; they often trained even after class was done. What did surprise her was Chad’s presence, as even after exams he tended to log more hours in the gym than anyone. He also seemed the least down of the lot, or maybe it was impossible to spot any negative changes through his general stoicism. Overall, the tone was low, and Alice understood why. By her own count, she’d personally “killed” four Sims during the day’s test, and there were at least three civilian lives she couldn’t help wondering if she could have saved. The ones where it was impossible were easier to reconcile, but those near-misses…

“Here’s a thought: maybe today counts for our annual Halloween curse. I mean, it’s a day early, but it feels like a solid contender.” Alice spoke as quickly as the words formed in her mind, forcefully redirecting her train of thought from obsessing about the civilians lost. Learning from it was one thing, but that kind of spiraling could lead to dark, useless places; if she wanted to be able to cope when real lives were lost, she had to practice now, when her failures were nothing more than broken circuits.

“Oh, wow, I actually managed to forget tomorrow was the Halloween party,” Vince said. “Are we still going to try and do that?”

“While I’m sure Nick is eager to expose us to terrible movies, Vince might be right. I don’t think any of us are going to be in the partying mood for a while,” Mary said. “Today was rough on a lot of people, in all sorts of different ways. We might need a while before we feel like going out again.”

“We’re the ones throwing the party. We can’t bail on it,” Alice protested. While it would make meeting with the mysterious Galina easier, tearing away the party also removed the cover they’d planned to work under. DVA agents weren’t going to care about a bunch of senior college students drinking and watching movies, but if certain members of the Melbrook gang gathered without adequate reason, there was a chance it could catch the wrong sort of attention. To her surprise, Alice found an unlikely ally in her pro-party stance.

“It also bears mentioning that this, too, is training.” It was Chad who spoke, looking up from his phone to hop into the conversation.

“Training at bad movies and drinking?” Camille asked.

“No. Well, technically yes, but not what I was driving at,” Chad replied. “In the Hero world, battles like what we just experienced are going to be regular, if perhaps not frequent. But life—and criminals—do not work on our schedules, which means we will not often have the luxury of time to process and recover from such experiences. We may be called on to keep a meeting with a charity organization, or pulled away to another conflict as soon as the first is over. We may even be going home to our families. Regardless, the ability to recover from these situations is important. Time does not stop, even for Heroes, and the world will keep needing us whether we feel ready for it or not. While there is certainly time allocated for vacations and mental treatment, if we can’t deal with the day-to-day battles then it’s unlikely we will last very long.”

“You think what we dealt with was day-to-day?” Vince said. “We lost a fair amount of civilians.”

“And that was tragic, but it doesn’t justify letting down others who need us because we are too deep in mourning,” Chad countered. “Besides which, today was optimal in one respect: no one was pulled from the field before the exercise ended. By my understanding of how these tests work, that means no one “died” among the Heroes. Hard as this trial seemed, imagine going through it after losing one of your friends and still having to do a proper job.”

“Is this the kind of stuff you think about?” Alice asked. She didn’t disagree; Chad was bringing up points that they all probably should have been considering. Still, there was something so matter-of-fact about the way he said it all, like he’d made peace with these hard truths so long ago they no longer bothered him.

“Every day.” Chad was as inscrutable as ever, but something in Alice’s gut told her that he was a bit more passionate about this subject than his expression let on. “My power requires ample planning, forethought, and strategy. I can’t afford to be taken off guard, so I’ve had to face every aspect of what I’d be walking into since the day I decided to be a Hero. Much of it isn’t pleasant or fair, but there is a reason so few people can do this job properly. Like it or not, fights like these can’t slow us down, be it from helping people, stopping criminals, or simply living our lives with what time we have.”

“I guess that means the Halloween party is still on,” Vince said. “Might be a pretty small one, though. I’m not sure how many others will show up without getting that speech to kick them in the butt.”

Chad offered a small smile before turning his attention back to his phone. “I think you will be surprised. Sooner or later, you would have reached the same conclusion, and everyone else will, too. If they couldn’t, they never would have lasted this long in the program.”

76.

“Only losing two, that’s a tough class you’ve trained.” Owen sat in Dean Blaine’s office, along with Mr. Numbers, Mr. Transport, and Professor Stone. He noted that it was bigger than Dean Jackson’s office back at Sizemore, a place he’d been called into an equal number of times for scolding and congratulations. Then again, Dean Jackson had been in the position for a long while, and he wasn’t the sort to make frivolous improvements for himself. When Sizemore finally got a new dean, they would no doubt make the office, and the program itself, their own in multiple ways.

“They are especially hardy,” Dean Blaine agreed. “Though we may lose others as the situations grow more and more realistic. Thinking one can do this work and actually having the ability to do so are very different things. One never really knows what side of the line they fall on until the pivotal moment arrives. Still, at least this gives them some insight so there’s time to choose a better path.”

“From the way Roy sprayed that Sim’s innards across the street, I’ve got a hunch I know which camp he falls into.” Owen tilted his head, remembering the ferocious attack his son had launched at the Sim sneaking up on Mary. It hadn’t been the wrong move; in moments like that, when choosing between the life of a confirmed criminal and a teammate, a good Hero always picked the teammate. But it had been more ruthless than Owen had expected to see in a student, especially his son. Though he tried to hide it, Roy was softer inside than he let most people know, and Owen was keenly aware of that. Yet there had been no guilt or hesitation in his swing. All Roy had seen in that moment was the destruction of his opponent. It had been a confusing situation for Owen, until he was called in to consult on the newest development in his sons’ abilities.

“Or maybe I should say the way Hershel sprayed the Sim,” Owen amended. “Something tells me that, in that moment, he was pushing more than Roy.”

“I looked into the memory, and as far as Roy could tell, it was just the warning,” Professor Stone said. “It doesn’t appear that either brother has the ability to take control from the other, yet.”

“No, I didn’t mean that Hershel was the one pulling the strings. I meant…” Owen racked his brain, trying to figure out how to explain it. “When Roy was telling you about the experience and the ones prior, he mentioned that early on it felt like hunches and instincts. Feelings, in other words. Well, my bet is that Hershel didn’t just send over a warning to save Mary, he also included the anger he felt at seeing the woman he loved in danger. That’s what made Roy swing so hard. He’s not used to dealing with that kind of fury.”

Owen didn’t bother pretending not to notice the skeptical glances as everyone else in the room tried to think of a polite way to disagree with him; he knew better than anyone the way his sons appeared to handle things. To his surprise, however, one head began nodding in agreement, and it was Professor Stone’s.

“With respect, Hershel is the far more restrained of the two.” Dean Blaine hadn’t yet noticed that one of his own staff telepath was backing Owen’s claim. “Roy has a much longer history of giving in to his anger and acting out, though he’s gotten a much greater level of control over it since he first started here.”

“Roy is his mother’s son,” Owen replied. “He lets his anger out when he feels it, speaks his mind, and throws a punch if someone needs punching. Hershel takes after me. He tends to keep his feelings, at least the negative ones, tucked away inside where they only grow stronger. Roy can be moved to anger more easily, but when Hershel does have reason to go off, he goes a lot further. The first time Roy came to see me after I left home, he ended up leaving without saying a word. Hershel, on the other hand, slugged me in the jaw on his first visit.”

Despite how humorous the image of Hershel uselessly punching Owen’s nigh-invulnerable face was, not a single chuckle slipped through the room. They all appreciated what it said: that in a moment like that, when emotion was completely overrunning logic, Hershel’s first act had been one of violence. And, privy to the family’s history, no one could entirely fault Hershel for the reaction, least of all Owen.

“That’s something to watch then,” Dean Blaine said at last. “It worked out well this time, but Roy can’t suddenly swing harder than he intended or hold back at an unexpected moment based on Hershel’s feelings. Especially at the rate his strength is growing. The wrong move at the wrong time could come with a cost weighed in blood.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Owen looked over to Professor Stone. “Do you folks have some sort of idea for how to help my boys get a handle on this?”

“We must look at the whole picture. If we choose to ignore the fact that they were formerly Powered and that the process to convert them may have had unknown effects, the likeliest conclusion here is that all the training has allowed them to access an aspect of their abilities previously beyond their reach,” Professor Stone said. “Such things do happen on occasion, especially in the HCP where limits are constantly tested and Supers have to reach further and further to understand what they can do. From there, the logical step is to begin having Roy and Hershel both do some mental training. Whatever is happening, their connection seems to be the root of it, so the better they can understand it and develop their own self-awareness, the more likely they’ll be to find a degree of control.”

“And if you don’t ignore the fact that they used to be Powereds?” Mr. Numbers asked. It was the elephant in the room. Useful as this new aspect might be for Roy and Hershel, there was also the chance that it was the first sign they were seeing of the procedure going awry. Given the power that some of the other four wielded, things could go very bad very quickly if they began to have issues as well.

“Then I’d say that, since none of us know exactly what was done to make them Supers, we have no way of predicting how it is impacting them,” Professor Stone replied. “Perhaps the procedure doesn’t work equally on all Powereds. Roy and Hershel’s reaction would be an aberrant piece of data in a larger sample. The most important thing, for now, is to keep an eye on the situation and make sure we’re made aware if any other unexpected side effects emerge.”

“See, there we disagree.” Owen turned slightly, towering over everyone else in the room even while seated. He stared down at Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport, who suddenly became aware of just how strong the man they’d been drinking with was. “I trust you two, and I believe you when you say you don’t know anything about the procedure. But that shit can’t fly anymore. We need to know what they did to these kids, or every time they show some new trait or tactic there will be people rightly wondering if it’s all about to go to shit.”

Dean Blaine cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention and moving Owen’s stare from the suited men working hard not to squirm beneath his piercing gaze. “We’ve been trying to run that down for some time, but it’s been nothing but dead ends. Someone has worked very hard to keep the secrets of that process under wraps.”

“Funny thing about dead ends,” Owen said. “You hit them hard enough, and sooner or later they’ll bust open. Why don’t you bring me up to speed on exactly what’s been going on, and I’ll see if I can help.”

77.

Eliza took comfort in staying busy, and as the morning of Halloween arrived, she had no shortage of tasks to keep her occupied. While Nicholas Campbell might be more than happy to offer up the use of his apartment building to throw a party for his friends, that didn’t mean he planned to get his hands dirty with the details. No, he was a delegator, and with no other assets on hand, that meant she and Jerome were taking on all the tasks he didn’t feel like dealing with. Jerome was highly valued muscle and she was one of the best forgers in the world, yet their day started with Jerome running off to pick up the keg while she was tasked with getting the food Nick had ordered. Normally, she would have been peeved at the inconvenience, even if it was the way things were done, but this time she was grateful.

Any excuse that got her out of the apartment, away from Nick, was a good one. Years working for Ms. Pips had taught Eliza the value of discretion, secrets, and being able to lie with a straight face. But Nick had gotten a lifetime of the same tutelage, and consequently he was much better at seeing through falsehoods than she was at creating them. By now he certainly knew something was up, even if he hadn’t put all the details together yet. Every time she was around him, it was a constant struggle not to let anything slip, both because keeping the secret was taxing, and because deep down she truly wanted to tell him. He should know, as far as she was concerned, but the orders from up top were uncompromising. Guilt-wracked as she was, Eliza knew better than to cross Ms. Pips. Defying an order directly from the head of their organization’s mouth was an express route to a short career, and not the sort that came with a good retirement package.

So, instead of dwelling on what was waiting for her back home, she focused on getting her work done: picking up sandwiches, cupcakes, and decorations, along with a few varieties of craft beer that she’d replicate and keep on hand. Normally, she’d also be tipping them back, but she didn’t trust herself to drink the way things were, at least not until Nick was distracted with his secret task. That part, thankfully, Jerome was stuck with. He’d have to secure the location and help them slip away from the party; though, given how much alcohol she was planning to fill the place with, she’d be shocked if any of the guests remembered their own names after a few hours.

Once the supplies were picked up, she headed into the apartment complex’s recreational room where Jerome had already started decorating, hanging fake spider webs and paper handprints the color of blood along the walls. She started on the duplicating, making sure there would be enough food and drink to feed half the campus. Even as she worked, she knew she was making too much, but having a task felt good. After this, she’d help Jerome with the décor, and then… there would be nothing for several hours, until Nick wanted them to start getting ready for when guests arrived. Eliza needed to keep busy. She had to keep moving.

Eliza had pulled through far worse than this. She’d been through losing her parents to a rogue Super attack; she’d survived the streets even before discovering her powers. She’d fought her way up the ranks of an organization with no tolerance for failure, and she’d even walked away from the only person in her life she’d loved in order to protect him. Eliza was a survivor, and she would get through this, too.

She just had to keep moving.

*             *             *

With a good night’s sleep and time away from the HCP underground, the senior students were finally beginning to shake off some of the lingering stress from Friday’s trial. It certainly helped that the campus was in a festive mood, every dining hall decorated in faux-gore and serving food that tasted the same as usual but had “spooky” names, such as the eyeballs and entrails that were actually just spaghetti and meatballs.

In the early afternoon, well before it was time to change into costume and head out, Jill heard a sharp knock on her bedroom door. She turned to find it was technically already open, with Violet peeking through.

“Hey,” Violet greeted. They hadn’t said much since Jill had announced to the house that she was leaving the program. Neither entirely knew how to approach the other with such a divide between Jill and the rest of them. What had once been their greatest uniting force now drove them apart from her. “You still going to the party tonight?”

“I was thinking about it,” Jill said. “We did have to go shopping with Alice, so I may as well put the costume to use. Is that okay with you all?”

Violet shrugged and took a step past the doorway. Some part of her wondered if this space was cursed. First, Stella had been kicked out of the program, and now its current occupant was leaving freely. Of course, deep down, she understood that this was the normal room; it was the other three that were odd. Given how many people they’d started with freshman year, it was amazing that only one room in the house had lost so many tenants.

“It’s open to normal folks, too. Masks encouraged,” Violet reminded her. “I don’t think anyone will mind if you show up. I mean, worse comes to worse, the night will just…”

“Yeah. Be fogged over, I guess.” Jill sat down on her bed, harder than she’d meant to. She still knew the choice she’d made was the right one, but it didn’t change how scary it felt to be facing down losing parts of her memory. Especially since so much of it revolved around her friends.

“How are they dealing with Will?” Violet asked. “I mean, you’ve known he has powers since you were kids. Seems like it would be hard to pull memories of him.”

“Will already gave permission for me to keep everything with him in it,” Jill replied. “Since I’m just leaving the program, not getting expelled, they only fog over names and faces. Apparently, people who want me to remember them can opt to let me keep those aspects.”

“Really? I don’t think they offered Stella that,” Violet said.

It was Jill’s turn to shrug. “Maybe they did and she never tried to have anyone take her up on it. Maybe it’s because she was a sophomore and I’m a senior. I don’t know how this works for other people, just the way they explained it to me.”

Slowly, Violet walked over and took a seat next to Jill. “Is it scary? Not knowing how much of anything you’ll be able to hang on to?”

“Fucking terrifying.”

“Kind of figured.” With a heavy thwump, Violet’s head dropped onto Jill’s shoulder. “If it helps, you don’t have to move.”

“I don’t?” Jill asked.

“Nope. Talked it over with the others, and we all trust you. Besides, with a brother still in the program, it’s not like you’ll be tempted to the dark side that easily. So we’re okay with you still living here, even after the wipe.” Violet paused, thinking her next words carefully through before speaking them. “And, maybe, I might be okay with you keeping all your memories of me. I need to mull it over for a bit first, but I’ll let you know by Monday.”

“Violet, you don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t,” Violet said. “But I’m getting tired of saying goodbye to my friends. If there’s a way to avoid this one, I might just take it.”

After that, they fell into old habits of simple, happy chatter until Thomas began walking through the halls, reminding the house that there was a party to get ready for. Even then, they lingered for a bit, enjoying the last moments of a friendship that, memory wipe or not, would never quite be the same again.

78.

Mary rather liked the floppy hat. Outside her room, she could hear the bustle of everyone else scrambling to get ready, but she’d decided to don her costume alone. Despite the simplicity of it, she’d settled on a witch outfit with lots of layers, swirling greens and purples amidst the fabric’s dominant black coloring. Though Alice had tried to protest that it didn’t come with a mask, Mary had disproved the point by adding a matching scarf that she’d wound around the bottom of her face, concealing her nose and everything below it. True, she’d need a crazy straw if she tried to take a drink of anything—not that there would be many non-alcoholic options—but it was a worthwhile inconvenience to complete the look.

Though there had been dozens of add-ons for her witch costume—everything from broomsticks to stuffed black cats—the hat had been the only piece Mary wanted. There was something about the battered, dark accessory that she just enjoyed. Perhaps it was the worn material, or the false-aging, or the way the conical top refused to stay aloft, flopping to the side with seemingly no pattern. Regardless, it had charmed her, and as she took in the effect of it plopped atop her head, adding to the costume as a whole, Mary was quite content with her purchase.

Despite what lay ahead in their night—putting Alice under, hoping to meet the dream-walker, and the very scant chance of uncovering some answers—Mary planned to enjoy the party beforehand. Though the others knew of it too, none of them were as aware as she was of the coming change. No matter what happened at the end of the year, no matter who passed and who failed, there would never be a time in their lives like this again. Even if everyone became Heroes, there would be fewer chances for carefree frivolity. Life would push them in different directions, forcibly drifting them apart.

Come this time next year, everyone would be celebrating Halloween in a new way, ideally without the annual curse. Some might be better, some might be worse, but none would have a Halloween quite like it was when they lived in Melbrook Hall with their closest college friends. Even with all the tasks that would muddle up the later part of the evening, Mary was determined to enjoy herself.

There was only so much time left like this, and she refused to waste any of it.

*             *             *

The common room of Melbrook was a flurry of activity as costumes were donned, props sought out, and final adjustments made to everyone’s particular outfits. Among the madness, Alice was the lone exception, her own costume hidden away inside a garment bag hanging on a rack in her room, right next to Nick’s. She’d decided to do her unveiling along with him. It seemed only fair, given that she’d been given power over picking his ensemble for the evening. She could hardly wait to see his face when he realized what she’d selected.

Instead of primping, however, Alice focused on helping the others get ready so they could make it to Nick’s early. She and the host would need time to change, and everyone else felt like they should help set up since Nick had been gracious enough to house the event. Plus, arriving early allowed them to scout for any traps he might have planned, designed to snare them into watching horror schlock without a means for escape.

“Vince, hold still for a minute. Your straps are twisted in the back,” Alice commanded, grabbing Vince by the shoulder and dragging him over to the couch. He was clad in a purple and silver unitard with a matching mask, though the jacket draped over his arm betrayed his intent to cover up whenever possible. The ensemble paired well with Hershel’s, though he’d opted for a vest and shorts a size too big to accommodate for the eventual shift into Roy. Her hands moving quickly, Alice uncrossed the straps running diagonally across Vince’s back and patted him on the shoulder to let him know he was good to go.

Looking down, Alice noticed that she’d seated herself on a long stretch of white material. With an annoyed grunt, she hopped up, grabbed the fabric, and held it aloft. “Camille! I’ve got your lab coat over here, if you’re still looking for it.”

“Thanks.” The small woman seemed to materialize out of the crush of larger bodies, clad in green scrubs with a matching mask. Surgeon wasn’t a particularly glamorous outfit, but it came with a mask and Alice appreciated the inside joke, so she hadn’t given Camille too much of a hard time about her outfit choice.

“Don’t thank me. Just keep up with it. Where the hell is Mary? This crap is her job,” Alice said, sweeping the room to see if their de facto den mother had emerged yet.

“Perhaps that’s why she’s taking her time,” Chad suggested. “She wanted to foist the role onto someone else for a change.” He, at least, had required no assistance. Chad had selected a simple one-piece jumpsuit meant to look like an Air Force pilot’s, along with a flight helmet to obscure everything aside from his mouth. Despite the fact that Alice knew without asking that it was the first thing he’d happened to see at the store, the damn thing still fit him well. Were Angela around, there would have been cat-calling and wolf-whistles, and Alice had a hunch that if the new Hero saw any pictures, Chad might have to pack his costume for the next time he visited her.

“You could be right; revenge for all the shopping trips.” Alice headed to Mary’s room, intent on dragging the telepath out by force if needed, when an intruder stepped through the front door. Alice didn’t recognize him at first—no great shock given the flowing black outfit and mask—but she did see the sword on his hip. In an instant, she was focusing on his gravity, ready to throw him against the wall.

“Hey, Alex,” Hershel called, waving at the mysterious man in black. “You were almost late.”

Slowly, Alice began to pick up on a few of the features jutting out from the bottom of the mask, and she realized it was indeed Alex, not some poor bastard burglar who’d chosen the worst possible dorm to rob. Upon closer inspection, the sword handle was clearly plastic, though the rest of the outfit still looked pretty authentic.

“Geez, you startled me,” Alice said. “Who the hell are you supposed to be? Ghost of a ninja-bandit?”

“No, he’s the Dread Pirate Roberts.” More than one set of eyes turned to the source of the explanation, not because it was such rare knowledge, but rather because it was Vince, of all people, who had offered it up. Even he seemed to be aware of the situation’s oddness; generally he needed things from movies and television explained; this was an unusual opposite.

“I… um… the movie was…”

“Princess Bride was one of Sasha’s favorite movies,” Alex said, mercifully taking the focus off Vince. “I’m guessing she made him watch it a few times. She and I had joked about the idea of doing a duet costume, so when I saw this… sorry, I didn’t mean to bum anyone out.”

“I think it’s a lovely gesture, Alex.” Mary had finally left her room, covered in full witch regalia and almost unrecognizable, if not for those amber-colored eyes. “Now, who else needs help with their costume? We need to get going if we don’t want to miss the start of the party.”

79.

“You think you’re really cute, don’t you?” Nick had known what the costume was the moment Alice unzipped the garment bag, but not until he was wearing it did Nick notice the efforts to which she’d gone. He stood in the apartment’s guest bathroom (since Alice had locked him out of his own bedroom), admiring the outfit. To her credit, she had kept her word about not letting him look bad. The suit was well-made, probably hand-tailored, and his hat was either vintage or an incredible reproduction. Nick was certain none of the others would catch the attention to detail, but he appreciated it all the same.

“Don’t kid yourself. I know I’m gorgeous,” Alice called back at him through the wall. “You about done changing?”

“I think I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. But keep pictures to a minimum tonight; if this gets back to Vegas I’ll never live it down.” Nick leaned over and grabbed his sole prop, aside from the elaborate outfit, tucking it carefully under his arm. With one last glance in the mirror, he pulled open the door and emerged into his apartment.

It was a small mercy that the others were already downstairs helping with last-minute preparation that was only last minute because he’d had Eliza and Jerome leave it for them to do. They needed to feel useful, a trait built into most of the Melbrook lot, and besides that, he’d wanted a little time alone with Alice anyway. The night would be hectic at best, and perhaps catastrophic at worst. More than once, Nick had seen meetings like the one he was trying to arrange go south in ways that left lasting consequences. And while he was prepared to bear them if needed, that didn’t mean he wasn’t smart enough to take a moment and savor things as they stood.

“There’s my little gangster.” Alice admired her handiwork as Nick exited, and on impulse he gave a quick twirl so she could get the whole view.

Her description was an apt one, because Nick was indeed dressed exactly like a stereotypical gangster from the Capone days: black suit with white pinstripes, wide-brimmed hat with a white band across the crown, shiny shoes, and a violin case tucked under his arm. The only non-period-appropriate accessory was the set of large sunglasses covering his eyes. Though things were expected to flow smoothly, there was always the possibility that they might need a little luck through the night, and it wouldn’t do to go tipping everyone off about Nick’s power usage.

As his spin came to an end, Nick glanced over and got his first look at Alice in full costume. To his surprise, she’d gone with a similar theme; her outfit was that of a mid-century Vegas showgirl. Bright red sparkles covered her dress, which showed a bit more leg than normal and brushed against her curves, if not outright hugging them. Covering her face was a blazing red mask, adorned with red feathers all across the crown.

“You do realize we have to sneak off midway through this party, right? Couldn’t have picked something a little less eye-catching?” Much as Nick enjoyed the ensemble, and he certainly did, the pragmatic hurdle it presented was the first thing to come out of his mouth.

“Oh, you mean like this?” Alice pulled off the headpiece, revealing a slim red domino-style mask, and lowering the larger one down to her hip. “I figure if everyone gets used to seeing the feathers, then as soon as I take them off I’ll halfway disappear. Something Professor Pendleton taught the class. You know, because I’m a Subtlety student and know how to slip out of a room.”

“Sorry, sorry. I just had to voice my concern,” Nick said, raising his arms in surrender. “And I think it’s a forgivable slip-up. Can you really blame any brain for going momentarily dumb at the sight of you in that outfit?”

“Now who thinks they’re cute?” Alice pulled the large mask back up and attached it, giving her head a few test shakes to make sure it stayed in place. “But that wasn’t your worst line. Keep it up, and maybe I’ll take us out somewhere fancy once all this is done. Heaven knows I could use a nice meal after Friday’s debacle.”

“And just think, the weekend isn’t over yet.” Nick wasn’t sure what to say to his friends about their latest trial just yet. There were ways he could poke them along, prodding them to get past the terror and hard realizations they’d been hit with, but the truth was that might be doing them a disservice. The professors had been right to give them such exposure; what was waiting for them after graduation would be worse than any HCP test. Sooner or later, each would have to come to terms with it, or accept that their time in the HCP was done, though he could hopefully take their minds off the issue for at least one night.

Slowly, Nick walked over to Alice, taking her right hand and tucking his arm around her waist, letting the violin case clatter to the ground. With careful, sharp movements, he began to move them about, turning to a rhythm that wasn’t actually there.

“Um, what are you doing?”

“Dancing, obviously.” Nick gave Alice a quick twirl, which she handled gracefully despite her tall heels. “I have to make sure I can move freely in this outfit, just in case, and if you know a better way to test that than dancing I would love to hear it.”

Another twirl, a quick swing, and Alice was back against him, her face only inches from his.

“What’s the verdict?” Her voice had gone lower as she began to sway with him, filling in the gaps to whatever mental song he’d selected.

“Can’t say for sure until I test the dip.” Nick tilted her down, following her all the way until the few inches between them disappeared. Neither could say for sure how long they stayed locked like that, only that when they parted both took a deeper breath than normal.

“Full stars,” Nick told her, though whether he meant the costume or the kiss was unspecified and irrelevant.

“Someone is feeling stirred up tonight,” Alice said as she slowly rose to a proper standing position.

“We’re about to go digging around in your head, kicking over rocks for long-lost secrets, secrets we might not be too happy about once we learn them.” Nick reached out and carefully adjusted one of the feathers on her mask that he’d inadvertently knocked askew. “Things could get very tough, and I wanted to enjoy this small bit of peace we’ve got while it lasts. And to remind you that, no matter what happens, I’m on your side.”

It was Alice’s turn to kiss him, though she didn’t bother with as much grand lead-up, merely pressing her lips to his in a brief, but still quite enjoyable, embrace.

“Of all the things you’ve given me reason to doubt, that was never one of them,” Alice assured him. “Now let’s get downstairs. I’d like to squeeze in at least a little partying before we try and interrogate a dream-walker.”

80.

Despite the tension from almost every Melbrook resident—an understandable condition, if ever there was one—the party kicked itself off without much issue. There was no denying that the HCP had a strong presence at the event, easily comprising the majority of the guests, but several students had taken the opportunity to bring along friends they’d made in the mundane world. Violet, Will, Thomas, and Jill, currently dressed as masked turtles with presumed crime-fighting skills, had each brought along a friend or two. Selena had brought a relative cluster, though her group paled in comparison to Adam’s, who was apparently quite the social butterfly above ground.

It was Nick, however, who’d managed to stock the party with the most mundanes, as he was the only one among them not leading a double life. Well, not the same double life, anyway; that allowed him more free time for schmoozing and networking when the occasion arose. Initially, he hadn’t cared that much about the ratio of normal students to HCP attendees, but with the implementation of plan “Shake the Dream-Walker By His Ankles” (at least, that’s what Nick called it in his head), filling the party had become vital. They needed the thickness of a crowd; it made them easier to become lost and, more importantly, added a layer of insulation between themselves and the DVA. Chapman had shown that the department wasn’t above poking in where they didn’t belong, but their agents could only risk so much activity around normal students.

Even if it bought them no more than an extra six inches of breathing room, Nick would gleefully seize each one. What they were planning was dangerous on multiple fronts; every chance he had to negate some risk was one he would take. Briefly, though for far from the first time in the last few months, his mind flashed back to what the world had been like on his augmented power. Being able to see the lines of causality and push them ever so gently… it was an experience beyond description. What he wouldn’t give for even a peek behind the curtain tonight, some indication of where their path was leading them. Sadly, all he had to work with was his gut, and that had gone noticeably silent in spite of their impending adventure.

Which was why he elected to pass the time until he vanished with handling the things well within his sphere of control. Nick all but whirled through the party, shaking hands, making introductions, and accepting the alternating compliments and snickers with respect to his costume. He made a notable imprint, ensuring that everyone would remember him being there. As the freely flowing alcohol muddled their minds, ideally the overwhelming existence of Nick Campbell would seep through their hazy memories as well. The goal was to ensure that no one could ever exactly pin down when, if at all, he’d been missing from his own party.

Making sure the respective activities were up and running was key to that, which was why Nick stopped by the screening area to be certain Camp Blood Death 7: Algae From Beyond the Pale was cranked up and playing in the largely dark room. He may have also lingered there for a few minutes longer than was strictly necessary, taking the opportunity to enjoy a favorite scene. Then it was off to the patio, where the brisk air washed over people who wanted to get away from the music and dense crowd or smoke, in the case of those who weren’t putting their bodies through endless physical training daily.

After that it was around to the refreshments section, which was set up in the makeshift kitchen that more responsible people likely used for cooking when renting out the room. There, he found Eliza playing bartender, an act that allowed her to monitor their stock while also excusing herself from too much drinking. Though he’d never admit it to her face, it was a bit of a relief to have Eliza and Jerome skulking about, even if they had reused the same costumes from last year—an otherwise unforgivable sin in his eyes.

“Good party so far,” Eliza commented, handing over a cocktail that was utterly devoid of anything other than caffeine. She was under strict orders to make virgin drinks for Nick, Alice, and Mary tonight, as all three would want their wits about them in what was to come. “A few people are hitting the keg pretty hard early on; you might have to wean them if you don’t want puke on the floor.”

“Drunk is good for what we need,” Nick replied. “Don’t let anyone get themselves sick or drive, though. Try diplomacy first, and if that fails, have Jerome steal their spark plugs or whatever. We’ve got a few sleeping bags that can become as many as needed, and most who are that drunk would be fine with just the floor.”

Their conversation was forced to a halt as Shane and a girl who had come with the other mundane students approached the bar, he ordering water and she getting whiskey neat. Only after the pair had left, leaving Nick with a higher opinion of the woman than when she’d approached, did the discussion continue.

“Anything else you want done?” Eliza’s eyes flicked to the nearby clock, one of the few pieces of the room that had not come with the rental. Nick had added it, and four more throughout the space, all synced up to be sure anyone who needed to could know the time with a glance. Though it went against his casino-raised nature to include clocks in a space, scheduling and coordination took precedence tonight. Having a clock in every room allowed the key people to watch the time without doing something as telltale as checking a watch.

“Just keep things moving smoothly,” Nick said. “We’ve only got a couple of hours until the real night starts; I’d like to actually enjoy myself until then. After all, how many more parties with these people am I really going to get?”

“You could always fly them out, comp them some rooms, that sort of thing,” Eliza suggested. Although she wasn’t entirely sure how comfortable the rest of the Family would be having Heroes around—assuming Nick’s friends graduated, of course—they’d hardly be the first ones to vacation in Vegas. Besides, she liked the effect the group had on him, and deep down she knew a part of her would always be happy to see Vince, no matter the circumstances.

“I could, and they might even accept, though I doubt I will.” Nick took a sip of his drink, momentarily forgetting that it was nothing but soda and ice cubes. “Here, in this place, things like our Familial ties don’t matter in the same way. Once we leave, it will be different. People like us and people like them can’t associate quite so freely, not without the risk of serious repercussions. I’m sure I’ll still see them—they have proven unexpectedly hard to shake in the past—but it will never be as carefree as what we can manage now.”

“Given what you have planned for the night, your definition of carefree sort of worries me,” Eliza said.

Nick permitted himself a small laugh then gave a shrug that caused his suit to ripple down the front. “After a life under Ms. Pips and Gerry, I wouldn’t trust a day that didn’t have at least a little intrigue. That would stress me out far more than our usual routine. But, as Gerry himself would say, you can’t let the worry about what you have to do after sunset ruin your whole day. That’s why I’m going to go do another round about the party, and perhaps even take a tour with Alice on what’s passing for our dance floor.”

Nick turned, though even if he’d kept staring there would have been no telltale pained expression on Eliza’s face. She was better than that; she was keeping herself together. All she did was glance at the clock, ostensibly because she had to keep an eye on the schedule, and certainly not because she was counting the minutes until Nick would exit the party.

81.

The party was fun. People were laughing, the drinks flowed freely, and a small group had even gathered to appreciate Nick’s awful movies. Enjoyment filled the air, but Alex could tell, probably better than anyone, that it wasn’t quite as unrestrained as it would have been even a year prior. He could sense the tingling of people’s nerves and anxiety, holding them back, weighing on their minds in what should have been the lightest of moments. Mary would always be better than he at picking out exact thoughts—he’d made peace with that difference in their skills long ago—but he was worlds above her in terms of seeing the emotions painted across those thoughts.

It wasn’t just Friday’s exam, though that certainly wasn’t helping things. Alex had noticed the trend for years now. Had this party come when they were freshmen, there would have been unfettered celebration and joy, with all thoughts of what trial came next cast aside as problems for later on. But, with every passing year, they were losing the ability to forget what lay ahead for them, and the looming approach of graduation wasn’t even the worst of it. Bit by bit, they were beginning to get a grasp on their impending career in ways they never could when it was theoretical. Graduation was scary, and what waited beyond that was outright terrifying.

“Are you the ghost of party fun? Because you look that way.” Alex had been so swept up in monitoring the overall thoughts of the crowd that he’d failed to notice Selena, momentarily apart from her crew of friends, arrive at his side. “Seriously, pairing all black with such a gloomy expression? Little on-the-nose, don’t you think?”

“Really? You’re going to give me shit about being on-the-nose?” Alex looked her up and down, as if his words wouldn’t make the point alone. Selena was dressed like an opera singer, or as close as one could get with the costume-shop level of quality in her outfit: silver dress with lots of barely attached sequins, a mask that almost but didn’t quite match, and a pair of opera glasses tucked into her purse for anyone who couldn’t put the other hints together.

“I’m going to give you shit about showing up to a party and moping in the corner. You could have stayed home for that.”

“And miss the Camp Blood Death series? Surely you jest.” Alex expected the conversation to end there; he and Selena had rebuilt their relationship to that of people who could be around, and sometimes say a few words to, one another, but that was about their limit. Which made it all the more surprising when she slid into one of the open seats next to him.

“Fair warning, I’m probably about to overstep some boundaries,” Selena said, not pausing to give Alex any chance to reply. “But… I think it’s been long enough. Maybe that’s a callous thing to say, which is why I’ve tried to hold my tongue until now. After six months and a couple of beers, I can’t stomach seeing this anymore. You have to let go, Alex.”

“Hold your tongue until now? I let myself… drift for a few minutes at one party. Not exactly a long-running issue.”

Selena tilted her head slightly forward, a gesture he knew all too well meant she was about to call him on his bullshit. Sometimes, Alex hated just how familiar they both were with one another’s body language.

“You let it show for a few minutes,” Selena corrected. “Maybe the others haven’t noticed—you do a good job putting on the smile when everyone else is watching—but I know you better than that. Like it or not, and yeah, I’m sure the answer there is not, I’m probably better at reading you than anyone else here except Mary, and I might be able to give her a run for her money. I know what you look like when you’re hurting and when you try to hide it. Since school started, that’s all I’ve seen. We all miss her, but you’re carrying it the hardest. I get why, I do. In the same situation, most of us would be tempted to hold the blame on ourselves. But you can’t keep up like this. Sasha wouldn’t want you to.”

It was the curse of all telepaths (or Supers with telepath-like abilities whose exact natures were under debate) that those who could read minds often allowed themselves to forget their way was not the only one to see what people were hiding. Because of that, Alex had no prepared response, no quick denial or rebuttal to the truth that Selena had laid bare between them. She’d seen past the false wall he’d been holding in place all semester… since May, really. And now that his facade was ripped away, Alex was struck by an unexpected realization:

He didn’t want to deny it.

He had spent so long like this, holding it in, trying to act like things were normal, that now that his secret was exposed, he didn’t have the strength to try and reel it back.

“I just… I want to tell her I’m sorry.” Alex lowered his head along with his voice, becoming almost inaudible under the loud chatter and reverberating music. “There was a moment that, if I had been stronger, it would have all gone differently. She’d still be here. My mistake, my weakness, is what cost Sasha her life.”

“That might be true, but none of us knows how things would have played out even if you had been able to stop your opponent. Furthermore, you seem to be operating under a very misguided assumption here,” Selena told him. “Sasha didn’t get killed because of you. Sasha gave her life to try and save you. Those are two very different things. She did what a Hero would do and prioritized the life of someone else, someone she cared about, over her own.”

“What’s the difference?” Alex asked.

“It means she gave you a gift. You can see this as her being dead because of you, or you being alive because of her. Personally, I look at it as the latter. Sasha handed you your life, Alex, even though it cost her own. She gave you the ultimate gift anyone can offer. Is this really the way you think she’d want you to spend it? Tearing yourself apart inside because even doing your best—and no one has any doubt you were giving your all—wasn’t enough to stop someone? Moping in secret, trying to hide your pain from the friends that you know would help you carry it? I think this distinction is damned important, because I want you to realize that you’re wasting the last thing Sasha gave you. She wanted you to live, Alex. So start doing it.”

For a long moment, Alex sat in silence, or as much silence as was possible in the midst of a college Halloween party, contemplating Selena’s words. There were some solid points in there, along with other areas where he could likely debate her, but what would it accomplish? She’d hit the nail on the head. He was miserable carrying on like this. He had been for months. Coping through training had been healthy and productive, but not even Chad could train every minute of every day. Alex needed to take a step forward in dealing with the rest of his life. Of all the other parts Selena had said, she was unquestionably right that Sasha wouldn’t have put up with this endless moping.

“If you weren’t my ex, I might just kiss you for that,” Alex said at last. “Thanks. I think I needed someone to call me out.”

“That’s what exes, at least those who are your friends, are for.” Selena leaned forward, and for a heart-stopping moment Alex thought she might have gotten the wrong idea and was going for the kiss anyway. Instead, she veered to the side, her mouth stopping a few inches from Alex’s ear. Before he could wonder what whisper was coming, he heard a softly-hummed tune. It was so gentle that no one else in the room could possibly take note; this was a song just for him.

As she sang, Alex felt his body unclench in places he hadn’t even noticed had gone tense. For the first time in months, a sense of ease filled him, bubbling up from within like warm tea. This wasn’t a song of slumber, or wildness, or any of the other tricks he’d seen from her before. No, this was a song of peace.

And in that moment, it was exactly what Alex needed.

82.

In a weekend filled with constant worry and strain so far, it was a small mercy that, for the next few hours, nothing of note occurred. Violet dug through the internet and found obscure drinking games for every awful movie Nick had lined up and dragged others into her festivities. Thomas, one of the rare openly sober partygoers, was sent on a run for ice somewhat early on. There was no actual need for it, Eliza could duplicate frozen water without drawing attention, but it was an important precedent to set if she had to explain away a few missing partiers later on. A fight nearly broke out between two of the mundanes, but as tempers flared and they were suddenly closed in on all sides by tense, ready bodies, some primal aspect of their minds registered that perhaps violence was not the answer after all.

The one thing that mattered the most did keep happening, and that was Eliza doling out drinks while keeping a careful eye on her non-paying customers. She’d water them down if needed, more than once handing out actual water with a spritz of club soda, but overall she was successfully keeping the party nice and liquored up. Not everyone was drinking, of course, but those who were helped to create a general rabble and atmosphere of chaos, making it all the harder to keep track of what anyone aside from the person directly in front of you might be up to.

Nick, Alice, and Mary didn’t wait until the party began to crash to slip away. Too many eyes would be roving then, looking for bedding or friends. No, as the party raged in full swing they departed separately, each making a quick excuse to whomever they were speaking to and then vanishing. This moment, at the height of fun and revelry, would be their best chance to get away unnoticed. And should the absences be noted, Jerome and Eliza had been left behind with quick excuses to buy them time.

The apartment that was their destination wasn’t leased to Nick, Eliza, Jerome, or anyone affiliated with their Vegas Family. Enough digging would uncover that it was rented by a corporate housing subsidiary on behalf of a company that didn’t really exist. It was on the ground floor, down a few hallways, close enough that returning to the party would be easy, while still far enough away that there was space to lose a tail. Nick was the last to arrive, taking his time to do one last tour of the area for peace of mind. Though there were a few countermeasures in place, most of the professors had had to keep their distance from this project. A bunch of students partying was one thing, but the moment one of the HCP teachers was in the same vicinity, suspicions would be raised. This put Nick a touch more at ease to scout their surroundings for himself, even though Jerome had done a sweep not five minutes prior.

He walked in to find Mary and Alice already lying on two of three cots lined up in a row. Near them stood an impressively unremarkable woman, a talent only someone who knew the value of such skill could appreciate, and Mr. Transport. The woman, whom Nick was forced to assume was Galina, gave a brief nod of greeting, then motioned for him to lock the door.

“I won’t waste time with preamble,” she said as soon as the last deadbolt was fastened into place. “You all know why we’re here, and we have precious little time to work with, so unless there is anything you need to report, I suggest we get started. Everyone ready?”

Nick looked to Mary, who in turn looked to Alice. Both Nick and Mary were needed for this, but they were only secondary aspects of the plan. It was Alice who would bear the brunt of it, who might learn things or face truths she was happier never knowing. If anyone had the right to call off this plan, it was her.

“We’re ready,” Alice replied, reaching out for Mary’s hand. “Once we’re all linked, put me under. I want to go get some goddamn answers.”

*             *             *

Will’s mind was not on the party, regardless of the fact that his body had been dragged there by Jill and the rest of his housemates. It was nice to know that she’d still be living with them, even once she was no longer in the program, but all the same, her decision to quit the HCP had put Will far from the mood to party. If anything, his Subtlety training was the only thing keeping him from appearing as morose as Alex, who’d perked up a bit since the sit-down with Selena. Will was glad to see his friend more cheerful; it was long overdue, though he did hope this didn’t herald the beginning of those two trying to get back together. After all that had passed between them, it would just be a recipe for more heartache, and Will wasn’t sure Alex could withstand it at this point.

Wandering as Will’s brain was, he still paid attention to his surroundings, a habit ingrained in him from both constant combat and Professor Pendleton’s endless training. Between that and the lack of alcohol in his system, it didn’t escape his notice when Alice, Mary, and Nick all slipped away in rapid succession. He was sure something was up—with that group, there almost always was—but he made no effort to investigate. For one thing, Nick was not the sort of person Will wanted to cross without reason; he recognized a dark ruthlessness behind those sunglasses that mirrored what bubbled up inside him on occasion. And for another, Will didn’t particularly consider it his business what they were doing. He’d certainly had reason to keep a few secrets from time to time, and so long as their activities didn’t get him or the people he cared for hurt, they weren’t his problem to worry about.

What did concern him, however, was a brunette near the edges of the crowd, one who seemed too anxious for this long into a party. She wore a simple jester costume with a brightly colored mask and seemed to be hanging to the sidelines, constantly scanning those having fun. The woman looked young, a bit too young for the crowd, in fact. Granted, he could only see so much of her face so he might be wrong, but Will still felt like something was off about her. Even if he couldn’t tell what it was yet, he turned his worried mind to the task of keeping an eye on her.

Regardless of how he was feeling, Will Murray would be shamed as a Subtlety major if he allowed a spy to walk freely in their midst.

83.

Time was a difficult force to pin down in dreams, even in the half-formed illusions that Rich Weaver’s power provided. There was no way to determine exactly how long they’d been in Alice’s subconscious (still a lovely spa, with a few additional pieces of gym equipment pushing the spa aspects to perhaps less than half) with nothing happening. It could have been seconds or days from their perspective. The one thing they did know concretely was that Galina had a time limit, which meant every moment spent with no Abridail added to their mounting tension. Alice and Nick both availed themselves of shoulder rubs from the mental masseuses, while Mary just tried to keep her mind calm.

“He’s coming.” She said the words as soon as she felt the presence pushing at the edges of Alice’s mind. Even with that, she was too slow.

“Actually, he’s here.” Abridail stepped out from nowhere, manifesting into being as though he’d slid through a door no one else could see. “Here, and a bit surprised. Last time was debatable, but tonight you certainly seem to be waiting on me. And with a new guest, no less. It’s always a pleasure to see you, Alice, but I hope you’ve remembered that I told you all I could the last time we met.”

“To be fair, you said all you would, not all you could.” Nick snapped his fingers and the masseuse rubbing his shoulders immediately stopped and headed back to the spa. “Hi there, Nick Campbell: crook, scoundrel, sneak, thief, and guy with overall poor morality. And tonight, I’ll be playing the role of negotiator on behalf of one Alice Adair.”

“Negotiator?” Abridail hardly looked alarmed at the development; if anything he seemed amused, a small smile tugging at the edge of his lips. “And what, pray tell, are you here to negotiate for? I didn’t misspeak earlier; all I know about the coming potential futures has been shared.”

Nick nodded, hopping up from his cushy chair to meet Abridail’s eyes on their own level. “No one is doubting you there, and I want to say upfront that we all genuinely appreciate you tipping us off to the whole ‘potential apocalypse of civilization’ thing. Honestly, we do. But that’s not what tonight is about. I’m here because Alice still has a lot of questions left about the source of those visions. We want to know about Shelby Adair: where she is, what happened to her, and, while we’re at it, why don’t you throw in anything you know about Globe as well. Seeing as you owed him a favor, there’s bound to be at least some connection between you two.”

The smirk on Abridail’s lips died slowly as his face returned to its more stoic expression. “There is nothing of worth that I could tell you about Globe, and the favor I owed him was a one-time thing. As for Shelby… I will admit that I would like to share what I know. However, I cannot do so in good conscience. She doesn’t want Alice chasing her ghost. Some secrets are better left that way, as she sees it. Whether I agree or not, I refuse to betray the confidence of a dear friend who trusts me.”

“But what if we can help her?” Alice protested. “You know what we are. The procedure that cured us, it could work for her too. If you just gave us a location—”

“Then you would go steal her away in the night, only to realize that none of you actually have the means to replicate that procedure?” Abridail asked. “Wherever she is now, Shelby has a better chance of getting help.”

“You don’t know her location, do you?” It was Nick’s turn to smile, one of Abridail’s words adding credence to a suspicion he’d hatched long before this meeting. “I thought that might be the case. You really have no idea where Shelby Adair really is.”

“Of course he knows,” Mary said. “He told us himself how often they talk.”

“But… but he can only know as much as she does.” Alice could have smacked herself in the forehead; it should have been obvious. “If my mom doesn’t know where she is, then neither would Abridail.”

Some of the wind seemed to leave Abridail’s sails as he walked over to a juice bar and knocked his fingers on the counter, a fresh smoothie appearing moments later. “Whether I know or not is strictly irrelevant, since I wouldn’t share it anyway. But the truth is that no, I don’t currently have any idea of your mother’s whereabouts.”

“Yet all is not lost, because I’ve got a hunch you know someone who might.” Nick joined Abridail at the juice bar, though when he knocked on the counter he was given a gin and tonic. “And now that the actual stakes are finally on the table, we know what we can negotiate for. Tell us what you know about Alice’s mother and about the favor you did for Globe. Even if you leave out a few specifics here and there it’s perfectly fine, since I’m assuming you had Globe do something involving your body and you’re trying to protect your identity.”

Abridail choked on his smoothie a bit, green goop spraying into the air and vanishing before it hit a solid surface. “My body?”

“Oh, right, sorry. I forgot to put our offer into play. How silly of me,” Nick replied. “You see, I realized a while back how odd it was that every time Alice went under, you were there. That is a very specific set of circumstances to line up, her getting whomped by Rich when you’re dream-walking. Odds are incredibly low of it happening once; twice is out of the question. No, the only way that shook out was if one of you was constantly in that state. I know Alice isn’t the one zoned out for hours a day, which only leaves you, Abridail. Or do you prefer your given name? Abraham Idriss Ailes, I believe it was.”

Nick reached into the air and from nowhere produced a small stack of papers, which he tossed on to the counter in front of Abridail. “Once I hit on the idea that you were always dream-walking, it was just a matter of research. Loads upon loads of research, granted, but still paper-sifting all the same. While it took me a long time, eventually I found you at that care facility in Texas.”

“I see.” Abridail gave the papers a glance, photos from Nick’s memory confirming that it was indeed his own form in the hospital bed. “So, you’ve come to threaten me.”

“We can go that route if needed, but I was always taught that people work a lot harder when they’re racing toward a prize rather than away from a threat. Seeing you in that room told me something a lot more important than just your name.” Nick tilted back his glass and polished off the remainder of his cocktail in a single triumphant gulp.

“You’re no Super, Abraham. You’re a Powered, just like Shelby is and we were. Which means I’ve got something to trade that we both know you desperately want.”

84.

“Actually, you in no way have the ability to offer that trade,” Abridail pointed out after a moment’s consideration. “The whole reason you are all here is that you’re desperate for leads about the procedure. How exactly do you plan to use something you don’t even have as a bargaining chip?”

“Good question, with a simple answer.” Nick tossed the empty glass onto the counter, where it spun twice before refilling itself. “See, thanks to you showing us Shelby’s visions of the future, we know that eventually the procedure gets out. That’s pretty much the crux of the whole ‘looming potential war’ thing you cautioned these two about. Sooner or later, that procedure becomes available to the rest of the world. The question here is whether or not you’ve got anyone personally invested in making sure some comatose Powered is among the first to receive it. My guess says that Abraham the person doesn’t have those kinds of connections. But me, I’ve got a shitload of money for bribes and an HCP staff that will all lobby to get you at the top of the list. And one thing you should know about me, Abridail, I never renege on a deal.”

The argument gave Abridail pause as he considered Nick’s points. “Technically, we don’t know the procedure will get out. Shelby can only see the most likely futures; a curveball is still a possibility.”

“That a fact?” Nick said. “Well, as an experienced gambler, I know the value in playing the odds. If you want to bet on the long shot, I guess that’s ultimately your call.”

“Abridail… why are you fighting us so hard on this?” Alice walked over to join them at the juice bar, seemingly on impulse, though she’d in fact been biding her time for just this moment. Nick was hitting the logical buttons well; however, she could ply the dream-walker with emotional appeal. Combined, she hoped that both tactics would succeed where individual ones would have failed. “I know my mom wanted to keep some things secret from me, but to her I’m probably still a baby or a child. She doesn’t know the woman I grew into, that I’m strong enough to survive the HCP. While I get the desire to keep a promise, is there really anything you can say that’s worse than a lifetime of not knowing what happened to my mother?”

“There very well might be.” Abridail’s voice lowered as he turned from Nick to Alice, taking in the young woman’s pleading gaze. “You two make an appealing case, and I won’t deny that I’m genuinely tempted by the offer. But Alice, your mother wasn’t wrong to want to protect you from this. I’ve seen the truth in your past, and the waves it sent across the potential futures. If I show you everything, there will be no going back. There will be people you can never look at the same way, and that includes the woman you see in the mirror.”

“She was just a baby when this happened,” Mary pointed out, chipping in from several feet away. “What could Alice have possibly done?”

“Technically nothing, yet, in a way, everything,” Abridail said. “You have no idea how much the presence of Alice Adair impacted this world, but she had no control over it. That’s why your mother wanted to shield you, Alice. She never wanted you to blame yourself for any of it, or for you to know certain truths about your family.”

“And that’s my limit for vague pseudo-talk.” Nick clapped his hands together once, refocusing everyone’s attention in his direction. “Abridail, I respect that you’re upholding a promise; however, it was a promise made on false grounds. Shelby no doubt thinks Alice needs protecting, but Shelby is a mother who was separated from her child. She hasn’t gotten to see the person that Alice has become, and let me assure you, it is one that very much does not need anyone’s protection.”

“You’re wrong there,” Abridail replied. “Not about Alice needing protecting, but about Shelby not seeing who she became. Though Shelby has precious little control over what she sees, every bit of it is dedicated to watching Alice, or at least the future versions of her.” He paused, glancing back at Alice, perhaps a bit more guilt behind those eyes than before. “Your mother is always watching over you, in whatever way she can manage.”

“Abridail, was she the first of us?” Alice swept her arms out, gesturing to Nick and Mary. “That’s what this whole expedition is technically founded on: learning more about the process, maybe getting a few clues we can follow. We were also hoping for information on Globe, but since that seems off the table, I just want to know about my mom. Was she the first Powered to try and be turned Super?”

This time, there was no quick reply. Abridail sat down slowly on one of the stools in front of the juice bar, his hands turning the green smoothie back and forth.

“The answer is yes,” Abridail said at last, “but a very complicated yes. If I told you what happened, I think you would leave with undue hatred toward the one who tried to change her. If I accept this deal of yours, then I do it on my own terms. I show you the events that I deem are necessary, in the order that I determine to be most relevant. You need to see for yourself, to feel what they felt, to truly understand how it all came to this.”

“That’s well and good, as far as sentiment goes, but we’re on something of a clock,” Nick said. “Had to use a knock-off this time, which means we’ve only got so long before the power fades.”

“Then I’ll show you what I can, and you’ll come back for the rest.” Abridail finished his smoothie and dropped the glass over the edge of the bar, where it vanished before hitting the floor. “You’re asking me to betray my friend, someone I care about deeply. At the very least, I have the right to do that on my own terms.”

To Alice’s surprise, Nick looked over to her rather than responding. “Alice, as a practiced bargainer I think this is as far as we’re going to push him. It’s up to you whether the deal is good enough. Given how vague he’s being, we might end up with more questions than answers if time runs out.”

He had a point, but they’d also managed to make a little headway with Abridail. Alice wasn’t inclined to give that up; the Subtlety major inside her knew just how precious even the slightest bits of intel could be. Still, if he was baiting them into some time-wasting mental goose chase, it could end up being more trouble than help. She needed to get a sense of where he was going with this.

“What are you going to show us first?” Alice asked.

“Where it all… well, actually, that’s not true. That part was a lot longer ago. I’m going to show you where your part of the story began, to kick things off. Specifically, I’m going to show you why you lost your mother,” Abridail said.

“Isn’t the ‘how’ a bit more important?” Mary pointed out.

“Not in this case,” Abridail replied. “So much of your lives, so much of what is waiting for our world, stems from what happened to Shelby Adair. If I’m telling the tale, then I want you to know the why before all of it. I want you to understand why she, and others, did what they did.”

It was still vague, and could be misdirection, but Abridail was offering to show Alice her mother. That wasn’t something she had it in her to pass up, even if it turned out to be a waste of time. Slowly, she nodded.

“You’ve got a deal, Abridail. We get our answers on your terms. Now, let me see my mom.”

85.

Tailing the jester proved to be easy, so easy that Will found himself more on edge the longer it went on. Working with Professor Pendleton, other Subtlety majors, and the simulations inside the Blonk had accustomed Will to dealing with cunning, well-trained operatives who would spot him at the slightest mistake. This was so easy it was unnerving, which was inadvertently teaching Will a good lesson about dealing with more mundane opponents. At any rate, the jester was mostly darting about, hanging to the sidelines and looking for something that she wasn’t finding.

The longer he watched her, the more sure Will was that he’d seen this woman before. She wasn’t an attendee of the Take Back Lander movement: those faces he’d committed to memory far too well for a simple mask to fool him. Yet there was something fleetingly familiar in her all the same. Playing the odds, she was likely a person he’d met during his time on campus, or someone from the HCP who hadn’t scored an invite. But they’d made a point of talking to the entire class, so that should have ruled out the latter… unless, of course, she wasn’t in their class.

That was when it clicked. Will realized where he’d caught sight of the woman before. It had been in the hallways, walking between classes. There were so many black uniforms in the early part of the year, so many faces that tended to blend into the background. But Will was smart, and he’d been training for the past few years to do things exactly like recall a face he’d only glimpsed. As soon as he came upon the idea, his mind bubbled with half-lost images, tossing them to the surface and confirming his hypothesis.

It was a relief, overall. No clandestine spy or cunning opponent had infiltrated their ranks; only a freshman who’d decided to crash a senior party. Truth be told, Will admired how ballsy the move was. He’d have never had the gumption to try something like it when he was in his first year.

Of course, such things couldn’t be allowed to merely pass. The seniors were supposed to set a standard for the freshmen; it would hardly do to let her think she could pull off such shenanigans. The only question now was how to bust her. Will continued trailing her, following slowly, racking his brain for what method to use.

Oddly, the question that kept popping up over and over was one he wouldn’t have expected: What would Angela do?

*             *             *

It didn’t take long for Abridail to reshape the world around them; unlike Mary he had a literal lifetime of experience working in the mental realm. Although, as the new world faded into view, Alice began to suspect she’d been tricked. Abridail had said he would show the group where her part of the story began, but there was no Alice to be seen in the bright sunshine of a day long since past. Instead, she saw people in suits, some better fitting than others, all seated and staring ahead, to a small crowd gathered around…

Alice’s breath caught in her throat as she understood where they were. The sight of her mother, wearing a grin that would have seemed silly if it didn’t radiate sincerity, dressed in a flowing dress and looking so beautiful was a vision that stole any words Alice might have managed. Mary, however, was able to drag a few up.

“She’s gorgeous. And she looks just like you, Alice.”

That wasn’t technically true. Seeing her mother in three dimensions for the first time, Alice could pick out a few differences between them. Alice had at least two inches of height on her mother, and her mouth didn’t quite form the natural smile as easily as Shelby’s did. Still, there was no denying that the resemblance was uncanny, so much so it made Alice’s heart throb with loss. She steeled herself, refusing to let the pain through. This was going to get a lot harder before it got better.

“Lovely as the bride is, and I do offer my compliments, have either of you noticed how many other familiar faces are in this scene?” Nick pointed to the groomsmen behind a young Charles Adair, a Charles looking more joyful than Alice could ever recall seeing him in the modern day. She recognized Professor Pendleton and Professor Hill—or just Sean and Blake at this point in time. They were both smiling, in spite of appearing to be on the verge of tears. It made sense that they would be in the wedding party, since they were Shelby’s brothers, but Alice couldn’t place the person directly next to her father, the one fulfilling the best man role. He seemed familiar, yet his features didn’t stir any recollection. Such was not the case all around, however.

Mary’s gasp was audible and echoed through the scene that they only now realized was completely silent. “That’s… that’s Globe.”

“Are you sure?” Alice asked.

“I sat across from him at a dinner table in Vince’s mind without any mask. That’s not an experience I’m going to forget anytime soon,” Mary replied. “Why the hell is Globe your father’s best man?”

“They were on a team together,” Nick said. “Although, that seems more like it would garner an invitation than being best man.”

“On that note, this whole wedding seems to be a who’s who for the Class of Legends.” Mary was looking away from the groomsmen now, and as Alice followed her gaze, she understood what Mary was talking about.

Clarissa, the nice woman who’d come to tell them about life after being a Hero, was in the bridal party. Victor, the SAA rep they’d met, was sitting in the crowd, along with Dean Blaine and a man who looked an awful lot like Chad—probably his father. Judging by the wide shoulders and occasional Super hair or eye color, there were probably enough Heroes at this wedding to repel an invading army.

“Alice, I know Alchemist was a year behind the Class of Legends,” Nick said, carefully taking in the scene. “Have you ever asked your dad how, exactly, he and Black Hole ended up on a team with three of them?”

“We’re not big on communication in my family,” Alice replied. “The better question is what the hell we’re supposed to get from this.”

“A feeling, I suppose.” Abridail reappeared, stepping out from behind the old man who was presiding over the wedding. “I needed a few moments while I constructed the first true scene, so I decided to let you see this while you waited. From here, the real tale begins, but I wanted you to witness this moment in time, to know that the story begins with joy. Your mother and father, your whole family… it was filled with so much love, Alice. Try to hold on to that as we go forward. To remember that love, more than anything else, is what motivated these actions.”

Abridail lifted his arms, and the sunlight began to fade.

“Everyone, clutch tightly to this moment; take comfort in it as best you can. And, if possible, please forgive me for what I am about to show you.”

86.

Sobbing was the first thing that hit their ears. The house was dark, lit only by afternoon sun streaming in through slits in the blinds. Alice felt a sense of near-familiarity, like she’d been here before, but couldn’t recall it. The hallways and rooms were small, a stark contrast to the hollow mansion that she would eventually think of as home, yet there was a warmth to this place that was missing from her eventual dwelling.

At first, the sobbing seemed to be coming from nowhere, but as she scanned the room, Alice eventually found the source. It was Shelby, pulled into a tight ball on the floor, weeping with the sort of hoarse, tired voice that spoke to hours at the task.

“Mom. Mom!” Alice was moving before she could think, trying to wrap her arms around Shelby only to have them pass harmlessly through.

“It’s a memory, Alice, and I can’t let you interfere with it.” Abridail’s voice was choked, and he pointedly avoided looking directly at Shelby.

“Why is she crying? Who did this?” Sorrow was replaced with fury as Alice struggled vainly to try and comfort her weeping mother.

“No one did this, Alice. Not unless you believe in higher beings, and I doubt you’d want to hold them accountable for this, if that were the case. This just… happened. No one did it. There’s no one to blame.”

Alice was about to demand an explanation, but before she could, a new noise filled the air. It was the sound of a lock being turned. Seconds later, the front door opened to reveal Charles Adair. He seemed chipper, a mood quite out of place as far as she was concerned. That lasted for less than a moment, when he caught sight of his wife on the floor. Moving so fast Alice didn’t even have time to step to the side, he was next to Shelby, offering her the comfort that Alice hadn’t been able to.

“Shelby? Darling? What’s wrong? What happened?”

At first, it seemed he was only going to get sobs in response, but eventually Shelby croaked out a single word. “Alice.”

“What about Alice? Is she okay? Where’s our daughter?”

More sobbing, harder now, and another word. “Bathtub.”

Charles Adair went white, treating Alice to yet another new expression on her father’s face: Fear. Unmitigated terror was in his eyes as he bolted up from Shelby’s side and hurtled into the bathroom. He flipped the switch on so hard that the plastic cracked, flooding the room with light to reveal…

Nothing. It was empty, pristine even, if one ignored the toothpaste tube on the counter. Charles stared, obviously uncertain of what to make of the scene before him, then spun around and ran into a nearby bedroom. The observers followed to find him staring into a wooden crib where a cheerful baby with golden locks cooed at him, reaching up with her chubby arms and tiny fingers.

Charles looked as though he might faint with relief as he stared at his daughter, reaching out and gently running his hand over her head. Alice couldn’t recall a single time her father had been so openly affectionate to her, and for a moment she hated him just a little more. If it had been outside his capacity as a person, that was bad enough, but to know that he could love—and had still kept her at such a distance—made it all the more hurtful.

Charles watched his baby for a few moments longer before heading back toward the living room, no doubt to speak with his sobbing wife. Nick, Mary, and Alice went to follow, but Abridail blocked them at the door.

“It will take him a long while to calm her down, and there’s nothing to be said that any of you needs to know about.”

“What was all that, anyway?” Alice asked. “Mom… Shelby… she’s beyond distraught. But as far as we can see, everything looks fine.”

“My guess is that it’s not what we can see that matters. It’s what she sees.” Nick’s voice had lost its ever-present tint of snark and humor, a fact which worried Alice almost as much as the sight of her sobbing mother had.

“He’s got the gist of it,” Abridail confirmed. “Alice, you know your mother has visions of the future. When you were born, her power began to perform… strangely. The visions came on stronger, more frequently, and almost always about the same subject.”

“Show me,” Alice demanded.

“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Abridail cautioned.

“You said this whole thing is about understanding what happened to my mother. Well, if that’s the case then these visions seem pretty damn relevant. You’ve obviously been in her head; I think you know what she saw. So show me, show us, what was so terrible.”

Rather than replying, Abridail simply walked out of the nursery and across the hall. Alice followed, so set on her path that she almost didn’t feel Mary’s hand slip into hers, or Nick’s arm around her shoulders. No one said a word as they passed back into the bathroom. Everyone had their own suspicions of what would be awaiting them, and while none were exactly certain, they all knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

Abridail stood there, waiting for them. As they entered, he stepped to the side, giving them an almost perfect view of the room. Slowly, as if waiting for them to stop him—which he very well might have been—Abridail raised his hand and snapped his fingers once.

Instantly, the room changed. Shelby was on the ground near the toilet, her eyes rolled back so that only the whites were showing. Water was pouring across the floor from an overflowing tub, soaking the floor mat and bubbling as it passed through the crack in the door. And in the tub, with the faucet still going full blast, Alice could just make out something bobbing in and out of view. Something unmoving, with golden hair.

Mary’s grip tightened as Alice brought her free hand to her mouth and tried with all her might not to throw up. Another snap filled the room and the scene was gone; it was just an empty bathroom once more. But none of them could forget what had been there, what Shelby Adair had foreseen.

“I… I didn’t…”

“No, Alice, you never died,” Abridail assured her. “But that didn’t stop your mother from getting visions of it. No matter what she did, no matter how many layers of protection your father put in, she still kept getting them. The exact way it happened would change, but two things were always there: Shelby caught helpless in a vision, which then leads to your death.”

He paused, looking at the empty bathroom once more. “As if watching her daughter’s death wasn’t bad enough, your mother kept seeing you die because of her. And with each passing instance, she became more and more certain it was going to happen. That’s why she got desperate.”

“It was for me,” Alice whispered, still haunted by the recent vision. “That’s why she didn’t want me to know. That’s why you tried to keep it secret. I’m the reason my mother tried to go from Powered to Super. I’m the reason she lost her mind.”

87.

The jester turned from one room, her eyes ready to scan the dance area for the umpteenth time, when she found her vision suddenly blocked by four bodies. Though they were dressed as turtle-like creatures with different colored masks and presumably some training in Ninjutsu, the outfits didn’t fool her for a minute. She knew what this group was even as they formed a small half-circle around her and began to steer her outside: these were HCP seniors. Masks or not, there was something about the seniors, more than just the trained musculature, that gave them away. It was a confidence, a certainty they moved with, like they’d fought their way through so much they were prepared for anything. She deeply, desperately wanted to move like that one day, which was probably why she’d done something as batshit crazy as crash the party.

No one made a scene as they slipped outside into the brisk October night. If anything, it looked like a group of friends heading out to get some fresh air. Had the jester struggled she might have bought herself a little time, but she didn’t even know what these people’s powers were. The only bits of information she had to work with were that they were more trained than her, she’d invaded their turf, and, judging by the coordinated costumes, they were a group used to working as a team. None of that boded well if she made more waves, so she went along peacefully, not so much as speaking until they were out the door and some ways out from the ruckus of the party.

“In all my years here, I’ve seen a lot of crazy stuff, but a freshman crashing a senior party? That is a new one,” said the unnaturally purple-haired girl wearing a red mask . “Thomas, Will, either of you seen this shit?”

A tan man wearing the blue mask and a lean guy wearing the purple both shook their heads to the negative. “Can’t say we have, Violet,” the one in blue replied.

“I’ll be honest: in a way, I respect it,” Violet told her. “I’ve always considered myself to have a big swinging pair—metaphorically, at least—and I don’t think I ever would have worked up the nerve to try a stunt like this when I was a freshman. Our seniors were too damn scary; they barely even seemed human in those crisp white uniforms, all but radiating power. And that’s what takes this from cute to annoying, party-crasher. Because for you to do something like this, it either means we aren’t properly intimidating enough, or you’re just so cocky you pushed past it. So why don’t you go ahead and tell me: which is it? Do we seem like pushovers, or are you too arrogant for your own good?”

“I’m not arrogant,” the jester said, forcing herself to speak above a mumble. “I’m… desperate. The only reason I came tonight is that I need to talk to someone, one of the seniors. In the halls, it’s too chaotic and impossible to catch him, and when I went to his job he was always surrounded by people so I didn’t think I’d be able to bring it up. But you know the worst part about this? I went to all the trouble of crashing your party, even got caught doing it, and I don’t think he even showed up tonight.”

“Who exactly are you looking for?” The one in blue—she was pretty sure he’d been called Thomas—was using a softer voice now. That action earned him a dirty look from Violet, but if he noticed he pointedly chose to ignore it.

“Roy. I need to talk to Roy Daniels.”

“Oh shit, is this a pregnancy thing?” This came from the woman wearing the orange mask, who, true to costume, had brought her beer along with her even as they left the party.

“What?” The jester nearly screeched, only pulling herself back at the last moment. “No, no, I’ve… I’ve never even met… why would I just… it’s not about pregnancy,” she said, finally regaining a bit of control. “It’s about training. I need Roy’s help, or I’m not sure I’ll make it to Christmas.”

Strangely enough, that answer seemed to put the group at ease. The menacing aura dissipated, and she began to wonder if that’s all it had been—just an act designed to put a little fear in her as payback for crashing their event. Perhaps they were less inclined toward retribution when the reasoning was something they, as people who had climbed their way through three years of endless trials and effort, could relate to.

“Why do you need Roy?” Violet asked, her tone indicating that she still held on to a bit more animosity than the rest of the group.

“Look, it’s kind of an embarrassing situation, and I’d rather not explain twice. If you’re going to beat me up in the parking lot, let’s just get that done. I’ll heal up and catch Roy another time.”

To her surprise, that got a laugh out of Violet, and with it, the last of her faux-wickedness seemed to dissolve into the air. “I like this one! She’s got moxie.”

“What’s moxie?” the jester asked.

“It’s what old people call guts,” the woman in the orange mask replied.

“And she’s got it,” Violet reiterated. “Don’t worry, kid; we’re not going to beat you up or anything stupid like that. We just wanted to spook you, give you a bit of the same fear our seniors put into us when we crossed a line. But it seems like you didn’t pull this stunt just for kicks, so we might be willing to let it slide. In fact, I’ll even let you in on a secret: Roy isn’t at the party yet, but he will be here. Probably within the hour, if I’ve got the timetables right. You want to come back in and wait for him?”

“I… yes, very much so.” The jester began to move forward, but Violet threw out an arm to stop her. Wordlessly the four drew in closer to bar her path. It was a movement so fluid and natural she wasn’t sure if the group even realized they’d done it; they were just that accustomed to responding to each other’s signals.

“Two things, frosh. One: we’re going to need a name. Sorry, but there’s a lot of you freshmen right now so it’s hard to keep track. And two: you can save the long version for when Roy gets here, but if pregnancy is off the table then at least give us a snapshot of why you’ve been stalking our classmate.”

“Stalking isn’t really… My name is Ashley. Ashley Beck,” she said, deciding it was best to move forward rather than defend her previous actions. “And I need to talk to Roy because the rumors all say he’s indestructible, which makes him the only person who might be able to help me train.”

88.

“I won’t try to convey to you what Shelby Adair was going through during this time. Words would fail to capture it, and the scenes are more of the grisly same,” Abridail told them as the small house around them began to fade from existence. “I gave you a mere glimpse of it, and you know how horrible that felt. For Shelby, it was endless, happening at least once a day, if not more. And, terrible as that imagery was for you all, not even Alice can understand what it was like for Shelby to see such things and witness not just death, but the death of a daughter she loved so very much.”

“Why… why did her power start showing her that?” Alice asked, trying to wrap her head around what her mother must have been going through. Even those few seconds were haunting and awful. Getting constant doses of it, day after day. It was a question of when, not if, one’s sanity would break.

“To this day, no one I have entered the dreams of knows. Powereds may not have control of their gifts, but physical stimuli is often part of what triggers the abilities. Childbirth does unique things to a brain, releasing chemicals in different amounts. Perhaps the new manifestation was a reflection of that. Or… perhaps you were meant to die, Alice Adair. There is no one future: Shelby only sees the most likely of outcomes, but in your case she saw death at every turn. Do you remember when I asked if you believe in fate?”

“Yes.” It had been a year ago, but the interaction was still seared into her mind. She’d turned that conversation over in her head countless times, searching for the slightest of clues. “You told me that you didn’t know if you believed in destiny or not, though, if it was real, you were pretty sure I didn’t have one.”

“And now you know why,” Abridail said. “If such a creature as Fate exists, then it is hard to deny that you were not a long-lived part of its plan.”

“You also told me I wasn’t the only one in our group,” Alice pointed out.

“Whoa, what now?” Nick had been largely silent, staying at a respectful distance as Alice worked through the emotional subject matter, but that minor revelation startled him into speech. “Was someone else supposed to die?”

Though Mary said nothing, she knew Nick’s mind was in that wreckage of a car. Twisted metal, burned tires, utter destruction, yet one lone baby who had miraculously survived even when his parents didn’t. She’d hoped he’d given up trying to discover whether the wreck was the result of his uncontrolled abilities or not, but deep down, she knew Nick wasn’t one to easily let go of anything. In most cases it worked to his advantage, though with this there was a very real chance it could destroy him.

“What happened to Shelby sent waves through the timeline, eventually impacting all of the world,” Abridail said. “The first ones were smaller, yet real enough to cause a difference. I can’t track everything that changed because of her, but some are more easily traced than others. We’ll get there later, though. For now, I just wanted you to know Shelby was dealing with that—with what you just saw—endlessly, for months. And, as you can imagine, it began to take a toll.”

The world reformed, though this time they weren’t in the small house. Instead, it was a bar, soft and cozy, with plenty of room between tables. Sitting at a large booth off in the corner were four people, three of whom Alice was all too familiar with. Professor Pendleton, Professor Hill, and Charles Adair occupied three seats; the fourth was held by Globe. None of them looked as cheery as they had at the wedding, but her father seemed especially beaten down: sunken eyes, twitchy fingers, and a noticeable loss of the muscular weight he’d been carrying.

“It’s getting worse,” Charles said, sipping perhaps a bit too freely on the glass before him. “I’ve tried everything. Nannies, cooks, butlers. I’m spending almost all my downtime on the business just to pay for the staff, but no matter how many safeguards I put into place, she keeps having the visions. That power is too damn strong; even Blaine’s touch can only keep it suppressed for an hour or so, at the most. Shelby’s afraid to go in Alice’s room anymore, like she thinks even being around her will make them come true. I don’t… She’s not eating, at least not enough. She’s pulling further and further inside every day. The only time she shows any of her old spark is when she’s asking me… begging me…”

“You can’t do it.” Sean Pendleton was far younger than Alice knew him now—younger, and without the world-weary expression he’d no doubt gained during his tenure in prison. “Everything you’ve been researching, it’s all been theoretical. You’re years away from—”

“Were you under the impression that I didn’t know that?” Charles snapped, whipping his head up from the depths of his glass. For almost the first time since they’d begun peeking into the memories of the past, Alice recognized her father in this young Hero. That was the Charles she knew: distant, powerful, and unwilling to take anyone’s shit unless there was profit in it.

“I am more aware than any of you just how far we are from being able to run even the slightest of tests safely. When I told Shelby about this it was all a distant-future kind of thing, perhaps ten or more years down the road, a fun project to discuss when we would lay awake at night. I never imagined it would become the lone hope she’d cling to.”

“But it is,” Blake Hill said, his own voice somber. “I talked to her last week. Charles isn’t wrong. I honestly think the idea that she might be able to convince him is all that’s keeping her going anymore.”

“Then we have to find new things to keep her going,” Sean protested.

“She’s watching her daughter die every day, Sean.” It was the first time Globe had spoken at the table, the first time Alice had ever heard his voice. She was a bit taken aback by how gentle it was. From the reputation, she’d been anticipating something a bit more authoritative and commanding. “Worse, she’s watching herself indirectly cause Alice’s death. I may not be blood, but I love Shelby like family. I know how strong she is. Still, I think you might be asking too much of her. We’ve seen fellow Heroes broken by lesser sights, and they aren’t enduring them every day. Besides, I don’t think any of you have realized exactly why Shelby is so set on precisely this method.”

“Because if it works, she’ll have control over her visions,” Blake said.

“And if it doesn’t?” Globe asked.

“We’re still too early in the research to say for sure,” Charles told him. “Best case, failure means nothing happens and she’s stuck with the same problems. But we’re talking about tinkering with parts of the brain we barely understand. There’s real risk of death, brain damage—hell, we might even make the problem worse.”

“Which is why I keep saying you can’t do it,” Sean reiterated.

“And which is exactly why I think Shelby refuses to let go of the idea.” Globe looked the table over carefully, visibly weighing his words as he doled out the hard truth to Shelby’s brothers and husband. “What none of you have considered, have let yourselves consider, is that Shelby is a smart woman. She understands how risky the procedure would be. She’s counting on it. Because if it works, she’s cured; seeing as her vision trances are always the cause of Alice’s deaths, then that risk is removed. And if it fails badly… then she probably dies, in mind, at least, if not body as well.”

“Why the hell would our sister be counting on that?” Sean demanded, starting to rise from his seat before Blake put a firm, reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Because she’s always the one who causes Alice’s death.” Charles forced the words out slowly as realization dawned. “So, if she cures herself, she thinks our daughter would be safe. And if she dies, if she pulls herself out of Alice’s life, she can’t be around to cause Alice’s death, now can she?”

“Shelby wouldn’t…” Sean didn’t even bother finishing the half-formed protest. His sister would absolutely be willing to trade her life for that of someone she loved. For her daughter, it wouldn’t even be a second thought. “Then that’s all the more reason not to do it. She’s not in her right state of mind.”

“No, she isn’t,” Blake agreed. “But if we don’t do something, I’m not sure she’ll ever be in a right state of mind again. She’s wasting away, Sean. This is torture; it’s killing her piece by piece. If we don’t make a choice, it might be made for us.”

The noise of the bar faded as Abridail stepped forward, interrupting the hushed, tense conversation. “It wasn’t this night, but eventually a decision was reached. I trust you can all infer what it was.”

“Why show me this?” Alice asked. “And how? I thought you perused my mom’s memories; she’s not even here. You could have shown us her actual procedure; wouldn’t that have been more helpful?”

“I am a dream-walker, Alice. I have seen the dreams and memories of far more than just your mother. In fact, I may be the lone person in the world who has witnessed these events from all sides. As to why I didn’t jump to the procedure—what your mother went through would be no help to you. Hers was a very different attempt than yours, with almost nothing in common. I showed you this moment because I wanted you to understand your father’s situation.” Abridail gestured to the hunched, diminished figure of Charles Adair.

“His burden. His failure. His unfathomable guilt. Because what Charles Adair did after he failed your mother was impossible to forgive. It is not, however, impossible to understand.”

89.

The scene before them began to fade once more, but this shift wasn’t nearly as smooth as the previous transitions. All around them, the world flickered unsteadily, like a television channel losing its signal. The images became blurry as they began vanishing from sight.

“It might not be Oscar music, but I think that means our time is almost up,” Nick said.

“No!” Alice whirled on him, as though Nick had some sort of influence on the limitations of the Super keeping them suspended in this trance. “It can’t be done. We haven’t really learned anything yet.”

“We learned why your mother was the first one to undergo the procedure. Why she kicked this all into motion. It might not seem like it now, but I think once you have a moment of peace, you’re going to realize how important that is.” Mary carefully put a hand on Alice’s shoulder for reassurance, even though she had to stretch to do so.

“But we didn’t get any damn clues. Any hints on where she might be,” Alice protested, looking to Abridail, who offered a small shrug in reply.

“I did warn you that there is information I lack, your mother’s whereabouts among it,” he said.

“Yet it seems like there is something you know that’s worthwhile,” Nick replied. “This was a whole lot of preamble if you don’t have shit to say. You don’t strike me as someone to give us the pointless runaround, so how about you skip a few scenes and cut to the good stuff?”

The world flickered again, this time engulfing them with longer periods of darkness. When they could see once more, everyone took note of Abridail giving a slow, solemn shake of his head.

“I refuse. Our deal was that I would show this in my own way. I need you—I need Alice—to see things as they occurred. It’s what Shelby would want. I am sorry your time ran out, but you’ll just have to find your way back again, if you want the rest of the story.”

“Seeing as you have no leads on Globe or Shelby, we might have trouble selling our group on setting up another one of these sessions,” Nick told him. “Can you give us something to work with? Any tidbit that might help us talk them into putting us down here again?”

Abridail paused, long enough for another flicker—the longest yet—to surge through the world. “I do not know exactly how you were turned from Powereds to Supers, nor could I replicate the procedure in any manner. However, I do know the source of the process, the place where most of the advancements sprang from. We are almost to that part of the tale, so it will be waiting for you should you all return.”

“This would be a lot easier if you could just show up in our dreams,” Alice grumbled.

“It would be, but after you understand where your change came from, you’ll grasp why I’m unable to do so.” Abridail’s voice was getting thinner, like he was floating away from them, even though he appeared to be standing in exactly the same spot.

“Finding out where the procedure came from… I think I can make that work,” Nick said. “I was hoping for something juicy, like why the hell Globe was so deeply involved with the Adair and Hill families, but maybe pragmatic is better for the pitch I have to make.”

“Far better,” Abridail told him, “because what you’re talking about is no mystery at all. Though Charles Adair has spent untold sums of money to bury the truth from the world, not even he had the resources to strip away the memories of his fellow Heroes.”

“What do you mean?” Alice was almost yelling now, driven by necessity rather than anger. Abridail was slipping away like the rest of the dream world; it was all she could do to hear him. But she did want to hear him, if he could shine any light on why her father had been so close with a man who would go on to become a world-famous criminal.

“Last time we met, I told you that two of your uncles were among the people you saw most frequently.” His voice was almost gone, but Alice strained her focus, picking out each word as it fell from those fading lips. “But the other is one you haven’t seen since you were a toddler. And how would you? After all, for most of your life the world thought that Globe, the man once known as Phillip Adair, was dead.”

Alice opened her eyes, blinking against the brightness of the overhead fluorescent. Coming out of the trances had never been that jarring before, though Rich was probably more delicate about it since his abilities weren’t in a race with the clock. Carefully, she pulled herself up to a sitting position on her cot, noting that a small table with a massive carafe of water had been set up nearby. No one ever seemed to know why Rich’s trances left people with cottonmouth, but she was grateful for the gesture as she filled up a cup and doused her dry tongue.

Nick and Mary were stirring as well, the only other presences in the apartment as far as Alice could tell. The woman was gone; she’d probably ducked out as soon as her power faded. While a quick departure seemed a bit inhospitable, the Subtlety side of Alice appreciated it. The less time they were with her, the less chance of their operation being compromised. Someone stumbling upon a gathering of just Alice, Nick, and Mary wasn’t nearly as incriminating, even if it would raise a few questions.

“Nick, did you know about Globe?” Alice surprised even herself by how calm her tone was. Perhaps the sting of secret family members faded the more often they popped up. Or maybe it was just too much to process right off the bat, and it wouldn’t hit her until later. Idly, she wondered if this made her and Vince cousins.

“No, and I’m a little pissed about it,” Nick told her. “All that time hunting for clues, and not one of those sacks of shit let me in on the familial relationship. We’re going to be having a long talk next time we’re all at the clubhouse.”

“The more relevant issue here is how are you, Alice?” Mary asked. “What we saw in there… it wasn’t easy for me. I can’t even imagine how tough it was for you.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m going to be working through a lot of that shit for a while, especially the bathtub scene. When tonight is done I plan to head back to the dorm, take off my makeup, and have a good old-fashioned mini-breakdown.” Alice finished off her water and crumpled the paper cup, setting it down next to the cooler. “But that’s later. For now, we’ve got a party to get back to.”

“I think you’re permitted to skip out on the rest of the evening,” Mary told her.

“And risk someone asking questions or getting suspicious? Remember, my boyf—Nick is the host, and we’re sort of an item. It wouldn’t do for me to flake out halfway through the party.” Alice hopped up from the cot, adjusted her dress, and picked up the garish mask she’d be re-donning.

Mary was watching Alice move with concern and something else, something Alice wasn’t sure she’d ever seen in her short friend’s eyes before. “But after everything you just went through…”

“I’m a Subtlety major. Pushing through, hiding my feelings, that’s what I do.” Alice extended a hand to Nick, who accepted it and intertwined his arm with hers.

“You almost called me your boyfriend a minute ago, didn’t you?”

“Not that you’ll ever be able to prove.” Alice tossed a glance over her shoulder to Mary, who was still seated on the cot, looking uncertain about whether to keep protesting or not. “Grab your hat, Mary. Parties wait for no one.”

90.

“Hang on now, walk me through this again.” Roy’s eyes took note of Mary’s return, but only because he’d been watching for her. Hershel was originally supposed to hang around until she got back, but that plan had gone out the window when Violet came running up to Hershel jabbering about some freshman who wanted to talk to Roy. Excusing himself by claiming to have had too much to drink, Hershel went up to Nick’s apartment where he helped himself to some whiskey.

Five minutes later and Roy, the late arrival, burst onto the party scene. Much as he wanted to do a tour around and talk to some of the lovely women he’d taken note of in Hershel’s memories, duty came first. The hardest part was finding a quiet place to talk, but the space was large and they’d eventually located a corner.

Of course, there were still mundanes around, which meant they had to choose their words carefully.

“I need you to spar with me,” Ashley said. Roy had been a bit surprised to see the freshman searching for him was the same one whose match Hershel had overseen. He was even more shocked when he got a close enough look to realize she was the girl from Six-Shooter as well. It did explain why she hadn’t simply walked up to order a drink, though. As a freshman, she was underage.

“Everyone talks about how tough you are,” she continued, eyes scanning for anyone who might be getting too close. “They say you’re a real brick of a fighter. I’m having trouble with control. Well, I mean, figuring out how hard to… punch. I didn’t have many sparring partners growing up, and now I’m having trouble adjusting. Punch too hard and I might hurt someone, too soft and it doesn’t do any good.”

Roy closed his eyes, dearly wishing he’d left this crap for Hershel. He loathed talking in code and working out subtext. Thankfully, this was simple enough that even Roy could keep pace. Ashley’s power was creating explosions, and she’d never had an environment in which to train against living fighters before. She needed control, to know exactly how much power to put into a blast for it to be effective yet non-lethal, and that was the sort of thing one gained through experience. Coming to Roy made a certain amount of sense—of everyone in the senior class, he was probably the most durable, even more so than Chad. But what didn’t add up was why she’d felt the need to go all the way to the seniors in order to find someone who could help her.

“Have you tried talking with your teacher, or coach, about this?” Roy asked. “I feel like it would be their job to get you past that kind of hurdle.”

Ashley nodded, and Roy noticed she broke eye contact when she did. “He gave me exercises to do, techniques to figure out how hard my punches should be when sparring.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that it’s taking forever, and it’s all non-combat training,” Ashley spat. “Expl— punching fruit doesn’t help me keep my head during a real match. I need to fight someone better than me, someone I can’t hurt, until I’ve learned to control myself in a genuine fight.”

“Uh huh, and what did your teacher say when you brought this up?” Roy asked.

“He told me that you don’t cross a mountain by leaping; you do it one step at a time,” Ashley replied. “But he also said that if I really wanted a sparring partner, I should go find one. You know they never discourage extracurricular training.”

That wasn’t entirely true; the HCP never discouraged safe extracurricular training. Ashley wouldn’t know the difference yet, though. She was too young, too headstrong, too… well, too much like Roy as a freshman, if he were being honest with himself. The girl had power, he’d seen that through Hershel’s eyes, and she knew it. Right now, she probably thought the only thing holding her back was not being able to use her abilities properly. No doubt she believed she’d be at the top of the class with a little training and the right opportunity. That sort of brashness was dangerous, especially with an ability like hers.

“What’s so wrong with the step-at-a-time method? I’ll tell you this right now: your teacher is right about it being the best way. Slow and steady, constant effort, that’s the way you get better at anything. There are no montages, Ashley. Just people who train like hell, putting in all the steps they can every day. I think you’re looking for a shortcut, and the only thing those do is get people hurt.” Roy hoped Hershel would keep the gloating to a minimum when he found this memory. Four years ago, he’d have never even come up with these words, let alone said them. Then again, the Roy of four years ago also would have never made it to senior year.

“I’m not… okay, fine, maybe I am looking for a shortcut,” Ashley admitted. “But is it so wrong to want to train in actual combat? To make sure that even in the direst of moments I can still use the right amount of force? I want you to honestly tell me you think it’s a bad idea.”

That was a tough one. What she was describing wasn’t inherently wrong; in fact, mastering control of one’s abilities was a cornerstone of the HCP education. Which made it all the more curious that she was trying to jump ahead in the curriculum. Roy couldn’t say her idea was terrible outright, but helping her might result in people getting hurt.

How he would handle this depended on why she was so desperate, what was driving her forward. If she wanted control to be a proper Hero, that was one thing. If she was just chasing power though, then Roy had no desire to lend her any aid. He could already guess where that path would end.

“The idea itself isn’t bad,” Roy said at last. “But there are two issues: why are you so desperate to get stronger so fast? And why come to me? There are bound to be other people closer to your age.”

“Actually, they’re pretty much the same answer,” Ashley said. “I need to get stronger because I’m behind. Even if I go step by step, there are other people who’re doing the same thing, only they’ve got a head start on me. The one out in front is the one I’m aiming for. That’s why I came to you, too. I’d heard that not only were you tough, but you’ve also been the most dedicated at trying to be the best. You’re the only one always trying to knock the king off his throne, so I thought you might be willing to help me do the same.”

Inadvertently, Roy’s eyes wandered over to Chad, who was having a conversation with Shane and a mundane woman in a football player costume. It was true that Roy had personally challenged Chad more times than anyone else, at least outside of class battles. The other serious contenders were no doubt waiting until they had a strategy, or an occasion that would raise their rankings. Roy had stopped caring about that a long time ago. He just wanted to win, to know that all the years he’d spent chasing after the man, the friend, who’d whipped him senseless freshman year weren’t in vain. That was the lesson Roy had learned the best from their initial fight: losing wasn’t the end of the world. Especially not if you learned from it. Roy would lose to Chad a hundred times if that was what it took to beat him once.

“I do understand,” Roy said at last. “And I’ll think it over. No, first, I’ll talk to your teacher, then I’ll think it over. I ain’t doing jack shit without his approval; that comes before anything else. After that, I’ll give it consideration. That’s all you’re getting tonight, so don’t push your luck trying to argue. Got it?”

Ashley nodded, a grin stretching across her face despite the fact she’d gotten a “maybe” at best.

“Good. Then hightail it out of here,” Roy told her. “You’re underage, and there’s a lot of booze at this party. The last thing we need is to get in trouble for having hooch around minors.”

91.

“Today, I want to discuss the Damage Potential Scale by which Heroes evaluate threats,” Dean Blaine told them. It was the first Ethics of Heroism class since their trial, one that the students had certainly been dreading. Even though they’d done their best, many had frozen at the sight of human-like Sims, and nearly everyone had failed to rescue at least one civilian. They were expecting to be raked over the coals for these mistakes, but Dean Blaine had entered the room quietly and kicked off the lesson without so much as a single harsh word. It should have been a relief. Instead, it only made the bulk of them visibly more anxious.

“Despite the fact that the terms of the scale are commonly bandied about, they are almost never used appropriately,” Dean Blaine continued. “It’s not exactly a secret, though it also isn’t something we often discuss beyond Hero circles. The first and foremost thing you need to understand is this: the scale is not a measure of a Super’s power. It is simply a tool you will use in combat to best determine how to respond to situations. In fact, there has never been a successful power-ranking scale devised in the history of Supers. Would anyone care to venture why?”

Several hands shot up, and after carefully surveying his options, Dean Blaine pointed to the respondent he felt might offer historical perspective along with an accurate answer.

“There are several reasons,” Shane replied, lowering his arm. “As we’ve talked about before, new powers and categories are constantly being discovered, some of which would break any system we previously had in place. Additionally, it isn’t as easy as saying one power is better than another. Different powers have different relationships, and there’s no ranking system that’s ever been able to encapsulate that. The longest lasting attempt was the Werker scale in the early sixties, which only made it for five years before it was abandoned as useless.”

“Very well said, Mr. DeSoto.” Dean Blaine scanned the class. Everyone was hearing the words; however, it seemed a few were having difficulty processing exactly what they meant. “Can you provide an example of the types of relationships that would invalidate a power-ranking scale?”

“Sure. The most classic example is the strongman and the advanced mind, but I’ll add myself in for extra clarity. At this point, I’m not sure my shadows will be able to cut through Roy’s skin; for the sake of argument, let’s assume that’s the case. So: I fight Roy, and he wins, because I can’t hurt him. Then Roy fights Mary, and he loses because she can simply lift him in the air with telekinesis. That makes it seem like Mary has the strongest power. However, if I were to fight Mary, she’d be unable to stop my shadows and I’d likely win. Hypothetically, anyway. In that situation, how do you say which power is better? Each was weak and strong when applied to different kinds of Supers. It doesn’t work, and the more abilities you add to the situation, the more complicated it gets.”

“And in only a few minutes, Mr. DeSoto has articulated a truth that took decades for the DVA to finally reach. Today we’re going to learn the lone scale that has proven useful—and before anyone asks, yes, there is a reason I’ve waited until your fourth year to teach it to you. In fact, I specifically waited until this exact session, following your previous trial.” Dean Blaine turned from the class and began scrawling on the chalkboard. Moments later, he clapped his hands clean of any dust before gesturing to the first words he’d written.

“NTC Class, short for Non-Threatening Combatant. In the field, you’ll hear them referred to by the slang term of ‘knocks.’ This is the lowest tier of the Damage Potential Scale, representing someone who poses no greater threat for damage than a human. You will often find healers and teleporters on this list, though our own Ms. Belden is an exception. The rules for engaging these Supers are to treat them with the same care you would a human, only using lethal force if absolutely necessary and prioritizing saving civilians above all else.”

A hand went up, and Dean Blaine nodded.

“Why would we ever need lethal force? You just said they were as weak as humans,” Rich pointed out.

“Humans can still detonate bombs, point guns, and do any number of things that require lethal force in response,” Dean Blaine replied. “And thank you, Mr. Weaver, for driving home one of the largest issues new Heroes face. This is a scale assessing damage potential only. An NTC might just as easily have a power that makes them difficult to stop, even one that allows them to be more powerful than you in a fight.”

“Pretty sure I can take a healer.” Rich’s eyes darted to Camille, and he hastily added, “A normal healer, I mean.”

“Perhaps that’s true, Mr. Weaver, but not every NTC has that type of ability. Rather than waste class time with this debate, let me simply say this: my power classifies me as a Non-Threatening Combatant.”

There was no audible gasp through the room; some of the students had already put that much together. Several eyes did go wide as the implications settled in the slower minds, though, which was why Dean Blaine pointed to the chalkboard again, eager to get the lesson moving once more.

“After NTC is Standard Class. This is where the vast majority of Supers fall: capable of more damage than humans, but not so significantly powerful that they instantly require lethal responses. Demolition Class is the next step, representing a Super who could destroy an entire city block in an hour if left unchecked. Here is where the vast majority of strongmen and women rest, as they have power but not range. Dealing with a Demolition Class Super is where things begin to shift, as, depending on the circumstances, you may need to neutralize them as fast as possible, even if it means killing them outright.”

“That doesn’t seem right,” Vince said, turning red as soon as he realized he’d blurted the thought out rather than thinking it. Since the damage was already done, he lowered his head and added, “I think they should have a chance to surrender, at least.”

“And if you fight one in an empty field, that is your prerogative to offer,” Dean Blaine told him. “However, if a Demolition Class is starting a fight in a downtown neighborhood, where there are whole buildings full of people that will die in a prolonged battle, would you value the criminal’s life higher than theirs?”

Vince said nothing to that. He liked to think he’d find a way, that he could stop someone without killing them. And maybe he would, one day, but the last trial had shown him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t yet strong enough to manage such a feat. When the time to choose had come, he’d obliterated the criminal Sims rather than see any civilians injured. No, Vince had no right to criticize the scale.

“Next is Manhattan Class, so named for the project that brought us the atomic bomb. The more astute of you can guess that this signifies someone who, if left unchecked for an hour, would cause destruction on par with an atomic blast,” Dean Blaine continued. “This classification, and the one that follows it, are also the reasons I waited until now to teach this lesson. Only after seeing what the stakes were like, only after failing to save innocent people, could you perhaps understand why a Hero must respond to a Manhattan Class as they do.”

Dean Blaine paused, allowing himself a deep breath and bracing for whatever came next. “When you are sent to engage a Manhattan Class, civilian life is shifted to a low, almost non-priority. Your primary goal as a Hero is to stop the criminal as fast as possible. If people die in the process… then they die.”

The mumbling wasn’t as loud as he’d expected—certainly softer than it had been in previous years. No one yelled, either, which didn’t happen often, but was always nice to not deal with. Dean Blaine stared at them, waiting for the whispers to die down before pressing on.

“You cannot save everyone. None of us can. Once you accept that, it becomes clear that the best a Hero can do is take the course of action that saves the most people. Some may die in the stopping of a Manhattan Class Super, but far more would perish if the threat wasn’t neutralized. It isn’t a pretty truth; it isn’t one you can take comfort in. Honestly, this fact alone will keep most of you up on more nights than you’ll be able to count. But it is true. Think long and hard about the last trial. About the people you couldn’t save. Understand that, at best, some of those Sims were flirting with Demolition Class. I want you to dwell on this; I want you to turn it over in your head for as long as it takes. Because if you can’t make peace with knowing you’ll be asked to let some die to save the rest, then there is no place for you in the Hero world. I don’t say that to be cruel, simply to let you know what’s really out there.”

As the class sat in silence, staring ahead while they tried to reconcile what the reality of Hero work would demand with the fantasy they’d once held, Dean Blaine tapped the final words on the chalkboard.

“Armageddon Class is treated much the same as Manhattan, except that no priority is placed on civilians. Your orders will be to kill on sight, no matter what it takes. Even if it costs other Heroes their lives. Armageddon Class, as the name implies, is someone who could theoretically cause the end of humanity, if not the Earth itself. No one, not civilians, not Heroes, not you, is more important than stopping that. Be grateful that they come along rarely, because when they do, there are always too many funerals. Now, I’m sure you’ve got questions, so let’s—”

The words were barely out of Dean Blaine’s mouth before almost every hand in the room shot up. This would take a while, and he was fine with that. Better they ask, better they understand, than push themselves into a world they wouldn’t be able to bear.

92.

The spy moved to the veranda where golden sunshine streamed in, heralding his path to freedom. Not all would be lost if he made it, but her cover would undoubtedly be blown if Alice tore into the sky and used her power to bind him. She repositioned herself, still artfully engaged in conversation with a diplomat who was far more interested in her cleavage than her words. As the spy moved, she kept careful track of him. Her window for this would be incredibly tight.

The spy took a straightforward route, not wanting to dilly-dally with freedom so close at hand. It was an understandable choice, but a poor one. If he’d picked a circuitous path, Alice’s plan would have been scrapped for something new. Thankfully, he kept on course, which took him directly by an expensive vase positioned on a podium.

Handling her powers inside the Blonk had taken some getting used to, since she had to use small gestures rather than actually activating her abilities. With one quick motion, she created a sudden flux of gravity at the spy’s hip, sending him tumbling over and crashing right into the vase, which shattered on the marble floor so loudly that all eyes turned to him. In moments, security had surrounded her quarry. There was no doubt going to be a long talk about the priceless art he’d just destroyed, and well before they were done, someone would notice the ambassador’s safe had been opened. The spy’s plan had revolved around stealth and speed, getting in and out before anyone could notice his work, and Alice had shot that all to hell with one tug of gravity.

She smiled to herself as she detached from the conversation and headed back to the champagne table. Alice wasn’t entirely sure if she would get more or fewer points for not being the one to catch her prey; all the simulation had demanded was that she stop the spy without exposing herself. Well, the spy was stopped, and no one had any reason to believe the silly blonde American had been even slightly involved.

Halfway to the champagne table, the room flickered. Her time was nearly up, it seemed. Letting out a frustrated sigh, Alice began the powering down process, waiting until the helmet signaled her it was ready to be removed.

Tugging it free, she was surprised to find she wasn’t alone in the Blonk’s chamber. Professor Pendleton was sitting there as the simulation came to an end, reading one of his trashy romance novels.

“Checking up on me?” She began the process of disentangling herself from the sensors and wires that helped make the virtual training so realistic.

“Twenty-nine hours.” He didn’t look up from his book as he spoke; merely turned the page to what was surely another swarthy and frustrating scene. “That’s how much time you’ve logged so far this week. Twelve on Sunday, nine on Monday, and eight today. I’m betting if Will hadn’t signed up for the next session, you’d have kept going.”

“What? Suddenly there’s such a thing as too much training in the HCP?” Alice asked. “I’ll bet Chad spent more time than that working out.”

“But Chad’s always been working out like that. You just up and suddenly started logging out of our world and into another. And given when it started, you can see how I might be concerned that you were running away from something. Don’t worry; you’re not the first. In fact, the Blonk has a system to detect when activity suddenly spikes, and it lets the overseer know. That’s how many times it’s happened.”

Alice said nothing as she finished extracting herself from the Blonk’s suit. Slowly, she stepped out of the system, letting her bare feet rest against the cold concrete. He wasn’t wrong; she had been trying to get away from things. But she’d been perfectly aware of what she was doing. After everything Abridail had shown her, after seeing her mother like that, Alice had needed to feel in control. She’d needed to train, to taste success and growth, to remind herself that she was powerful.

Because Alice would have to be, if she intended to save Shelby.

“Can we talk safely?”

“Seeing as we have a changing booth in here, I had Dean Blaine classify it like a bathroom, meaning there are no cameras or listening devices. The DVA didn’t object; on a blueprint this place is little more than a storage area. It’s not perfect, though. We’d need Dean Blaine to guard against stronger abilities and even that’s not a perfect guarantee.” Professor Pendleton pulled a bookmark from his pocket and wedged it between the pages. “But on campus, it’s about as secure a place as we’re going to get.”

Even a sophomore in their first year of Subtlety could have read between those lines: speak if she had to, just choose her words carefully. Alice weighed her options for how to start before deciding it was best to see how much she could skip entirely.

“I assume you’ve been brought up to speed on our negotiation attempt?”

“As of Sunday. Your co-asset was debriefed and the information was passed along. Apparently, he wants a meeting with me this week; seems he enjoys keeping others in the dark but isn’t quite so keen on the practice when it’s done to him.” Professor Pendleton smiled, despite the heavy atmosphere of the room. She didn’t think he’d have kept the connection between Charles Adair and Globe secret just to mess with Nick— although she wasn’t entirely willing to rule it out either.

“I sort of get shielding him; you wanted his investigation to move without any bias, leading wherever it led. But why not tell me? After how furious I was about not knowing you and Professor Hill were my uncles, you still kept me in the dark. Do I have any others I need to know about? Dean Blaine? Chapman?” Alice demanded.

“Shelby Adair had one half-brother, me, and one fraternal twin, Blake,” Professor Pendleton told her. “And though he has spent more money than you’d believe covering it up, Charles Adair had one older brother, Phillip Adair. If there are any more secret family members, then they’re unknown to me as well.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a relief, at least,” Alice said. “But why not tell me? Shelby’s ordeal… while I won’t say I completely understand it, I can at least see the thought process there. No one wanted me to blame myself, and for the younger me that was probably the right call. The Globe thing, though, I just don’t get.”

“For one thing, I wasn’t kidding about how much effort Charles put into erasing any connection between Phil and himself. Ostensibly it’s for public image and business purposes; I’ll let you draw your own conclusions there. Telling his daughter was a very quick path to making an extremely powerful enemy, and with how tenuous the game we’re playing is, it wasn’t a smart risk.”

Professor Pendleton leaned back in his chair, staring at Alice. Only now, for the first time, she truly understood what he was looking at. He saw his little sister, the one he’d failed to save. Teaching her must be akin to being haunted by the ghost of one’s deepest failure. It was a marvel he could bear it… and perhaps explained a bit more why her father’s distance had only increased as she grew to be more and more like her mother.

“Beyond that, your father is a bastard, you’ve got one uncle who’s a convicted thief and another who’s no better than Charles’s lackey. Tossing a famously reviled criminal onto the pile just seemed cruel.”

“You all need to stop trying so hard to protect me,” Alice said. “I can handle the truth. And while I might have been spending a little more time than needed in virtual reality over the past few days, I’m in control. I just needed some space to work things out, to be someone other than the poor little girl with the tragic family. Give me a week, and I’ll be fine. That’s what you’ve taught us to do—work through and press on.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Professor Pendleton rose from the chair, tucking his paperback into a pocket on his jacket. “You’ve got ten minutes before Will is set to show up; I’ll leave so you can change in peace. Funny… I’d assumed this would be the harder talk, but now I think your co-asset will be much worse to deal with.”

“He does loathe feeling like someone tricked him.” Alice started to head to the changing booth, where she would slip from the black formfitting Blonk suit back into her own clothes. A thought struck her before she could make it though, so she turned and called to Professor Pendleton.

“What does this make Vince and me, anyway? Not sure what the term is when you’re cousins but one of your fathers abandons the family name.”

“At this point, I think you just say you’re family and leave it at that,” Professor Pendleton replied. “Have you told him yet?”

“No, but we will. Just waiting for the right moment,” Alice said.

Professor Pendleton laughed, a small, dark chuckle to himself. “Be careful with that. I started out saying the same thing, and two years later you learned the truth from a dream-walker. Those ‘right moments’ can take a lot longer to come around than you think.”

93.

“These four?” Crispin scanned the document carefully, taking in the hours of research that Sherman had spent compiling from their agents’ reports.

“They’re the likeliest candidates,” Sherman replied. “Aside from the fact that they visit him regularly, several of them have rather curious histories. Nothing overt that I could dig up—you know how well the HCP covers its students’ tracks—but certainly a few irregularities. The boy with silver hair, for instance, Vince Reynolds. Aside from the obvious marking of a Super, the files I found on him were much too clean. Homeschooled most of his life by a parent who passed away just before college began, strong scores on the SAT, but not so great as to draw attention, no worthwhile accomplishments or missteps to investigate… it’s all too tightly wrapped up. Like someone crafted the story without any loose ends to pull on, just in case someone went digging.”

“I suspect you’re right, but it could just as easily mean that he’s a Super with a checkered past.” Crispin’s eyes moved steadily, examining every word and detail with relentless scrutiny. “Picking out the Powereds will take more than hunches. Do any of them have people to lean on? Someone who might let a few crucial details slip under pressure?”

Sherman had anticipated this line of questioning and was prepared for it. “As you know, we can’t go after anyone tied to Nicholas. With the Heroes already out for blood, the last thing we need is the criminal world turned against us as well. Alice Adair, the tall blonde, is the daughter of Charles Adair. Reaching him would take far more resources than we have, perhaps more than we possessed even before the attack on Lander. Vince Reynolds, as stated, has no family—at least, according to the file. Mary Smith, in contrast, has an entire extended family still living, and Hershel Daniels has a mother and father, though they’re divorced.”

“Smith or Daniels then, if we want to dig deeper,” Crispin said. “A lone parent is easier to chat up than an entire group, so Daniels’ family seems the better target. Neither of them remarried?”

“Not according to public record,” Sherman said. “Sally Daniels still lives in Chicago, while Owen moved out to Brewster.”

Crispin’s eyebrow rose ever so slightly. “Lot of Heroes in that town. If we assume Hershel to be in the HCP, then we have to allow for some chance that he’s a legacy. Were you able to uncover why his father was in Brewster?”

“Bar consultant.” Sherman had needed to dig deep to find this information, as employment records weren’t easily accessed. He missed having a whole research team at his disposal, along with a few Supers that could get them into nearly any system. Still, the job went on, so he’d persevered. “He owned his own bar for a long while, then got headhunted to manage a few others when the local economy around his place began to tank.”

“Hmm.” Crispin finally looked away from the file, meeting Sherman’s eyes. “I know we’re low on manpower, so investigate the mother first. There are Heroes in both towns, but a sudden move to Brewster strikes me as a touch too coincidental. If she doesn’t show any openings, then we move on to the father. And when the time to approach comes, send our best. We can’t afford to squander a potential lead.”

“Yes, sir.” Sherman turned and strode out of the small concrete room, careful to keep the door open as briefly as possible. Deep down, he couldn’t help wondering if perhaps Crispin was putting too much into what was ultimately a long shot. They were assuming so much for any of this to be worthwhile: that Nick was a former Powered and socialized with others who shared the same distinction; that discovering who the former Powereds were would lead them closer to finding out how the conversion had happened; that they would then be able to steal the information for themselves. So much depended on shaky possibilities. The odds very clearly said that this was nothing more than tilting at windmills.

But once before, when Crispin had proposed the idea of weakening Heroes by attacking an HCP, others had called it mad. Sherman had given his leader faith then, and in repayment he’d borne witness to the first true blow against the so-called unassailable HCP.

If anyone could turn a long shot into a success, it was Crispin. And Sherman would do all he could to help see that victory realized.

*             *             *

According to the reports, it had been a perfectly normal Halloween party. The students drank too much, wore silly costumes, and a few ended up leaving together despite arriving alone. They’d even kept the noise contained enough to avoid having the cops called; though, given how crazy the college town got on Halloween, that wasn’t a terribly hard accomplishment to achieve. No matter what angle Ralph Chapman looked at the reports from, there was simply nothing suspicious about Nick’s party.

Which was, of course, exactly why he knew something important had happened there. Underestimating Nick was an easy mistake to make, and Ralph had certainly been guilty of it early on. But to keep underestimating him was pure folly, and that was a sin Ralph refused to commit. Nick didn’t do anything, from taking a piss to tying his shoes, without connecting the act to his various schemes by at least three separate threads. That was how it felt, anyway. Something this big, that went to such efforts to look normal, had to be concealing a serious secret.

Unfortunately, Ralph could only dedicate so many people to spying on a Halloween party without drawing suspicion from the higher ups. Much as he enjoyed the manpower and presence of other DVA agents on site, it had been a lot easier to get things done the year before. As it was, he’d had to concoct a thin theory that powers might be used around regular people, and that had only gotten him a pair of agents to watch the party through the windows.

It hadn’t been entirely fruitless, however. While no one had seen anything suspicious inside the event itself, the agents had noticed a car parked nearby occupied by someone who looked an awful lot like they were doing surveillance of their own. Ralph wouldn’t put it past Nick to hire a fake spy just to send the DVA on a wild-goose chase, but he also couldn’t afford to ignore the possibility that someone was trying to gather intel on HCP students. That was the sort of thing the DVA took damn seriously, which meant Ralph was going to be able to requisition plenty of resources to dig into it.

And if, in the process, he also just so happened to find out what Nick was up to this time, it would be a very happy coincidence. Ralph would have to be careful, strategic, and thorough to make it work, though. At no point, in any area of the operation, could he afford to count on luck.

So far as he knew, luck only bent to one master, and that was the man Ralph was playing against.

94.

Nick glared across the table at Professor Pendleton and Dean Blaine. They’d arrived at the underground bunker early, anticipating that some words might need to be exchanged with the former HCP student. He wore his annoyance outwardly, like a shiny hateful badge, from the moment they entered. Despite that, he said nothing as they took their seats, preferring to simply stare holes into them and tap his fingers impatiently on the table.

“I suppose you’re wondering why we didn’t tell you about the connection between Charles Adair and Globe,” Dean Blaine said at last. The others would arrive soon, and they’d be pumping Nick for details while combing through every bit of what he’d been shown. Most of it was already known to them; after all, Professor Pendleton had personally borne witness to the tragedy of Shelby Adair. Still, they needed every scrap of information they could get even as they worked to schedule another session with Galina. Abridail had dangled a tantalizing secret and had demonstrated enough knowledge to prove he might just be able to deliver.

“You know, rather than you pushing some shitty excuse on me, how about I start tossing out a theory and you tell me when I’m wrong,” Nick replied. “Charles started building his company with good intentions. He needed to make a lot of money to take care of his wife, and new Heroes don’t tend to move that much merchandise, so he wasn’t going to get by on a government salary. Then Shelby died, at least so far as the public knew, and he began spearheading a charity in her name, which demanded he keep the business thriving so the money would flow. Of course, now we know he also needed a lot of capital to squirrel her away somewhere while researching how to cure Powereds.”

“Technically speaking, until someone lays eyes on Shelby, we only have a very well-grounded suspicion.” Dean Blaine ignored the withering glance from Professor Pendleton. “Yes, there is lots of evidence that points to her being alive; that said, I feel at least one of us should point out the possibility that we’re working largely on word of mouth. Trustworthy word of mouth, but word of mouth all the same.”

“Fair enough,” Nick said. “But if our working assumptions are correct, Charles still had a great need, both public and private, to continue amassing wealth. Nowadays he’s established himself as an institution; however, when he was first starting out, I’m sure things were far shakier. Some big scandal—say, his brother killing a teammate and becoming reviled as a criminal—might have knocked his plans askew.”

Nick rose at this point, walking slowly from his side of the table toward the older men. “The odds of that were slim, true. Hero names and powers are considered government secrets, although sometimes, when they go rogue, details tend to slip. Since Globe was actually alive, a fact we’d be fools to assume Charles wasn’t aware of, he understood that the name Phillip Adair might leak out. And while Alchemist wouldn’t be harmed by it, Charles Adair, budding entrepreneur and philanthropist, might suffer serious backlash. So Charles spent a big chunk of newly-earned capital to purge any record of his brother from the face of the Earth. I’ve spent the last few days digging, and there are zero provable familial connections between the two men. At worst, if Globe’s identity came out it would be a case of two men who happened to share a last name and served on a team together. Heroes obviously wouldn’t betray the secret of one of their own, especially a charitable man like Charles who merely had the misfortune of having a brother go off the deep end.”

Nick stopped a mere two feet from where Professor Pendleton was seated, leaning slightly down so he could look his former teacher and the dean in the eyes. A long, silent moment passed between the three, broken when Nick slammed his hand onto the table hard enough to send an echo through the whole room.

“None of which explains why in the nine hells you kept me in the dark. After we’ve gone in this deep, do you genuinely not trust me? I realize I’m not exactly a moral pillar like Vince, but you can’t possibly believe I’d do anything with that information to hurt my friends. So, yes, Dean Blaine, I would very much like to know why I’ve been kept in the dark regarding this essential—this crucial fucking detail that might have led me to something useful over the last year of my life!”

“How about ‘because it wouldn’t have mattered’?” Professor Pendleton halfway rose from his own seat, only Dean Blaine’s hand on his shoulder keeping him in check. “The mystery of what happened between Globe and Intra is one that has haunted the Hero world for years, and most of us already knew he was Charles Adair’s brother. You’re a smart guy, Nick, but people with abilities and resources far greater than yours—fuck, far greater than the HCP’s—have dug into this mystery and pulled at every string. What do you really think you would have uncovered if you’d known about the connection?”

“I have no idea,” Nick admitted. “And now, we’ll never know, because you didn’t give me the chance. It’s been nearly a year since I got pulled out from the recesses of my own mind, and I’ve spent all that time working, thinking, and researching, all while missing a pretty crucial piece of the puzzle.”

“Enough.” Unlike Professor Pendleton, Dean Blaine did stand all the way up. Even doing so, he didn’t stand quite as high above Nick Campbell as he recalled. The damn kids; they just kept on growing, no matter how much he wanted them to stay small and safe. “I made the call to keep the secret. Charles Adair is a very powerful, connected man. The last thing we needed was to make an enemy of him, and sharing such a dark secret of his with a college student would do precisely that.”

“Only if he found out,” Nick countered.

“Yes, Nick, you probably could have kept it quiet. But what about Mary, who was bound to glimpse such a thing inside your mind? Or Alice, or Vince, if you gave in and told either of them? One stray thought, one slip-up around someone with more love for Charles and his money than us, and suddenly we have direct opposition to our investigation.”

Dean Blaine paused to gauge Nick’s reaction. The anger he’d shown when striking the table seemed to be gone; though, with someone like Nick, one could take nothing at face value. He did appear to be listening though, and whether that was an act or genuine attentiveness didn’t really matter. Nick wanted to seem receptive, which meant Dean Blaine should keep going.

“Be mad at me if you like, although I think when you truly examine the situation, you’ll find that in the same circumstances your choices might have been similar. I did what I thought was best, weighing the serious repercussions of your being found out against the slim chance that you might find something so many others had missed. It is what it is. You can either be bitter or move forward.”

There was a moment, short-lived but unforgettable, when Dean Blaine thought Nick was going to choose the former. His hands clenched, and though his head didn’t tilt toward the door, one could never be entirely certain what the eyes beneath the sunglasses were doing.

“I’ll be honest, I’d probably be a lot more pissed off if it wouldn’t make me a hypocrite,” Nick told them. “Before we go any further, I need to ask you something serious. Not as Vince’s friend, or a former Hero-in-training, or even as an unapologetic crook. As one person seeking the truth to another, do either of you really believe that Globe is a villain?”

“Logically, I know I have to treat him as one, and I can see the evidence spread before me plain as day,” Dean Blaine said. “But in my heart of hearts, no. I’ve never been able to accept that Globe would murder anyone, especially not his best friend.”

“Same here. Phil was… let’s just say the adopted apple didn’t fall too far from the tree,” Professor Pendleton added. “It would be about the same as Vince killing you.”

“Oh, let’s not take it that far. I’m nowhere near being a fellow Hero, and Vince is pretty stalwart about doing the right thing.” Nick lowered himself into a chair near them, not returning to his place across the table. “But I take your meaning. And honestly, I’m really glad to hear I’m not the only one with serious doubts about his guilt. There was something about the guy; he just didn’t come off that way.”

“You mean from old recordings?” Dean Blaine asked, already suspecting his assumption was wrong.

“No, when we met in person last May. That was my bit of hypocrisy, you see.” Nick looked at both of them, visibly bracing for their reactions. “I never told you that Globe was on campus, helping us during the attack on Lander.”

95.

As the fire faded away, Vince could see a slight bit of searing along the concrete wall. Given the absolute torrent of flames he’d released, he’d been hoping for something a bit more impressive. Then again, Vince didn’t actually know how much heat it took to melt concrete; he made a mental note to look it up. With a minor exertion of effort, he reabsorbed the excess heat in the room and prepared to strike again.

This time, he went with electricity. Rather than simply gathering what he could and throwing a bolt, Vince drew out the absorbed energy from within. All of it was being concentrated into his right hand, which was already starting to glow and crackle, small sparks racing between his adjacent fingers while the rest of him held perfectly still. Vince had worked tirelessly over the years to control how much energy he let out in his attacks and how much he pulled in when absorbing. Focusing his power, being able to fire a bullet instead of a cannonball, giving himself non-lethal options, all of it had finally allowed him to feel comfortable with an ability that had run wild for so much of his life.

Today was different, though. It had to be. The last trial had shown Vince a little more of what the world would be like when he stepped outside of Lander. Innocent people couldn’t always be removed from the battlefield. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Vince had understood that, but being confronted with it had still knocked him off balance: even more so when Dean Blaine had explained to them that there would be times they willingly had to let people die in order to save some greater number. Vince had hated that class, hated sitting there and listening silently as the system was explained. Not because he thought Dean Blaine was wrong. No, Vince had loathed it because his mind kept flashing back to the trial, and the more he did, the more he understood that the system was probably right.

Vince’s entire hand was glowing now, yet he still pressed on, condensing more and more of the absorbed electricity in to one spot. There was no part of him that relished the idea of taking life, not even that of a criminal. No… that wasn’t true. Vince almost lost focus at that thought, but pushed past and kept gathering the energy.

The truth was that there was a part of him that relished it. For as hard as he’d tried to deny it, the sessions with Dr. Moran had forced Vince to accept that the anger rearing its head when people he loved were in danger wasn’t coming from nowhere. That rage lived inside him. It was a fury born of loneliness and despair; of being tossed aside at birth, being shunned by those who took him in, losing the only parent he’d ever had, getting abandoned by the first girl he’d ever loved. Part of Vince was angry, furious at the world for taking away every chance at family he’d had for so long. He didn’t want it to be true, but his tendency toward violent reactions at the mere prospect of someone he cared for getting hurt proved that it was. Vince had lost too much too early, and now he couldn’t stomach the thought of parting with anyone else.

Small bolts were beginning to arc off his hand, zapping seemingly random spots in the air. Though he wanted to add in more energy, Vince sensed that he’d reached the bottom of that well; this was all the electricity he possessed. He’d need to start gathering more before training; this wasn’t nearly enough to truly push his boundaries. But it would have to do for a start.

Taking careful aim, Vince picked a spot on the wall and conjured a memory of the Sims from their last trial. He needed to be accustomed to attacking human faces. He needed to make peace with what he’d be tearing from the world. Vince had decided that there would be no more innocent casualties around him. No more friends, no more civilians, no more Heroes. Dean Blaine was probably right: it was impossible for a Hero to save everyone. Vince knew that was true, so he’d made his choice. He would continue trying to help criminals when he could, showing them mercy, giving them a chance to mend their ways. Lives on a wrong path weren’t inherently lost; Vince still believed that to be true.

However, when the crucial moments came, when the life of a criminal had to be weighed against that of an innocent, Vince wouldn’t allow himself to hesitate. He couldn’t afford to, and neither could the people who’d be counting on him. The faster he could end those conflicts, the better chance of no one being caught in the crossfire. That was why Vince was doing this training, remembering what it was to take away the control and the filters, to truly unleash hell.

There would certainly be times when he would only get a single chance to stop his enemies. He had to make sure that one shot would be enough.

The bolt that flew from Vince’s hand was brief, lighting the room for a fraction of a second. It was dense as a tree trunk, however, and struck the wall with a mighty crack that left Vince’s ears ringing. Gray dust and shards of wall flew outward, and Vince instinctively leapt back, covering his mouth. Slowly, the dust cleared to reveal a small crater in the wall with scorch marks emanating outward. Vince approached carefully, noting that the size of the dent was about twice as big as one of his fists.

“It’s a start,” Vince muttered. That level of attack might bring down a Super with enhanced endurance, but it was iffy. Roy seemed to be shrugging off more and more with every trial they went through, and there were bound to be criminal Supers out there stronger than him. Vince needed more power, more energy, and he needed to be able to unleash it all in a single blow. One strike. One attack. One chance. That could be the difference between a lone grave and a dozen.

When this was over, he’d work on absorption. Chad had been right; Vince was spreading himself too thin between offense and defense. Now that he’d reoriented his thoughts, Vince had started to realize how powerful an offensive weapon his absorption could be. Without even thinking about it, Vince had beaten the super-speed user who’d killed Sasha solely by absorbing. In the moment, it had been fury and instinct, but that wouldn’t, couldn’t keep getting him through. He needed to take in more, faster, from farther away. Steal everything they had, steal the very blood from their veins, and then turn it back on them. That was how he’d keep everyone else safe.

Letting out a long breath and refocusing, Vince clenched his left hand. This time, he’d try kinetic.

96.

“Globe showed up with a child in tow, augmented your abilities to previously unimagined levels, and then vanished unseen by any other people on campus. Does that accurately sum up the events?” Dean Blaine thought he was doing a tremendous job keeping a clear, calm tone in spite of just learning that the world’s most notorious criminal Super had been on Lander’s campus during the attack. It was hard to understand his feelings on the revelation; part of him was thankful that Globe had been willing to pitch in and help despite the risks. Yet knowing Globe’s true power, Dean Blaine also couldn’t fully suppress the twinges of resentment, imagining how many more lives might have been saved if Globe had been allowed to act freely.

“From my perspective, yes,” Nick confirmed. “There’s really no way to be certain he didn’t talk to anyone else before me, although I think I’d have known if he did after.”

“How?” Professor Pendleton asked. “This campus was scoured by Supers with sense-based abilities we can’t even imagine, and none of them found so much as a single clue Globe was here. How would you know if he’d talked with anyone else after you?”

Nick tried to find how to explain it, which was made more difficult by the fact that he wasn’t even sure he understood it himself. “I can’t… thinking back on that time is sort of a blur. Like a night where you get blackout drunk, and there’s only a few brief flashes here and there that you use to piece things together.”

“This new state was akin to intoxication?” Though it was somewhat off course, Dean Blaine couldn’t help from being curious. He’d always wondered what a power like Nick’s could do if properly trained and marshaled. Having it enhanced to such a degree as Nick described was a fascinating insight into the possibilities it might offer. Or, it might terrify Dean Blaine down to the bottom of his very soul.

“Other way around,” Nick said. “It’s like this me is the drunk one, and that version was in such a higher state of thinking that my lesser mind can only grasp bits of it. But as to how I know he didn’t talk to anyone else… his line, his path, it didn’t touch any others. At least, not directly. Please just take me at my word on that; I’m not going to be able to put it any better and trying to think back to that moment is giving me a headache.”

“Let’s assume you’re correct for now, then,” Dean Blaine said. “This raises many more questions. Who was the enhancer boy with him? Why did Globe come to lend aid, even from the shadows? And, of course, the old one that always seems to be nagging at the edges of these discussions: who in the hell is feeding him the information about what goes on here?”

“If we assume that the Intra incident painted Globe in a false light, then the ‘why’ questions are easy,” Nick said. “He’s a Hero who didn’t want to see HCP students hurt. And if he is a bad guy, he might have done it just to protect Vince. As for the kid, I’ve got no idea, and I’ve done some digging for answers already. But you’re right about that last one, Dean Blaine. I think we’ve had a spy in our midst for more than long enough.”

The mole had been a constant annoyance since Nick had first begun to suspect they were compromised. Every plan, every tactic, every possibility, all of it had to be predicated on the possibility that someone might be feeding that information to unfriendly outsiders. The problem had lessened as Nick became more and more certain that Globe wasn’t an enemy, yet even that didn’t dismiss it entirely. With Abridail found, there was finally time to give the issue his true and proper attention.

Nick drummed his fingers once on the table, and then gave a wide grin that would have sent shivers down the other men’s spines had they not already seen far worse.

“It’s about time we flushed that mole out. Looks like I’ve got more research to do.”

97.

“Keep it steady, Chuck,” Phil shouted as his little brother wobbled down the pavement atop the secondhand tricycle. At four years old, the smaller boy still lacked the necessary balance to handle a two-wheeled ride, but he was adapting well to the more stable method of transport. This likely came less from any inborn natural skill and more from the unwavering encouragement of his big brother. The duo were lean, both tall for their age and sharing a hair color that resembled slightly burnt chocolate.

“You’re doing great.” Phil was right there, jogging to keep alongside. “How do you feel?”

“Scared.” Chuck kept his eyes trained on the road, like he expected it to begin melting at any time.

“That’s okay. It’s a little scary at first. Once you get used to it, it’ll be fun.”

“If you say so,” Chuck called back, tempting fate slightly with the manifestation of a grin. He kept riding and Phil kept running for several hours more, late into the afternoon. Their mother was at work, and they found it best to stay out from underfoot when their father was around. When the sun began to dip toward the horizon, they finally returned to their small home down the street, brows coated with sweat and muscles aching in a curiously enjoyable way.

Phil opened the front door, and his entire body tensed. The lights were too low, the television too loud, and that godawful bitter, yeasty scent hung in the air. Chuck wasn’t yet old enough to understand these signs like Phil could, but he could read his brother. Chuck felt the body in front of him stiffen, and he cringed involuntarily. His body shifted until he was directly behind Phil, trying to hide from whatever was incoming.

Phil didn’t blame his brother, but hiding wasn’t an option now.

“Boy,” came the voice from the living room. The words were slurred ever so slightly, polished with the practice that only came from extensive time spent in an altered state of mind. “Come in here a minute.”

Phil swallowed hard. It was one of the bad days. He reached behind him and took hold of Chuck.

“Yes, sir,” Phil replied loudly, making sure to be heard. He immediately dropped his tone, hoping to hide his words in the amped up volume of the blaring television. “When I go, walk as fast and as quietly as you can to our room. Don’t make any noise, or come out for any reason until I come get you. Understand?”

Chuck nodded, visibly fighting off a small shiver that tried to race down his spine.

“Good man.” Phil gave him a quick hug, packed with all the reassurance he could muster in the brief moment.

“Boy, I told you to get in here,” came the voice again.

“Right away, sir.” Phil didn’t dare dawdle any longer. He headed toward the living room, and Chuck scampered away across the carpet, moving on his tiptoes, barely daring to step on any part of the floor that wasn’t well padded. Phil watched as Chuck reached the room they shared. He eased the door open carefully and slid it closed behind him. Just before it shut all the way, Chuck turned the knob, releasing it slowly so it wouldn’t make a loud clicking sound.

With his brother safely out of sight, Phil resumed the long journey toward the living room. He didn’t know what the cause for being called in was this time, what kindling had lit the fire of his father’s whiskey-soaked rage. It really didn’t matter what the subject was anyway; the results would be the same.

The results were always the same.

*             *             *

The sheets were damp with sweat as Globe’s eyes flashed open, his right hand—his only remaining real hand—grabbed frantically around the bed. Honestly, even he wasn’t sure what he was searching for. It had been a very long time since anyone shared a bed with the world-famous criminal—not since before the incident with Intra—which made it all the stranger that he was fumbling about in his half-conscious state, hand closing around nothing as he struggled to pull himself out of the nightmare.

Finally, he came fully to his senses. Sitting in the dark, he had to resist the urge to snicker at himself. All these years, so many nightmares, and he was still so awful at dealing with them. Then again, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t kept getting new ones. The day he’d killed Intra was a frequent player in his carousel of nightmares, beaten only by the time four Supers had managed to ambush him and Vince outside Kansas City. Vince had come so close to dying that day, even if he never knew it. Sometimes, Globe had nightmares about what had followed, when he’d faked his own death to put distance between himself and his adopted son. He’d been standing nearby, watching as Vince believed he was witnessing his father’s death, ready to step in if the boy did anything stupid. The horror on Vince’s face would never stop haunting him, not that he’d have allowed it to if given the choice. Globe had been trained as a Hero; he knew that life came with hard choices, and it was on those who made them to carry the burden.

Tonight hadn’t been any of the usual players, though. No, this was among his oldest nightmares: memories of the time before, when he’d been powerless. Helpless. Globe detested those memories. He sat upright, waiting for his pulse to slow. What he wouldn’t have given for Intra’s power, to change things about himself rather than the world around him. Instead, he had to calm down the old-fashioned way, with patience and steady breathing.

When he finally felt somewhat more composed, Globe laid his head back down on the damp pillow. As he closed his eyes, he hoped to dream of something better. Pleasant, if not beautiful.

Like most of his life’s hopes, this one didn’t come true.

*             *             *

Phil tried not to limp as he walked into the room. The buckle from the belt had taken him squarely on the shin at one point, and had he known more about anatomy he might have suspected the bone to be fractured. All he knew was that it hurt, and he was set on downplaying that fact in front of Chuck. He couldn’t hide the bruises and the gashes, but he could hide the pain. That much he could protect his little brother from.

Phil opened the closet door and found Chuck curled up in the usual spot, eyes bloodshot and watery.

“It’s okay now.” Phil forced himself to smile, even if they both knew Chuck could see through it. “You can come out.”

He emerged slowly, like a baby deer tempted with a carrot. Phil sat down and leaned his back against the bed, striking a sore spot and readjusting, trying to keep the wince of pain off his face the whole while. Chuck stayed low and curled up against his brother’s chest, choosing his spot carefully in hopes of not hitting any of Phil’s injuries.

“Tomorrow, let’s go to the canyon,” Phil said. “We’ll bring our backpacks and sleeping bags, and we can stay out under the stars.”

Chuck nodded his agreement. He was still too scared to use his voice for fear of calling down another torrent of wrath.

“You can say something. It’s fine now.”

“What if we didn’t come back? What if we went to the canyon and stayed gone?”

“We can’t do that. Mom would worry too much.” Phil didn’t say the real reason he couldn’t leave. Chuck wouldn’t understand how much worse for her it would be without someone else to draw his ire. “You don’t want Mom to be sad, do you?”

“She could come, too.”

He was too young to remember the time when she and the boys had tried just that. He had been too little: too little to even defend himself; too small to know how close he came to dying that night in the poorly lit highway motel.

Phil needed to change the subject, and he had just the card to play.

“Can you keep a secret, Chuck?”

“Yes.”

“You have to really mean it; this is a big one. If I tell you, then you have to promise not to tell anyone until I say it’s okay,” Phil said.

“I won’t. I promise.”

Phil pulled a quarter out of his pocket. He held it in the palm of his hand for a moment, furrowing his brow in concentration. After a couple of seconds, the quarter began to rise into the air, only an inch high, but hovering free of physical support.

Chuck barely kept his gasp quiet. “How are you doing that?”

“I think… I think I’m a Super, like we see on TV. I noticed it earlier this month. I can move things that are close to me. They have to be really close, though.” To illustrate the point, Phil raised the coin a little bit higher, at which point it instantly ceased its floatation and came crashing back to his palm. “But the area is getting bigger; I can go further than last week. Plus, I can do more than lift.” The coin began to ripple, melting into a solid ball right before their eyes.

“What does it mean?” Chuck asked, all thoughts of running taken away by the magic set before him.

Phil wrapped his other arm around his brother and hugged him tightly.

“It means we’re going to be okay,” Phil told him. “It means everything will be okay.”

98.

“You’re sure this is okay? As I recall, we didn’t even start really sparring with our powers until halfway through the year. You don’t mind a freshman getting ahead of the curve?” Roy asked.

“That rule was only for gym classes,” Professor Fletcher said. “In between, they’re having all sorts of power-based fights to move their rankings, fights where Ashley hasn’t been doing too well. So if she wants to train with a safe partner, and you’re willing to take the time to help, then it’s fine by me. Just make sure you have a healer on hand the first time you two go at it, in case she dishes more than you can take.”

Some small piece of Roy wanted to protest the idea that he could be injured by a freshman, but wisdom won out over pride. Any Super could be a threat; assuming they weren’t because of a gap in age or training was an excellent way to get the shit kicked out of him. Roy Daniels might not be the fastest learner out there, but even he caught on eventually.

“I’m surprised you’re willing to entertain the notion,” Professor Fletcher continued. “Thought you’d have your hands full trying to figure out your own stuff.”

“If dwelling on it helped, I’d have had a dozen breakthroughs by now.” Roy and Hershel had both been thinking nonstop about the curious weakening of the barrier between their minds. Yet, for all their nervous fear, nothing seemed to be happening. There were still occasional twinges of the other leaking through, but neither experienced anything as severe as what had happened during October’s trial. Perhaps it responded to stress, or need, or some other variable they’d yet to account for. Regardless, doing nothing wasn’t helping, which meant it was time to try doing something.

“You never know, maybe sparring with her will knock a few screws loose up here,” Roy said, tapping gently on his head just below the brim of his hat. “And how many chances am I going to get to fight someone who uses punching explosions? That’s the sort of thing you can’t pass up.”

“Just make sure you’re careful,” Professor Fletcher cautioned. “She’s not only a freshman; she’s had almost no experience fighting other Supers before this. Came from a town without competition, and since she’s not a sociopath, she didn’t use her abilities on normal people. A Super that raw needs to be handled just right until they learn control, otherwise they’re as likely to get themselves hurt as their opponent.”

“Little odd, isn’t it?” Roy asked. “Most Supers who know they want to go the HCP route seek out preemptive training, trying to get some kind of head start.”

“Her journey is her own, just as yours belonged to you,” Professor Fletcher replied. “If you want to know why she’s so inexperienced, I suggest you talk to her.”

“May just do that.” Roy rose from the chair that seemed just a bit too small for his sizable frame and started toward the door of Professor Fletcher’s cramped office. “One question, though, before I head out. Ashley having the sense to approach a senior, someone who knew their way around a fight well enough to teach her without getting either of them injured, did she really come up with that by herself? Because, on her own, I think it’s more likely she’d have done what I did and kept trying to swing for the top of the class. This seems more like the sort of thing a wily professor might put in her head, assuming they were experienced enough at manipulating people.”

Professor Fletcher’s face was stoic as always; the old man had racked up more years of practice hiding his feelings than Roy had spent on Earth. After a long moment, his head gave the slightest dip, so subtle one could have easily mistaken it for a twitch rather than the nod it was.

“That’s not the sort of thing her coach really has the place to tell her to do. At the same time, I’d hate to see someone with such promise wash out of the program before really getting a shot to improve. So I might have planted a few ideas, made sure certain already existing rumors made their way to her. The better question here, however, has nothing to do with Ashley Beck. I’m much more curious about how you figured that out. Forgive me, Roy, you’re a fine Super with a good heart, but thinking things through like that has never been your strong point.”

“Hershel figured it out, after we talked to Ashley at the party,” Roy admitted. “He thought it all came together a little too easily, and so he had a hunch that you might have been behind things, even if you didn’t want it to seem that way.”

“Yet from just his hunch, you felt confident enough after our conversation to press me about it,” Professor Fletcher pointed out.

Roy hadn’t considered that. The idea to ask had just appeared in his head, like all thoughts, seemingly out of nowhere. Only now, he found himself wondering, where had the urge come from? Where did any thought come from? He pushed the question away, more than aware that he was not built to grapple with such existential issues. Or was he? Roy wasn’t even sure about his own mind anymore, and that meant he could take nothing for granted.

“Was there a point to that, other than tripping me out?” Roy asked.

“Just making sure you’re taking careful note of everything,” Professor Fletcher replied. “This sort of exploration of an ability… oftentimes, it’s the smallest details that lead to a breakthrough. Something to keep in mind when you next meet with Professor Stone.”

It was all Roy could do not to let out a heavy sigh. Hershel was making headway on the meditation practice, but Roy had so far only succeeded in learning to nap while sitting. Not an entirely useless skill, just not what he was supposed to be accomplishing.

“At this point, I’ll take anything that helps,” Roy said. “Anything else I need to know? Any other weird worries you want to put in my head?”

Professor Fletcher paused briefly, as though actually considering the question. “No, I think that meets the requirements for today’s meeting. Do let me know when you and Ashley have your first sparring session, though. I’d rather she not be aware, but I plan to watch over the fight. As her teacher, it’s important I know as much as I can about my students and their limits.”

“And if I don’t push her to her limits?”

This time, there was no pause at all before Professor Fletcher replied. “Then I’d be forced to see if a Super with mimic abilities had taken your place. The Roy Daniels I’ve helped train can’t help but bring his best to every battle. He doesn’t know any other way to fight. It’s one of the things I respect most about him, in fact.”

Roy couldn’t think of anything to say to the professor in reply to such high praise, so instead, he simply gave a small nod and showed himself out of the room. If he hadn’t already planned on giving Ashley a good round of training, he was damn sure going to do it now.

99.

“Wow.” Vince sat in the black computer chair, eyes wide as he tried to come to terms with what Alice had just laid on him. “Are you sure about this?”

“Sure as we can be, given the situation,” Alice replied. After time to think it over, she’d decided that Professor Pendleton was right. There was never going to be a perfect moment, and the longer she delayed, the harder it would be. How would Vince feel if she waited years to drop this bomb on him instead of days? Curiously enough, the situation had given her a small appreciation for why her uncles might have kept their identities secret from her. The deeper buried a secret was, the harder it became to unearth. That was why she’d decided to call Vince into her room and bring him up to speed, while she still had the option. “But Professor Pendleton more or less confirmed what Abridail showed us, so I think it’s safe to say we’re pretty certain.”

“Our fathers were—are—brothers.” Vince leaned his head back and rested it on the back of the chair. “You know, as much as I probably should say this is a real shock, it actually puts a whole lot more stuff in perspective. His name, for example. I didn’t know who Globe or Charles Adair were as a kid, and we certainly weren’t exposed to the names in our travels. There was no real reason for him to hide his name from me, or not make up a fake one. Now I think he was doing it because he wanted to separate himself from his brother, whatever the reason might be. Explains why he didn’t give me the Adair name, too. Any clue on where Reynolds comes from?”

“Nothing from the dream-visions,” Alice replied. “Maybe he picked it because it’s a common one, something that would be harder to trace.”

“Anything is possible, but I doubt it,” Vince told her. “I always got the feeling this name was something special to him.”

Alice gave a small nod of understanding, but otherwise said nothing. Strange as all of this was for her, she had to imagine the weirdness was compounded for Vince. He’d gone his whole life not knowing where he really came from, and the only man he’d considered family as a child was just as big of a mystery today. Every piece he found that helped the puzzle take shape probably opened up more questions than it answered.

“What does this make us, anyway? Relation-wise, I mean.”

“Funny, I asked the same thing,” Alice said. “I’m not sure what the term for our connection would be, considering that our parents seemed to have dissolved any association between themselves, but if you ignore that part, then we’re cousins.”

“You forgot to factor in that I’m adopted,” Vince pointed out.

“I didn’t forget a thing; I just can’t imagine how that matters to anyone in the equation. You’re Globe’s son, and that comes with a lot more trouble than usefulness, but it’s the truth so far as everyone is concerned. Also, I guess this means Professor Hill and Professor Pendleton are kind of your uncles, too.”

“And Shelby is my aunt.” Vince’s gaze lowered to his hands, like he was ticking off the new relations as quickly as his mind could form them. “I went from orphan to having a whole lot of family really quickly.”

“Sorry the Adairs aren’t a more loving or connected bunch. I’m afraid, if we ever manage to have a family reunion, there’s no way it won’t end in bloodshed.” Alice couldn’t quite bring herself to say the rest, even though she’d given Vince all the details. It was a little much for her to actually speak out loud that she was the reason everything was so messed up. If not for her, Shelby’s power would never have gone out of control, Charles wouldn’t have turned into such a bastard trying to fix her, and maybe he could have kept Globe from killing Intra. True, Vince wouldn’t have been part of the family without Globe finding him, but that just meant he might have had a chance to find people who could have given him a real life, not more chaos and uncertainty.

“I won’t disagree that the last generation really messed things up, but that doesn’t mean the whole family is a lost cause.” Vince rose from his chair and crossed over to Alice in a few steps, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “All this means is that we have to do things better. Stay connected, and make sure whatever families we build from here on have love and support as part of their foundation.”

“Well, it won’t be hard to do better,” Alice said, returning Vince’s hug. Shows of affection were still strange to her: growing up with Charles had never been an existence full of kind words and reassuring embraces. Even Nick buried his adoration carefully, so one had to be really looking to find it. Vince was the only one she knew who would just blurt stuff like that out and pair it with a hug. It took some getting used to.

But the more she thought about it, Alice realized she wanted to get used to it. Her family didn’t have to be like the one she was born with. She could make it whatever she wanted. And perhaps mixing in a little of Vince’s open affection wouldn’t be such a bad addition.

It seemed like the sort of family her mother would have wanted her to have.

*             *             *

Mary sat quietly, listening to the thoughts of Alice and Vince as they came to terms with their newly discovered relation. In her lap was a worn, but well-cared for, stuffed bear. Once upon a time, it had been her only friend, the one creature whose thoughts she didn’t have to hear. Then there had come the procedure, and the control of her power, and Melbrook, and everyone who lived there. She’d moved well beyond needing her stuffed friend but had always kept him around, just because it was nice to have a source of comfort during the hard times.

Carefully, Mary wiped a small tear out of her eye. She was glad that Alice had come clean—the more support she had, the better. That was going to be important, soon. The first semester of their senior year was nearly over, which meant Mary’s meeting with Dean Blaine came soon after. She was prepared for it, had been for some time now, but that didn’t mean the prospect was an easy one.

Running her hand over the soft fur of her bear, Mary tried not to let her mind drift to the worst-case scenarios. She trusted her friends, and she loved them, and she believed in her heart that they wouldn’t desert her. But that didn’t take away the shadow of fear continually darting across her mind: reminding her of what things were like before, whispering that she’d end up alone, threatening that soon the bear would be all she had again. Mary knew these were only lies, her own terror trying to deter her from taking the right path.

But she still hugged the bear a bit closer all the same.

100.

Roy jumped back, narrowly avoiding the spray of heat and concrete that rained down from the spot where Ashley’s fist had landed. She was doing markedly better than in the first fight Hershel had overseen—Professor Fletcher had obviously been drilling her control well—but that didn’t mean her explosions weren’t still fluctuating wildly at the high end. After taking a few of the weaker strikes as a test, Roy was pretty sure he could handle her stronger attacks, but it wasn’t something he quite felt the need to test until there was good reason.

“Okay, judging from the hole in the ground, that would have blown off someone’s leg,” Roy said, carefully examining the fresh crater, one more pock in the spotted cell they’d been working in. “Was that the level of power you were aiming for?”

“Blowing the leg off might be a bit much. I was trying to throw a punch that would just shatter some bones,” Ashley replied.

To her credit, Ashley had proven to be immediately honest about the moments when she fell short. Roy had come in braced for having to sit her down and have a long talk about how covering up her failures just stunted her progress, but it hadn’t been necessary. From the jump, she’d owned up to her intentions, regardless of how well the strikes lived up to them. The woman had come to train, there was no question about that.

Roy looked at the hole again. A normal person’s bones would have been broken; she wasn’t wrong about that. “You came in hot for that goal, but let’s try to use it. Give me ten more attacks just like that one. Same explosive power, as near as you can make it. I’ll judge your success by the craters you leave behind. Once you’re used to that level, we’ll work on dialing it back, using the leg-blowing measure as our standard.”

She raised her already-glowing fist and readied another explosion, but moments later, the light began to fade as Ashley looked back to Roy. “I can do that, and I will, I just wanted to know when we’re going to get to the sparring. Punching holes in concrete is something I can do on my own.”

“Maybe so, but until I get a sense of what your power is compared to your goals, I won’t be able to offer much help.” Roy walked over to the still-smoking crater and jammed his foot inside. “This is something visible, measurable. Like the weight on a bench press. When you can make a hole this size at will, you officially have a leg-blowing-off attack. That’s something we can establish and demonstrate on concrete anytime we need to. So when you know, a hundred percent, that you’re throwing an attack of this level, then you can hit me with it. A lot, probably, as many times as needed until I know what it feels like to take that one. We’re going to develop standards, so that anytime you hit me with a strike, I know roughly what sort of impact that would have on a normal person.”

“I thought I was the one who needed to know that,” Ashley said.

“You need to be able to hit the mark you’re aiming for, even in the stress of battle,” Roy told her. “Even when you’re scared, or tired, or hurting. Your power is too strong for mistakes. To get real life experience at that, you need someone to call you out when you fuck up. That’s why we establish the standards first. Every time you throw an explosion that’s too weak, or too strong, I’ll damn sure make certain you know it. Learn through failing, through trial and error. It might not be the best method, but it’s the only one I know how to teach.”

Ashley moved closer to him, getting a good view of the concrete crater she’d created. She hunched down, examining it, her forehead furrowed as she concentrated. Finally, she stood back up and walked a few feet to a stretch of unspoiled concrete. Roy had a hunch there wouldn’t be many of those left by the time this session was over.

“You know, I didn’t expect everyone to be so big on control until I got here,” Ashley said, lifting her fist once more. “I grew up seeing Hero fights, and I always assumed it was all about raw power. The stronger Super was the victor. It never occurred to me how important control really was, until the first fight where I needed it and didn’t have enough.”

“A lot of freshmen come in that way.” Roy bit back a derisive chuckle, but it still managed to escape as a half-snort. “Hell, I may have been the worst of the bunch. I thought that just because I could hit like a train, that was all I’d need to come out on top. Then Chad whipped the shit out of me in two seconds flat when I came after him, and I started to understand that raw power might not be enough. Of course, don’t let yourself forget that power does have its place. You ever hit someone you couldn’t move? That your absolute best, most powerful shot did nothing to?”

Ashley shook her head. “I always assumed my best would kill whoever I used it on, so I’ve never thrown it. That pretty much rules out seeing it fail.”

“You will. Sooner or later, you will. I fought a professor freshman year that I could barely dent, and last May, I caught an ass-kicking from an enhanced strongman who tossed me around like I was nothing. Control is important, but so is power. Because when the moment comes that you need to let loose, to hit like a pissed off locomotive, the last thing you want is to come up short.”

The crackling glow around Ashley’s fist started again, growing brighter for several seconds until it became steady. She let out a long breath; however, she didn’t move to attack. “When you say last May…”

“The attack on Lander. We were out there, helping protect civilians. See, there was a group that came on campus to—”

“I know what happened here.” The glow flickered, getting sharply brighter before dimming back to its previous strength. Though her voice was steady, that moment told Roy plenty about Ashley Beck, and perhaps even explained why she was only now learning to train her power. Not everyone started out wanting to be a Hero, but loss and anger could both be powerful motivators. “What I wanted to ask was about the strongman who fought you. Since you’re alive, I’m guessing you beat him. How’d you pull off a win if he was that much more powerful?”

“I didn’t. My… a Hero who was in town came along and took him out with a few punches,” Roy said.

“I thought that this guy was one of the enhanced Supers. A regular Hero beat him that easily?”

Roy realized there was no skirting this, and he only had himself to blame. “Well, the Hero was Titan. Like I said before, power matters.”

Ashley’s eyes widened a bit, but her glowing fist stayed steady. “You got to see Titan in action? All I’ve seen are videos, mostly the new stuff from Brewster. What was he like in person?”

“Strong.” That much, Roy could say without hesitation or malice. For all that he felt about his father, no one—him least of all—could deny that Titan was strong in a way that defined and defied the word all at once. “Now quit stalling and throw that punch, before you forget what the last one felt like.”

She hadn’t been stalling; Roy knew that already. Ashley was trying to hold the feeling, to get a sense of how much power should be in her fist so she could move it up or down for the next attempt. Still, this was a topic he didn’t want to get into, and she wouldn’t have the luxury of spare time to adjust her power in a fight. Better to learn by doing, quickly and frequently, until it became second nature.

Because the truth was, when Ashley learned to control that power of hers, Roy had a feeling she was going to be a serious contender for the top of her class.

101.

Eliza stepped through the front door to find Nick’s living room empty, unless one counted the three white banker boxes full of files near the couch. She had no idea what was inside them, as neither she nor Jerome had been tasked with bringing them in. That was generally a dead giveaway that the contents were highly sensitive and related to the HCP. Though that wasn’t always true; once or twice, Nick had put out similarly tempting piles of documents that had turned out to be nothing but printed copies of Sherlock Holmes books. Nick liked to stay unpredictable, even to those around him. Maybe especially to those around him, the more Eliza thought about it.

“Back here,” Nick called from his bedroom.

Ignoring the boxes (for now), Eliza followed his voice to where Nick was sitting at his desk, three more boxes stacked nearby and a computer monitor casting a soft glow onto his face.

“Anything to report?” He glanced away from the monitor, futilely attempting to rub some of the bloodshot from his eyes.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. We’ve seen a few people keeping tabs on us—all by-the-book, so presumably they’re DVA agents,” Eliza told him. “Careful little bastards, always staying on public property and keeping their observation just on the right side of stalking. If we documented enough of them, we might be able to make a fuss.”

“Don’t bother; we’re not the ones they’re interested in. And, much as I would love to start a court case just to inconvenience Ralph Chapman, I believe we’ve reached an uneasy truce for the moment. Neither of us is making overt moves against the other, or against my friends, and I won’t be the one to break that,” Nick said.

“And if he decided to?” At no point had Eliza ever doubted that Nick had a plan. That was not the way of their Family, not the reputation Ms. Pips had earned and gone on to ingrain in her nephew. No, there were always contingencies, and they were as brutal as they had to be. Eliza knew Nick had something up his sleeve; the only question was whether or not he’d share it with her. Part of her was hoping he would, solely because it meant it wasn’t that bad of a plan. The closer he kept things to the vest, the more collateral damage there would be when the smoke cleared.

“If Chapman decides to go to war with me, then I will meet his desire with perfectly justified attempts to defend myself and my people.” Nick let it end there. Eliza made a mental note to be sure they were paid up with every politician and beat cop who could fudge evidence, just in case.

“Got it. Jerome and I will do another sweep. Might not hurt if you left the house, you know. At this rate, they’re going to think you skipped town,” Eliza said.

Nick patted the boxes at his side. “Let them think what they want. I’ve got work to do. You know how it is: five minutes of wonder and apparent magic are built on the back of countless hours of research. And this will be a doozy; I may even have to stay here over Winter Break to keep working.”

Eliza was just about to leave, so close to freedom, when his words stopped her dead. She hung there for a moment, split by indecision, duty, and obligation, before turning away. If she faced him, Nick would see everything.

“Go home for Winter Break, Nick. No matter how full your plate is. Bring your work if you need to, but you should go home.”

“It’s tempting. I do miss the food, but Gerry’s always got his hands full with travelers and something tells me Alice would be more than a bit miffed if I picked up my old habits with the waitresses and show girls. Not much there for me.” He was testing her, trying to tease out the information. Nick knew she didn’t speak without reason; he wanted her to tell him why he should go home.

“Maybe all that’s true, but you should still go. You’ll regret it if you stay here. If you trust me at all, if our years working together mean anything, take me at my word on that, because it’s all I can give you.”

She made it out the front door without him stopping her, which was victory in and of itself. Too much, she’d said too much, and there might be hell to pay for it down the line. Still, she wouldn’t take back the words, even if she could. Nick deserved to be there.

No matter how hard it would be.

*             *             *

“The trouble with using high quality personnel is that they are frequently in demand.” Dean Blaine ran a pen down the calendar in his personal planner—he’d never trust anything this important to digital records—and circled a day in early January. “Galina is booked until after the year changes, just a few days before the new semester starts. That may be to our advantage, however, as it means the DVA staff will be thin with no students to watch over. Perhaps we could organize an informal gathering of Nick, Mary, and Alice in one of their homes. There’s enough friendship and romance within the trio to justify such an outing.”

“I’ll talk to Nick,” Professor Pendleton offered. “Something tells me he’s got secure facilities in Vegas. Honestly, I wouldn’t be shocked if they had a bunker that put Lander’s underground to shame.”

“Mary’s forest might also be a good spot,” Professor Stone said. “With no one else around for miles, anyone stepping into her range would stand out like a beacon.”

Professor Fletcher tilted his head slightly to the side, a gesture the others had learned meant he was carefully considering the situation. “Despite the fact that Alice has more layers of protection than anyone, it’s probably tempting fate if we try to work right under Charles Adair’s nose.”

“Enticing as it is, I think we’ll have to pass on that,” Dean Blaine agreed. “I’ll confirm with Galina and begin laying out the framework for a plan.”

“While you’re reaching out to her, mind making a few other calls and seeing if we got the borrowed resources?” Professor Pendleton didn’t even bother disguising his excitement; his lanky body leaned so far forward it cast a shadow on the cheap table in their underground bunker. “It’s been two years; I’m tired of having to sit on the sidelines whenever this comes up. Carl probably is, too.”

“I could take it or leave it,” Professor Fletcher replied.

“First off, we are several weeks out from the final trial of the semester,” Dean Blaine reminded him. “We still have November’s to get through.”

“Yeah, but that’s more of the same: human-looking Sims and civilians to save. The December one is where it’s at.” Professor Pendleton glanced over to Professor Stone, trying to coax support. “Don’t sit there and try to tell me you all don’t look forward to it.”

The older woman offered a slow, polite smile and took a sip from her mug filled with tea. “It is always interesting. I’ll admit only that much.”

“There you go, proof positive that we’re missing out,” Professor Pendleton declared. “So, any word?”

Dean Blaine took his time answering, clearing his throat loudly and shutting his planner before finally turning to Professor Pendleton. “By all accounts, the resources will be available; meaning you and Professor Fletcher will be able to participate.”

The whoop of joy from Professor Pendleton was out of place in the secret bunker, echoing down the dim halls and filling them with a brief flash of excitement.

102.

There was little difference between November’s trial and October’s, save that this time the students had a better idea of what they were facing when they walked in. The strikes were cleaner, the civilian lives lost were fewer, and no one voluntarily withdrew from the program. Overall, a solid showing, even if the staff knew that this demonstration meant little. The students were getting used to this format; throwing small variations wasn’t enough to catch them off guard anymore. That was a good sign, it was an important aspect of their training, but it was also dangerous. A complacent Hero was a short-lived Hero. That was why December’s test would break the mold, throw them a curve that no one could anticipate.

The Heroes who’d been watching November’s trial milled about, even as the meet and greet ended, discussing the show that had been put on. More were here than usual—at least, for this particular trial—as word had evidently been spreading that Lander’s senior crop was proving to be a strong one. Several times, the words “Class of Nightmares” were softly whispered, never quite loud enough to be overheard. It was, in truth, a somewhat silly name, but those who wore costumes and code names either had been born with a theatrical streak or had it worn into them by their career choice, so such things were permissible.

Titan stood off to the side, largely unbothered by the other Heroes. While he’d done his best to keep his distance for as long as possible, the time had finally come for him to join the socializing. If he was really serious about taking on an apprentice, then he needed to put himself out there. Reputation or not, no freshly graduated Super would sign on with a Hero they hadn’t met in person, not outside of extenuating circumstances anyway.

From a nearby crowd, Gale emerged, a polite laugh fading from her lips as she made her way over to the massive Hero. “Not trying to chat anyone up?”

“I just came to meet the kids,” Titan told her. “Soon as my beer is done, I’m heading back to Brewster. Team goes on standby tonight, so I need to be there.”

“Good thing those don’t affect you. Some of us had to request a whole night off if we wanted to drink.” Gale punctuated her point with a gentle sip from the red liquid in her highball glass. “Mind if I ask a question?”

“I’ve known you long enough to be sure you’ll ask no matter what, so go right ahead,” Titan told her.

“That strongman kid, Roy? Seemed like he’d be a good fit for you. And I assume every strongman more or less worships Titan. Yet he didn’t come near you during the meet-and-greet. Not one word, barely was willing to look at you. That’s not so shocking—a lot of these kids get star struck and don’t know how to approach us—but you didn’t go near him either. The two of you were like magnets with the same polarity: one steps closer and the other moves away.”

“The name ‘Titan’ isn’t exactly a universally loved one,” he replied. “Some people still haven’t forgiven me for what happened all those years ago.”

“That’s the way you want to play it, fine by me.” Gale set her drink down on the table and moved a touch closer, allowing for easier—and quieter—conversation. “So, want to fess up about who you’ve got your eye on? Chad Taylor seems like he could learn a lot from Titan, but you’re going to have to work hard to snap that one up. He’s made it public that he’s a legacy by applying for his father’s code name, and Intra still has some friends out there looking to take care of his boy.”

Titan had indeed noticed Chad Taylor; it was damned near impossible not to. Strong, smart, tactically-minded but still prioritizing the safety of others, the kid had potential coming out of his pores. “While I have no doubt the second Intra is going to be a fine Hero, I don’t think I’d be a good fit as his teacher. His power requires too much thought and creativity; I couldn’t lead him down any paths he wouldn’t find on his own. Better he goes with someone craftier, and I stick with an intern who leans mostly on punching the shit out of whatever is in their way. I was actually thinking the Sullivan girl might be a good match.”

“The one with purple hair and density powers? Yeah, I can see that. You did train under Dean Jackson, so you’ve got some familiarity there. She’s got guts, too. I considered her for a bit myself,” Gale admitted.

“Really? Seemed to me like you were courting Alice Adair pretty openly,” Titan replied.

“Never hurts to have eggs in multiple baskets. But yes, she’s far and away my top choice. Between the flight-based tactics and using gravity to shove objects around, I think a lot of my experience would translate well when teaching her. Plus, if I’m being wholly honest, that woman is going to be a powerhouse when she gets older, and I wouldn’t mind adding her to the Elemental Fury roster.”

“Always thinking about recruiting,” Titan chuckled.

Gale nodded, no trace of shame on her masked face. “Damn right. That’s how teams last from generation to generation. Have to keep an eye on the future.”

“Guess I can’t fault you for that.” Titan tipped back his beer, finishing the dregs. “You given any thought to Vince Reynolds or Thomas Castillo? I know they won’t be a good fit for you, but Elemental Fury could use a few more up-close brawlers. Granite does good work; he just needs some relief at times. Both those boys seem to be able to take or stop a lot of punishment.”

“Reynolds is out. Same problem as with you and Chad: no one on the team has the right experience to help him grow. Castillo is a maybe. If he uses that orange energy to function like a strongman, then Granite might be able to help him, but it’s kind of a stretch.” Gale paused, gently tapping the side of her drink. “Actually… the reason I asked you about Roy is because I was thinking he might make a good intern for Granite. Tough, strong, and heavy-hitting, they both play in the same wheelhouse. But when I saw the weird distance… well, I didn’t want to step on any toes. I owe you that much.”

“I appreciate it,” Titan said. “But bring Granite next time, if you think they might be a good fit. It’s not my place to stand in the way of Roy’s future. He deserves all the offers he’s earned. At the end of the day, only he can decide what the right course for his future is.”

They sat in silence for a moment, before Gale leaned in and whispered, “You’re really not going to tell me what’s up with you two?”

“Good night, Gale. I’ll see you back in Brewster.”

103.

Romance was out. They’d seen Sally Daniels on several dates with the tall man that no one could seem to find an identity for, which was worrisome enough on its own, but it meant that Randolph couldn’t use his normal methods of information gathering. Shame, too. Divorced women with empty nests were something he considered to be a specialty. But coming in from that route was too risky; it depended entirely on her being of low moral fiber and cut off a half dozen other potential avenues of approach.

Friendship, then, was his best way in; however, it needed to be carefully crafted. Sally was an observant woman, one who took few chances with her safety. That meant she would be on guard for any sort of approach that rang out as suspicious. Randolph, considering the situation, had decided not to be the one to approach her. When people did things themselves, they imagined it had been their own idea all along. The only question then became how to put himself in a position where she would approach, and that was a surprisingly easy one to solve.

Sally Daniels, caring soul that she was, volunteered on Saturdays at Shelby’s House, the charity for Powereds. While this did indeed seem like a strike in the favor of her boys being in the experimental group, it was also possible she was simply bored and trying to connect with her community. Sherman didn’t pay for half-answers; he wanted confirmation or nothing at all.

That was why, early Saturday morning, Randolph was lined up with the other new volunteers—half earnest do-gooders and half people working through some sort of probation or punishment— as their tasks were explained. He smiled as the organizer talked, a perfectly-honed grin meant to be sincere and approachable. It certainly helped that he was attractive, though not so handsome as to be intimidating, and fit without being an obvious gym rat. Randolph considered it his duty to fill any role that was needed, and by shifting a few ounces of attitude in any direction, he could accomplish that task. Seducer, confidant, best friend, harmless peon, or today’s special: hapless volunteer.

Before noon, Randolph had made it a point to trip over three different objects, dropping boxes twice. Never anything breakable, of course; he wanted to seem clumsy and inept, not like a genuine annoyance. Every time, he was quick to apologize, always with that same grin in place, staying just on the right side of loveable. On the third time Randolph went tumbling, he saw Sally take notice. Now it was just a matter of time. She was motherly, through and through. Soon, she’d make time to show him the ropes, won over by his sincerity even as he lacked effectiveness. Maybe it wouldn’t be this Saturday, but if he kept at it, the meeting was inevitable.

By the time his shift ended, Randolph had successfully befriended most of his fellow new workers and a few of the more experienced ones. Tempting as it was to stick around and keep trying to catch his target’s eye, playing it aloof was the smart choice. Haste only led to wasted opportunities. Better to be safe, smart, and certain as things moved forward.

He left the building feeling quite pleased with himself and his first day’s work. Randolph made it precisely six steps before the thick black bag slammed down atop his head, plunging him into darkness.

*             *             *

“I want to thank you all for coming. I know our numbers aren’t quite what they were at the year’s beginning, but I’m certain that once this semester’s finals are over we’ll see a resurgence, so we need to be ready with events and protests to welcome everyone back with.”

Kennedy Dawson was either optimistic or lying. Will didn’t detect any signs of insincerity in her words, but that might simply mean the person she was lying to was herself. Take Back Lander was fading, and while the approaching finals certainly weren’t helping, it was the peace on campus that was really chopping away at their ranks. After May, Will had no doubt people were scared, and angry, and looking for people to blame. Their complaints even had some grains of truth in them; he was objective enough to admit that. But with every passing week of normalcy, that horrible night grew further and further away from their thoughts. Meanwhile, Heroes were all over the news, even more so than usual, busting criminals and hunting down the Sons of Progress. This sort of movement thrived on events; it needed reasons to keep going as kindling for the fire of their passion, otherwise it would simply burn away to nothing.

That was why Will had chanced coming to a meeting in person, something he and Camille had both eased back on in recent months. As the numbers dipped, being a regular was somewhat too conspicuous. While he always kept a digital eye on the events, Will felt like being seen too often was an unnecessary risk. Still, he did need to keep coming for at least a bit longer. As things seemed so close to ending, he knew the diehard believers might get desperate. When victory was close at hand was when one needed to be most prepared for defeat.

Although he didn’t regret the caution, it seemed to be for naught. Kennedy was up there, assuring everyone that the movement would regain its lost steam soon, but she seemed to be the only one buying what she was selling. Around the room, eyes were darting down to phones or glazing over entirely. They’d lost momentum, and that was hard to regain without a call to action. Judging from the rest of the room, Will guessed that there were perhaps a few more meetings left for Take Back Lander before it just became Kennedy and a few friends sitting around a dorm room. If it survived Winter Break, he’d be shocked.

The meeting came to an end, and Will slowly gathered himself to make for the door. He never dallied, and at the same time, never rushed. The image he wanted to present was a man who felt comfortable in this environment, yet still had other things to do. By the time he made it to the door, Kennedy had circled around, shaking hands and saying goodbye to everyone who’d shown up. It was a nice, personal touch, probably meant to keep the faces of her remaining supporters fresh in her mind while building a personal connection to them. Harder to bail on something when one felt emotionally invested in the ringleader, after all.

His turn at the door came, and Kennedy gave his hand a brief, firm shake paired with her artificially white smile. As soon as their hands touched, Will felt it, though he gave no indication. He simply returned her warm farewell, finished the handshake, and left the building.

It wasn’t until he was off campus that Will pulled out the small piece of paper she’d slipped in his hands. There wasn’t much written, only an address, time, and a date, which was two nights away. Will committed it to memory instantly, and then briefly wondered if he should reach out to Camille. Obviously, she couldn’t come; this event couldn’t have been more clearly identified as invite only. But it felt wrong to cut her out of the investigation after all the work she’d put in with him. Besides, it was probably prudent to have someone know where he was, and with whom, just in case. It might be overly cautious to arrange backup, but he’d just been thinking that he might have assumed too much about Take Back Lander when Kennedy slipped him the note.

For a Subtlety Hero, overly cautious was the bare minimum.

104.

The sound of something snapping brought Randolph around, a primal part of his mind certain he’d heard his own bones breaking before the pain reached him. After a long moment, he realized that nothing on his body hurt that badly, although there was no shortage of bruises and sore spots. The sound hadn’t been bodily harm then. Not to him, at least. His eyes darted around the inside of the black sack, searching for any sign of light even as he strained to keep his breathing steady. So long as his kidnapper thought he was still out, there was a chance he might overhear something useful.

“You can skip the theatrics. We know you’re awake.” The voice was cold, distant, and oddly professional. Randolph disliked it immediately. If the voice had been angry, that would have spoken to someone protecting a person they cared about. Those were folks who could be misguided; point them at a new target for their fury and they’d call Randolph an ally. The professionals, on the other hand, only ever wanted information. And they were rarely shy about how they got it.

Suddenly, the bag was ripped off Randolph’s head, revealing four people in almost perfectly matching suits. The shortest of them was looking at him from a folding chair, icy blue eyes staring like they could see the foundations of Randolph’s soul. To his left was a tall man with dark skin and a perfectly shaved head, and on the right was a brunette woman wearing an off-putting grin. The sound of shoes on concrete (where in the hell was he?) echoed as the fourth person, holding the dark bag, stepped into view. Randolph felt his stomach sink as he recognized the tall man; this was the gentleman Sally had been seen on dates with. That he was willing to show his face meant Randolph wasn’t going to be walking away from this one. Jail had just become his best case scenario.

“You’re not as good as you think you are,” said the tall man, walking over to join his friends. “Sally noticed you three days ago, when you were at the same supermarket. She called a telepath from two doors over to do some snooping, and they had you made as a spy before dinner. You really should have picked an easier target.”

“Guess we should have gone after the ex-husband.” Randolph was trying a risky play, making them aware of another potential target. If they didn’t know everyone his people were looking at, they couldn’t protect them all. That might lead to bargaining chips later in the discussion. Unfortunately, his words were not met with the expected reactions of worry or outright fear.

Instead, all four people just stared at him, eyes wide, until the bald man started laughing, burying the mirth in his hands as he tried to pretend it was a coughing fit.

“Mr. Stop, if you would please keep a professional demeanor,” scolded the short one.

“Sorry, Mr. Numbers. It’s just… come on, tell me that wouldn’t have been hilarious,” Mr. Stop said, barely getting the words out between faux coughs.

“I don’t know, something tells me the cleanup on that would have been a biiiiiiitch,” the woman replied. She met Randolph’s eye for a moment, offering him a quick wink. Despite the fact that it was normally a friendly gesture, Randolph felt something in his stomach turn.

“You were pretty much fucked the minute you decided to mess with this family,” the tall man said. “But let’s not dwell on the awful, idiotic decisions that brought you here. Let’s focus on the new, smarter choices you’re about to start making. The sort that will allow us to hand you over to the proper authorities.”

“For what? Shopping at the same store as someone? Volunteering for charity? I hope you have something more substantial than that.” Being aggressive was a dangerous strategy at this point, but Randolph was short on options. Assuming these were good people, he could, ideally, convince them that the crimes were a misunderstanding. Telepaths weren’t infallible; if he conceived a good excuse for whatever was supposedly picked up then he might be able to plant the seed of doubt.

“Oh my, Randolph, we have so very much more than that. I’m sure you thought that changing your name and face as often as you did would keep you concealed, but we have very motivated researchers, and ample resources to supply them with.” Mr. Numbers’ voice didn’t so much as lilt upward in triumph; it was just more of the same dead tone and icy stare. “We’ve got you on counts of fraud, embezzlement, and assault across half the United States. You’ve swindled a lot of people with that charm of yours. Pity, I think you’ll find we’re largely immune to it.”

That threw a wrench into things. If they really had proof—and those charges had been pretty accurate for guesses—then Randolph was going to spend a lot of years in prison by the time all his crimes came to light. If he were dealing with the Crispin of last year, it might be more prudent to stay silent, but the Sons of Progress had lost a lot of their sway after the attack on Lander. Randolph was just a contractor, and while he prided himself on his confidentiality with clients, it wasn’t a reputation he was willing to throw his freedom away for.

“What’s the offer? I tell you who hired me and you let me skip out of here?”

“Certainly not. If you’re very lucky and forthcoming, we’ll send you and all evidence of your crimes to a local police station where you can answer to the justice system,” Mr. Numbers said. “However, if you don’t want to talk to us, then we’ll simply let you face a more direct form of justice.”

“Talk or die? Pretty extreme for Heroes or the DVA,” Randolph said. He had to call the bluff, had to assume it was one, because if not he was fucked all the way around.

“But we’re neither Heroes nor the DVA.” The tall one took a long step forward, leaning down until he was only inches from Randolph’s face. “We’re the wetwork people. The cleanup. The people that get called when a task needs doing that the good ones can’t dirty their hands with. No one wears our faces on t-shirts or puts our names on lunch boxes. We don’t get to be beloved and famous. All we do is get results. And you do not want to underestimate what we’ll do to achieve that goal. Usually, it involves a lot of knowledge about human anatomy and what it can endure that we’d rather not have, but this time it’s quite an easy fix. Mr. Numbers—alphabetically, who’s the first person we’d be stopping by to see?”

“Well, Mr. Transport, that would be Alvin Acebedo. Randolph stole ten thousand dollars from his mother shortly after his father passed. Admittedly, as an active biker and small-time drug runner he’s not an ideal son; however, he did love her enough to buy out her condo so she’d have a place to live. One has to imagine he would be more than happy to have a crack at the man who broke her heart and emptied her checking account.”

“And that’s one of how many?”

“Two hundred and forty-two,” Mr. Numbers replied. “Some of the victims had more family than others.”

“Two hundred and forty-two people, all with great, justifiable reason to do you harm,” Mr. Transport repeated, making sure that Randolph was looking him in the eye. “And we’ve got access to enough healers to ensure you get face time with each and every one of them. We won’t let them kill you, don’t worry about that. But if you do manage to make it through the gauntlet without talking, then I’ll have to allow Mr. Numbers to take a turn at you. As I recall, the record is three hours; that’s the longest anyone has lasted under his questioning.”

“Three hours and twelve minutes,” Mr. Numbers corrected. “Though that was when I was much younger and more squeamish.”

“There you go. So, you pick, Randolph.” Mr. Transport reached down and grabbed his jaw, twisting it up roughly so that Randolph couldn’t look away. “Tell us everything about who the fuck sent you after Sally Daniels, or remember this moment fondly as the last time your body was whole and functional.”

Randolph had made a career out of reading people, in seeing what was buried below the surface. He could often use it, or at least twist it, to serve his own means. The trouble with that sort of skill was that he couldn’t turn it off. And as he stared into Mr. Transport’s eyes, Randolph knew with absolute certainty that if anything, he was underselling just how much hell Randolph was in for.

“The man who approached me is named Sherman. He’s the right hand of Crispin, head of the Sons of Progress,” Randolph said, enunciating as best he could through the iron grip on his face.

Mr. Transport turned his head slightly. “Mr. Numbers?”

“All true, so far.”

“Good.” The grip on Randolph’s face released, and Mr. Transport took a small step back. “Keep talking. Tell us everything.”

105.

The hardest part had been choosing what to bring. In the Blonk’s simulations his options were always defined, limited by what he could select from the inventory or buy with his meager budget. With over a day to prepare in the real world, Will was nearly bowled over by the possibilities. However, his pragmatic side was with him every step of the way, reminding him that each piece of custom tech he brought along raised his chances of discovery. It was blessing enough that he had no physical abilities or characteristics to mark him as a Super—to make a blunder like revealing himself through his own tech would be such a disgrace that Will would have to withdraw from the HCP out of principle.

Ultimately, he decided on a watch that transmitted audio and rudimentary video to a secure server and could be used to call for help in a pinch, and a Taser. Since the watch was already a digital model, he felt confident no one would realize the alterations he’d made even if it was cracked open, and the Taser could easily be explained away as self-protection, hardly a strange accessory for someone who’d lived through the attack on Lander. Of course, his had a few more functions than the off-the-shelf models, but again, no one would know that at a glance.

Will was grateful he’d gotten this opportunity before graduation. It made him realize that, when designing tech, he’d need to focus as much on camouflage as functionality. The spy movies always made it look so easy. He was still mulling the idea over as he pulled his car into the driveway of a house several miles from campus. This was a ways off from the party-filled streets of the cheap rentals surrounding Lander; here resided people with real families and well-kept homes. The one in front of Will’s car as he killed the engine was especially nice, not that he was terribly surprised. Digging up information about Kennedy Dawson had been one of the first things Will did when this investigation began; he’d known from the beginning that she came from money.

There were several other cars already present, some nicer than his, some more beat-up. Will took note of each and every one, memorizing their license plates for further research. This was a meeting for which he wanted to make sure he had a complete record of attendance.

As he walked up the driveway, Will texted Camille nonsense about meeting up for a movie later. It was a code to let her know he’d arrived at the meeting, one that wouldn’t arouse any suspicion if someone went through his phone. It also had the added benefit of making sure anyone snooping became aware that other people knew where he was and would be expecting his departure. The whole thing was a touch paranoid, Will could admit that readily, but he considered paranoia to be an asset as much as a danger.

The door flew open to reveal Kennedy Dawson by the third knock. She looked much the same as she did during the meetings: perfectly styled hair and expertly applied makeup. The only visible changes were that she’d exchanged her heels for sneakers, and the dress she’d donned was slightly more casual than usual. It was an appearance designed to make her still seem powerful, yet slightly humanize her at the same time. The woman knew what she was doing.

She flashed that wide smile and gave Will a side-armed hug. Familiar enough to show friendship, but detached enough not to kindle ideas of romance—a perfectly executed gesture.

“Will, I’m so glad you could make it,” Kennedy told him. “The others are already in the living room. Can I get you anything?”

“Thank you, but I’m fine.” Will watched carefully as she shut the door behind him, eyes alert for any movement that might activate extra security. So far as he could tell, she did nothing more than turn the deadbolt. Hopefully, that was all there was. He felt confident he could get through any defenses her home might have, but probably not without blowing his cover. “If you don’t mind my asking, Kennedy, why exactly did you slip me that note? Wouldn’t an email or announcement at the end of the meeting have been easier?”

“Easier, yes, but less personal,” Kennedy replied. “And, to be frank with you, not many of the meeting attendees still seem to have the fire for change burning in them. I wanted this to be a strategy session with only the most passionate of our group.”

“I’m flattered to make the cut, but I’m a little confused. We both know I’ve had to miss a fair share of meetings lately.” It was the elephant in the room, and there was little to be gained by avoiding it. Hearing Kennedy’s explanation, on the other hand, might offer some insight into her thought process, with the bonus of painting Will as a man keenly aware of his own failings.

Kennedy nodded and led him down the hall. “You have, and I noticed, but almost no one has been to all of them in the past few months. I get it. There’s other stuff in everyone’s lives; they can’t devote all of themselves to just this movement, especially when we keep hitting brick walls at every turn. I really thought people would be more receptive after what happened in May, but the Heroes have PR on their side that we can’t match, and every day that event becomes more like a nightmare and less like a memory.”

An accurate summary not unlike the one Will himself had reached days earlier. Truthfully, he’d have preferred if her assessment were a touch more off the mark. Dealing with someone so aware came with greater danger than doing so with the blindly determined.

“But to answer your question, I asked you to join us tonight for one simple reason, Will: when you do show up, you’re always present. Other people’s eyes glaze over, or they start sneaking their phones out to play games during the boring parts of meetings, but you, you’re always right there in the moment, listening to every word. I can tell from your face. That’s why I wanted you to join us tonight.”

Kennedy paused outside a large door, her hand resting on the silver knob that would open the way ahead. “I don’t want to lie to you, I think you deserve to know what you’re about to step into. No one is going to propose anything illegal in this room, and I certainly wouldn’t let the idea progress if they did. However, what we’re going to discuss does cross certain ethical lines, and I’ll understand if you don’t want to be a part of it. Heck, you wouldn’t even be the first one to leave tonight. I gave everyone else the same spiel before we walked in.”

“I don’t suppose you could give me some idea of what’s being talked about?” Will asked. “Ethics vary from person to person, and while I won’t say I don’t have them, my line might not be at the same place where others drew theirs.”

“Of course; that’s what I was leading up to, anyway.” Kennedy’s hand never slipped from the doorknob even as she turned her head to get a better view of Will. “Normally, the HCP people exist behind a total veil of anonymity. Their pasts are covered up and they all take great pains not to draw attention. They could be anyone, anywhere, in any place on campus. But that night in May, they poked their heads out from the shadows. We don’t have much to go on—they were smart enough to wear masks—thankfully, there are a few details. Heights, voices, genders, some idea of their powers. A patchwork quilt of seemingly inconsequential details, one that we might just be able to stitch together and find out some of their identities.”

“And if you do find out who they are, what then? Try and get them kicked out?” Will’s mind was already darting back to that night in May. How much had everyone spoken, had any of the ones he was around let important details slip? Surely, some of them had; it had been a hellish evening of chaos and destruction. No one could stay perfectly on their game. It was a question of how much had slipped, and how grateful those who might have caught such indiscretions were to their saviors.

“No,” Kennedy said. “Turn in one, and that’s all we’d get. I want to put their identity out there publicly. So that everyone on campus knows who they are, what they are, and has the chance to decide for themselves if they want to get tangled up with the sort of people who cause gun-toting criminals to invade our school. Plus, there’s a good chance that if we can find one, they’ll have friends who are also in the HCP. I’ve come to realize that getting them kicked off campus might be a pipe dream; however, I can still achieve some level of transparency. We’ve seen what happens around these people. We deserve to know if we’re letting them into our lives.”

Will forced down the desire to reach for his Taser and instead put on his best uncertain-but-accommodating smile. “Well, how can I say no to that? By all means, let’s get the meeting started.”

106.

“I’ve got it: InVINCEable!”

Alice reached over and thumped Nick on the temple with a flick of her finger, then nodded to the game board. “Roll the damn dice and quit with the horrible puns.”

“Not to mention that name would more or less piss off every Hero in existence, since no one being invincible is one of the most important lessons we’re supposed to learn,” Hershel added.

“And there’s the fact that it puts his real name in the middle, which pretty well defeats the purpose of a code name in the first place.” Mary didn’t really have to pile on; Nick had been soundly scorned for his suggestion already. She elected to join the mocking mostly for camaraderie, and perhaps to see if she could get a rise out of him.

Nick affected what they all assumed was a steely glare from behind the lenses of his sunglasses, then tossed the dice and moved his token forward a few steps. “I notice the only one with a right to an opinion on the matter has yet to chime in.”

Vince squirmed in his chair and his forehead furrowed slightly as the attention was tossed back on him. “I’m trying to think of a way to put this nicely… look, we all know I’m starting to get desperate as far as code names go. And if I were in the same situation months from now, when I was getting called in for the absolute deadline to submit my Hero name, I still wouldn’t use that. I’d go with Energy Taker Lad first, and that’s hands-down one of the dumbest things I’ve ever answered to.”

“That was you being nice?” Nick asked.

Vince reached down and grabbed the dice for his turn. “I said I was trying to think of a nice way to put it, not that I succeeded.”

Though the outside was crisp and cold thanks to the mid-December weather, the interior of Nick’s apartment was toasty as they gathered together for their Wednesday game night. While there were many looming topics that could have come up, most were too worrisome to delve into on an evening like this, especially when they all knew there were no answers that could be reached. Instead, the conversation had veered into increasingly familiar territory: what code names they would pick. So far, precisely no one (aside from Chad) in Melbrook had chosen a name to submit, and with every passing week it became a bit less trivial of an annoyance.

“You should hear the dumb ones he pitches to me sometimes,” Alice said. “Gravity Gal, High-Flier, Queen G—”

“I still stand by that last one,” Nick interrupted. “You come from economic royalty; you manipulate gravity, which starts with a ‘G;’ you can be a bit haughty at times—”

It was Alice’s turn to interrupt, which she did by punching her perfectly manicured fingers into Nick’s side, hitting him right in the ribs. “You were saying?”

“Some people just cannot take feedback.” Nick grinned at her, refusing to be deterred.

“At least you’ve all got something unique about your powers to start from,” Hershel said. “Do you know how many strongman-style Heroes have existed through the years? I’ve been digging through archives, trying to get an idea of what’s still on the table. By the looks of things, Roy is going to end up as something ridiculous, like Lord Punchington or The Lifter.”

“Can you claim to be a lord without owning land?” Mary asked. “I thought they cracked down on titles a while back.”

Hershel glanced from her to the game board then slowly lowered his head into his hands. “Damn it… that one was my front-runner. I was secretly floating it out there to see what you all thought.”

The dice clattered onto the board as Vince finished his roll and moved the metal token three spaces ahead, drawing a red card as consequence. “If it takes the sting out, we would have told you it was pretty silly.”

“Strangely, no, it does not,” Hershel replied.

“Personally, I’m trying to find one that doesn’t directly mention what my powers are,” Alice told them. “For a Subtlety Hero, that seems like a risky move. But when you take away that foundation, it’s hard to figure out a starting point. Without the power in the equation, I’m kind of just picking something out of thin air.”

“Thin Air isn’t a bad one. You do cut a nice figure, and you can fly, so it works without being overt.” Nick braced for the next of her jabs, keeping his eyes peeled for where the attack would aim.

Instead, Alice flashed him a quick smile before adopting a sterner expression. “That’s a really dumb name, but you did manage to work a compliment in there, so I guess we can let it slide this once.”

Vince scooped up the dice and handed them over to Mary, who was next up to roll. “What about you, Mary? Any idea of what you’ll go by yet?”

She accepted the plastic cubes from Vince, telekinetically holding them several inches above her actual palm. The dice spun slowly around, like there was a hidden planet between them that they were gently orbiting.

“I can’t say I’ve found a good fit just yet, but if I had to pick one right now, I think I would use the code name Thoughtless.”

“Kind of a weird choice for a telepath,” Alice pointed out.

Mary nodded. “Oh yes, out of context it makes no sense at all. But the purpose of the names is as much about choosing a mantle for ourselves as it is picking a name to wear in front of the masses. And personally, I’d want to represent the aspect of my power that meant the most to me. Telepathy and telekinesis are both highly useful; however, for most of my life, the abilities I have were curses more than gifts, as you all understand. There’s nothing about this power I prize more highly than the ability to turn it off, to exist in a world without other people’s minds seeping into my own. So, for me, Thoughtless would be a reminder of where I came from, and what I went through, to make it this far.”

“You sure you haven’t found your fit? That sounded like a good name to me,” Hershel said.

“Well, as Alice indicated, it is a little strange without the context, and explaining it would get tedious after a while. We’ve still got plenty of time, so there’s no need to rush to a decision.”

The dice in Mary’s hand dropped to her open palm, and she casually tossed them onto the game board. “Double fives,” she announced. “I hope everyone drew equipment cards, because it’s time to fight the ogre.”

107.

“They don’t know much,” Mr. Numbers said.

“Enough to be dangerous, which is far more than I would prefer.” Dean Blaine sat a few chairs down, between Mr. Transport and Professor Fletcher. The latter was brought in more for his experience in his prior career than for his instructional input, as what lay before them was a matter that demanded serious consideration. If nothing else, the room’s fifth attendee spoke to the gravity of the situation.

“I find it intriguing that despite knowing the Sons of Progress are interested in these Powereds, your company is still holding firm on its refusal to divulge any information about the process.” Ralph Chapman certainly didn’t look amused. He was too focused on spreading out the files and pages set before him, reveling in the fact that they were finally using a proper meeting room instead of the renovated broom closets he’d had to deal with.

“More of a ‘can’t’ than a ‘won’t’ situation,” Professor Fletcher told him. “Our company was contracted by the scientists for the acquiring of equipment, selecting candidates, locating and mind-wiping medical staff; essentially, our people handled all the practical needs. However, none of the working grunts were ever brought in on how the procedure worked. The man at the top might have been, but he’d likely have signed more nondisclosures than even the DVA uses, given the potential income that procedure has the ability to generate. Most Powereds would pay almost anything to become Supers, which means whoever found a way to make it happen would be crazy not to try and protect their method.”

Ralph rustled some more papers—a clear bid to buy time. “That’s what your bosses keep saying in response to inquiries from our department: no information to provide, and even if there was, they’d be unable to give it up unless the DVA presented formal legal cause. And you all know damned well that the minute we do, this procedure’s existence becomes a matter of public record.”

“That assumes you could even get the necessary warrants and court orders together, which is unlikely, given your lack of evidence of wrongdoing on our part,” Mr. Numbers said. “Senator Malcolm might have been able to manage the task—he certainly had enough sway and favors to call in—but with him gone and no clear leader emerging from those jockeying for his position, it would be a difficult task to accomplish.”

“I’m sorry. Did you just imply that we have no evidence of wrongdoing? Because, as I see it, snatching someone off the street without a DVA sanction and threatening them with torture sure seems like great cause to haul you before a committee.” Ralph’s fidgeting stopped; he’d clearly been waiting to bring this up since the meeting began.

It was Mr. Transport who replied, placing a hand on Mr. Numbers’ shoulder before the shorter man could speak. “Threats are just that, Mr. Chapman: threats. Maybe if there was physical damage you’d have a case, but as it stands, I think everything we did easily falls into our role as the Melbrook students’ bodyguards. If you really want to push the issue, then feel free to drag me up there. I was the one who insisted we react swiftly and forcefully, both because of the information-gathering opportunity I was presented with and because that sack of shit was stalking someone I care about. Haul me in, if you like. Let’s see whether the people who often look to us for protection of their own loved ones think I was too rash. Even if they do, I’m nothing but a small fry. It won’t get you any information about the Powereds’ procedure, and it won’t bring us any closer to catching Crispin and his bastard followers.”

“Mr. Transport has cut to the meat of the issue,” Dean Blaine said. “We can have our respective pissing contests on our own time. What matters most is that we now know the Sons of Progress are aware of the possibility that Powereds can become Supers. Assuming this Randolph fellow was telling the truth—”

“He was,” Mr. Numbers interjected.

“As you’ve reported, yes. Anyway, from his testimony it seems like they’re digging for proof right now, snatching for a loose thread to pull on. While I don’t disagree with your actions, Mr. Transport, I must also point out that you effectively told them they were on to something the moment you took their piece from the board. Maybe they don’t know exactly what, but Sally Daniels is now essentially confirmed to be connected to powerful people.”

“We’re already putting a protective detail on her,” Professor Fletcher said. “And that’s on top of the neighborhood Supers she lives near. No one is getting close to that woman, I promise.”

Dean Blaine shifted slightly, re-angling his chair so that he could meet the eyes of everyone in the room. “Glad as I am to hear that, it barely scratches the real issue. If the Sons of Progress gain confirmation that there is a way to turn Powereds into Supers—and strategically we have to assume they will—then we must be ready to counter them. No doubt they’ll try to uncover the secret for themselves, using it as a recruiting tool to bolster their weakened ranks. That would be a hellish outcome, as we’ve got no shortage of Powereds with axes to grind against the world, but even just them knowing the procedure exists could cause problems. We all believe that taking ample time to study the test group was the right, safe course of action. But I’m not sure the public will agree, especially all the Powereds out there desperate for a cure. If the Sons of Progress find a way to make the procedure public, to frame it as the DVA and the HCP hoarding such a breakthrough for their own purposes, it could seriously impact the public’s trust in us. We need to be ready with a rebuttal, if not a plan to get ahead of them.”

“Blaine… are you proposing we preemptively go public?” It wasn’t often that Ralph Chapman allowed himself to show surprise, but in that moment his mouth was hanging open like someone had grabbed his jaw and yanked it downward. “You know as well as I do what a madhouse that’s going to make things. For us, for the HCP, and especially for your students.”

“I’m not saying it’s the best plan out there; just pointing out that we might need to be ready to make that call, if the situation demands it,” Dean Blaine replied. “It was always going to come out eventually, though it would have been nicer to make the announcement when we had full-fledged Heroes to point to as shining examples of what the procedure could gain society. Maybe letting the public in on the secret now is a mistake; maybe it’s something we can work through. I just want everyone to be prepared so that when Crispin’s people make a move, we can do whatever is necessary to counter it. Can you run that up the pole in Washington?”

Quickly gathering his files, Ralph tucked them into his briefcase and snapped it shut. “I’m obligated to, even if I don’t agree with the necessity of it. Just be ready for a lot of pushback. Most of Washington will share my caution.”

“Never in my life have I even once expected the government to act with speed or courage,” Dean Blaine assured him. “This is mostly an attempt to get them ready for the hard choices that might be coming down the line. If they have warning, they may decide what sacrifices they are willing to make. Professor Fletcher, I’d also like you to speak with the company’s higher-ups. While I understand the need for secrecy, if you could impress upon Mr. Lamont the importance of the situation, perhaps there are some details, even seemingly trivial ones, he’d be willing to share with us.”

“I can try, but don’t expect much,” Professor Fletcher said.

“I’m well-acquainted with his tight-lipped reputation.” Dean Blaine turned to Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport, who were waiting patiently for their own assignment. “As for you two, Ralph isn’t entirely wrong about you overstepping, good intentions or not. I think I’m going to move up my class about your company, with you both making a special appearance as my guests. It will be a good refresher on exactly what you do, and what limits you are meant to play by.”

“So you’d prefer we hadn’t grabbed the man stalking Roy and Hershel’s mother?” Mr. Numbers asked.

“Oh, heavens no. I just wish you’d gone through the proper channels to do it,” Dean Blaine said. “Because then I could have been there, and right now there’s nothing I’d love more than to squeeze information from one of Crispin’s lackeys. It would be a nice placeholder to tide me over until I can get my hands on the man himself.”

108.

What they had was thin, thankfully. A few reports from students scared halfway out of their minds after the fact. Some grainy pictures taken on cell phone cameras. Rumors, speculation, and hearsay, all the way through. All the same, Will couldn’t afford to take this lightly. Or, more precisely, the HCP students couldn’t afford for him to take it lightly.

He sat in his room, headphones on, and reviewed the audio from Kennedy’s meeting for at least the sixth time. There were sections he knew by heart after so many listens, yet he still felt the need to sift through the discussion once more. There wouldn’t be anything from Kennedy—she was too aware of her words—but he hoped one of the others might show a vulnerability that Will had somehow missed.

No matter how much he wished for it, no incriminating audio suddenly revealed itself on the sixth playback. That would be the easiest way to handle Kennedy and her crew; if he could only get them planning to do something that skirted the law, or even campus rules, he’d be able to take them down without exposing himself. Framing one of the others as a Super sympathizer who blew the whistle would be no trouble at all, but he needed that criminal starting point to work from. A starting point that didn’t exist.

Kennedy’s plan, much as Will might loathe admitting it, was a careful one. There was nothing inherently illegal about trying to figure out who the HCP students were. Sometimes, groups would form to try and suss it out as an activity. But they were always trying to sift through tens of thousands of students with nothing to go on, which made it a fruitless endeavor. Kennedy had leads. Small ones, yes, but leads all the same. Will didn’t like that, wasn’t comfortable with that, and he certainly didn’t want her getting any more footing than she already had.

Time, at least, was on his side. As much as the Take Back Lander group might want to hunt down the people who’d been saved by HCP students to press them for more details, it was an almost impossible task with the semester’s end looming on the horizon. Even Kennedy knew that, as Will listened to her recorded voice say that they should use the rest of December to choose who they would try and talk to first. She wanted them to create a game plan for January, which gave Will time to lay the groundwork for stopping them.

It was a good thing he had some breathing room, because dealing with that group would require a delicate touch. He couldn’t do anything to scare them off—that would only lend credence to their cause. Simply letting them run out of steam had proven to be a bust, as they’d merely changed tactics rather than accept defeat. The student body’s apathy to their cause wasn’t lost on Kennedy and her flunkies; it was taken in stride. She seemed to truly believe she was working for the betterment of Lander, which made it all the more difficult to knock her from her path.

Public opinion seemed like the best weapon to wield against her. It was the sort of thing that could be manipulated from a distance and hard to trace back to its source. Kennedy might be able to shrug off apathy, but if Will played his hand carefully, he might be able to get her group actively hated, and that would prove a far more difficult sentiment to ignore. The route was obvious; she was already planning to pester survivors of a horrible tragedy for details about the people that had saved them, only to use that information to publicly out the would-be Heroes. A few audio files, some good pictures, and the whole thing could blow up spectacularly in their faces as Take Back Lander became painted as heartless monsters with a pointless grudge.

The trouble was, Kennedy had proven herself aware and intelligent; there was no way she didn’t see the potential backlash in her plan. Will had to assume she had a counterstrategy in place. The whole plan might even be a trap, dangling the groups’ apparent downfall as a morsel to make any traitors to the cause show themselves. It was assuming a lot on her part, but Will refused to be caught off guard by underestimating his opponent.

Even if it was a trap, it wasn’t one Will could afford to ignore. The chance to end this whole movement in a single fell swoop wouldn’t come along every day. And should Kennedy turn out to have a counterstrategy, that could be countered as well. Will just needed to see enough steps ahead on the game board. From an analytical side, that was no issue. The trouble was that he’d never been as gifted at the social aspects of Subtlety as some of the others. This territory relied heavily on manipulation and anticipating people’s reactions, and while Will had learned a lot from Professor Pendleton, he wasn’t quite so confident that he was willing to bet everything on those skills.

Fortunately, he’d learned more in the HCP than merely how to fight. Will had been forced to absorb a lesson that he would never have accepted in his younger days: there was no shame in a Hero asking for help. No one could do it all. Every Super, every person, had their own strengths and weaknesses. What mattered was getting the job done—keeping people safe, above all else. Nothing, especially not pride or ego, came before that.

As the recording came to an end, Will pulled off his headphones and set them to the side. He needed help, more than Camille could offer. It would have to be someone he trusted, of course, someone who could fill in the gaps where his own skills fell short. Mary was the obvious choice; a telepath could get him all the answers he needed with little risk of exposure. The problem was that her power cut both ways; Mary wouldn’t do recon and sit on the sidelines. She’d insist on being involved. That would give her lots of time to listen to Will’s thoughts, and if he ultimately had to use a solution that was morally questionable, Mary might very well object. Worse, with her level of power, those objections would be impossible to ignore, as she could put a stop to any plan she didn’t agree with.

Alex had telepathy as well, but he couldn’t get thoughts in the same level of detail as Mary, and details might be very important for this task. Nick had demonstrated an exceptional knack for this sort of work; however, bringing in someone from outside the HCP had risks of its own. Alice, who consistently did well on the social aspects of Subtlety, seemed like an easy choice until one factored in her close relationship with Mary. Bringing her on board was akin to taking Mary too, and then he was right back where he started if she disagreed.

Will turned off the machine, knowing that before the week’s end he’d listen to the recording at least once more. It was a problem, one that required attention, but it wasn’t his only issue to deal with. There was also the trivial matter of finishing up his Lander classes with scores that were solid without being attention-grabbing. After that, he needed to continue tinkering with his staff, along with a few other toys, for December’s trial. It hadn’t escaped Will’s notice that the tests at the end of each semester were almost always extra difficult, and he didn’t expect this year to be an exception.

109.

Roy’s eyes wanted to dart up to the small window obscured by tempered glass, where he knew Professor Fletcher was keeping watch over them, but he resisted the urge. The wrong glance might betray that they were being observed, which would add pressure on Ashley, and there was already more than enough of that for now. Eventually, she’d have to get used to fighting with people observing, to say nothing of all the other distractions and stresses that went along with combat, but that came in the later years. Today, all she needed was to throw the right amount of power into her strikes.

Adjusting his white uniform to make sure it moved freely, Roy carefully took a defensive stance, and then gave Ashley the nod that he was ready. She raised her fists, the right one flickering for a moment as she gathered power. They’d spent weeks working on her control until she could make a hole in concrete that was any size she liked, but this would be the first time they rolled out her power in actual combat. With both classes facing their end-of-semester tests so soon, she wasn’t going to get a lot of real practice time, but Roy knew that wouldn’t matter as much for her exam. After all, the freshmen were dropped into that underground labyrinth with color-coded stun guns; she didn’t need to explode to score some wins. This was about laying the groundwork for what came next, for the rest of the year she’d have to spend battling uphill if she wanted to wear a sophomore uniform.

“I’m going to use bone-breaking attacks, for now.” Ashley’s eyes didn’t waver from him as she made the announcement, nor did Roy take his off her as he signaled that she’d been heard. Generally, announcing any information before a fight was folly; however, in this case, it would allow Roy to know if she was hitting the mark in terms of power. They’d tested her bone-breaking explosions already—in the presence of a healer, just to be safe—and while the things certainly stung, they weren’t enough to do any serious harm to Roy. This battle wasn’t about knocking him out; Ashley would be the winner if she managed to keep her power within whatever parameters she set.

Ashley’s charge was rough, worse than even the bullshit Roy had pulled as a freshman. It made him want to wince, seeing all the holes in her form and ways she was telegraphing her impending attacks, mostly because he recognized so many of the failings from his own early efforts. Dodging her first blow would have been laughably easy, but instead Roy raised his left arm to block the attack. Better to let her get a little comfortable for the first few strikes, so she could find a rhythm. Eventually, he’d need to take the opposite tactic, keeping her purposefully off balance to truly test her focus. For the first blow, he just wanted to see how well she could control her power.

Though the explosion rang in his ears, it did nothing to move Roy’s arm. Worse, Ashley froze up as soon as the attack occurred, leaving herself so open that Roy had to deliver a quick, gentle, jab to her stomach just to make her aware of the mistake. The people she fought in class would do far worse if she didn’t learn to stay guarded and follow through with her attacks.

“I didn’t even feel that,” Roy told her, holding up his hand to pause the match. Examining his arm, he found the jacket sleeve he was wearing had been lightly singed but was otherwise completely intact. “That wasn’t bone-breaking level. It wasn’t even wood-breaking level. You’d have been lucky to dent sheetrock with that small of a blast.”

“Sorry.” Ashley was rubbing her stomach carefully, clearly surprised by the counterattack. “I wasn’t expecting you to block, I thought you’d dodge instead. It threw me off, and I sort of panicked. I instinctively weakened the blast out of fear that I’d hurt you.”

“That ain’t the worst instinct; better to go too soft than too hard at this point in your training. But at the same time, you can’t be so dedicated to predicting what an opponent does that you get rattled when they use a different tactic.” Roy looked at his arm for a moment longer then began to unbutton his uniform jacket. He peeled it quickly away, revealing a matching tank top underneath, and tossed the jacket down several feet away. “For this next one, stay at bone-breaking level, but don’t worry about what I’m doing at all. Just get close to me and let the explosion fly.”

“Okay. I can do that. I can connect.” She put her hands back up, and this time both of her fists glowed with energy.

“Stop. Don’t think about connecting. Just focus on getting close and making your blasts exactly strong enough. Remember, your power doesn’t come from your muscles, and one of the many benefits of explosions is that ‘close’ is often good enough.” Roy was pretty certain there was a saying about that—something with hand grenades—but his attention was stolen by Ashley’s second charge before he could quite recall what it was.

This time, he decided to dodge just to change things up. Her left arm swung in an uppercut that would have been ridiculous, if not for the explosion of energy that tore forth from her hand even as Roy leaned away from the blow. It was a whole other league from her first strike, and while the hand was several inches away from Roy’s body, he could still feel the power of it wash over his chest. A second later, Ashley’s right fist hit, landing directly in Roy’s stomach. He had a moment to appreciate that it was almost exactly the same spot he’d struck her in before she released the second explosion. It slammed into his abs, but wasn’t enough to shove him backwards. It did feel correct for the amount of force she’d been trying to use though, and given the victorious look on her face, Ashley knew she’d gotten it right.

That triumphant grin vanished immediately as Roy grabbed her arm and spun her around, putting her in a lock.

“What are you doing?” Ashley spat.

“I’m sorry. Did you think that landing one good punch meant you’d won the fight?” Roy was careful with his grip, making sure she was uncomfortable without going so far as to cause serious pain. This was instruction, not torture. “Remember, you’re learning to fight other students, which means anything powerful enough to one-shot them risks being lethal. I hesitated and you capitalized, which was correct. Then you reveled, which was so fucking wrong I can’t believe I have to point it out. In training, you fight until somebody wins or calls for a pause. In battle, it’s just the first one. Save the triumph for when you’ve got something to celebrate.”

“Okay, I get it.” Ashley tugged on her arm, which Roy continued to hold in place. “I said, I get it. Aren’t you going to let me out of this?”

“I could, and if you really need me to, I will, but your next opponent might not be so kind. You want to learn how to fight for real, this is a situation you will almost certainly find yourself in. How are you going to get free, without potentially killing the person holding you?”

The most obvious solution would be to use her power to cause a small explosion where his hands were, knocking them back and setting her free. But that came with the potential of blowing his fingers off, if not his entire hand: while technically not lethal, that wasn’t the sort of thing that would fly against other students if it happened regularly. Until Ashley had perfect control, she was going to have to think her way out of these situations rather than rely upon raw force.

As Roy felt her body tense, he knew she was gathering energy. With a darting glance to the covered window, Roy silently hoped she didn’t do anything too dangerous, and then braced himself for a lot of potential pain in his hands.

When the explosions came, they were tremendous—although neither touched Roy’s hands in the slightest. No, Ashley hadn’t tried to break the hold. Instead, she’d detonated her energy blasts on the soles of her feet, driving her and Roy backwards and slamming them both into a wall. He took the brunt of it, and by the time they’d scrambled to their feet, she was halfway across the room, successfully freed from his hold.

“Not too shabby.” Roy wiped some of the dust and concrete flecks from his shoulders as he moved back to the center of the room. “Little strong, though.”

“I’m fighting someone with enhanced endurance, so I knew you could take it. If it were someone weaker, I’d have just used enough power to knock them over,” Ashley replied.

That was the right answer, and a sound strategy. Despite his warnings about premature celebration, Roy permitted himself a small grin as he took his defensive stance once more. If she kept using her head, Ashley might just make it to the end of the year after all.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Roy said. “This time, see if you can hit me twice.”

110.

“With the exception of Mr. DeSoto, can anyone tell me why Heroes so rarely have to deal with hostage situations?”

Dean Blaine was cutting a brisker pace than usual, having barely bothered with more than cursory formalities before kicking off the day’s Ethics of Heroism course. “I ask because while many aspects of this information are classified, the existence of the answer is not. And you, more than any other class I’ve previously dealt with, have all been around a presence that hints at the correct response.”

Will, Britney, Chad, and Alice all raised their hands, but Britney was the fastest on the draw, so Dean Blaine nodded for her to speak.

“I’m guessing there are special people for that,” Britney said. “Probably ones with DVA approval and training. It’s sort of the same question as how even though not every Hero team has a teleporter, they can all manage to work across the entire nation.”

“Light on details, but spot on in concept,” Dean Blaine told her. “Although your comparison is an imperfect one: Hero teams are able to get around thanks to DVA assets who can transport them as needed. The answer to the hostage question is a somewhat more complicated beast. I trust you all remember earlier in the year, when I asked you why this system exists. Why we call ourselves Heroes. You know that we exist as symbols and cultural touchstones as much as, if not more than, Supers who stop crime. Heroes are meant to be held up and pointed to, serving as proof that Supers can be an asset to humanity. Because of that, our duty has been almost entirely in the limelight, historically. All work in the shadows and background was delegated to others. That is how it stood for decades. As a matter of fact, the Subtlety discipline wasn’t added to the HCP curriculum until the mid-eighties, when the failings of several services made it clear that we needed to keep some resources in house. But listen to me, droning on about the theoretical, when we have guests who can speak in practical terms.”

Dean Blaine turned to the doorway, causing the students’ eyes to follow, which was why everyone saw at once as Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport stepped through the door. They both gave a nod of greeting to Dean Blaine as they joined him in the center of the room, carefully flanking him so the students’ concentration was focused on one point.

“Some of you know us from being around here or looking over the Melbrook dormitory. For those who don’t, my name is Mr. Numbers, and my associate goes by Mr. Transport. We work for one of the companies that fulfill all sorts of government contracts. Pertinent to you are the ones we do to make a Hero’s work flow more smoothly. Think of yourselves as the military and us as private contractors. While we have the same boss, our methods and resources vary greatly.”

“Everyone in our company has a different job,” Mr. Transport said, taking over in a more cheerful tone than any Mr. Numbers could hope to produce. “But Mr. Numbers and I are part of a team that handles, among other things, emergency extractions. Once you become Heroes, you’ll get your assignments through a DVA representative. However, in the course of those assignments, you might find that someone has taken innocent civilians hostage. That’s where our team, or one like it, would enter the picture. Unlike you all, who are trained for combat and neutralizing dangerous Supers, we were recruited for our powers to serve one specific task. In the span of a minute, our team can pull out any civilian hostages and allow the Heroes to stop their targets unimpeded.”

“Hang on,” Amber interrupted. “If there are teams specifically built for getting civilians clear, then why are we working so hard on learning not to hurt them? Won’t the battlefield just be emptied of innocent people ahead of time?”

“Ms. Dixon, my tolerance for outbursts is already minimal. You’ll find it even less so when we have guests.” Despite the harsh words, Dean Blaine didn’t sound especially agitated. The rambunctious and curious nature of students was something he’d long ago made a degree of peace with.

“We’ll take questions at the end.” Mr. Numbers, too, seemed unbothered by the rudeness. “But since that one always gets asked anyway, I’ll tackle it now. The reason you have to learn to work around civilians is the same reason every purse-snatcher and litterer isn’t pursued by Heroes: there are only so many qualified people to go around. Joining our company doesn’t require as many criteria as becoming a Hero; however, we still have to prove our skill and our trustworthiness, something not everyone can do.”

“It’s also worth mentioning that, hard as we try, our teams can usually only work on the small scale,” Mr. Transport added. “Clearing out a bank of hostages is one thing; we can handle that. But entire city blocks are another matter. Look at the robot attacks last year in Brewster. Even if they’d had enough advanced warning to call us in, there was no way for us to clear out all those people. It fell upon the Heroes at the scene to try and keep them safe.”

Dean Blaine moved a step forward, retaking the room’s attention effortlessly. “Not every HCP introduces you to the existence of these resources during your education. Some feel it gives away too much, or lessens the responsibility students feel. However, I’ve found it’s better to give you understanding now, while there is still time to make mistakes and process the information correctly. Remember, these men and the companies they serve are resources for a Hero, no different than a communicator. They are not a safety net. They are not a place to pass the blame. As Heroes, the buck always stops with us. However, they are a specialized resource that will make your job easier in certain situations, and can help keep innocent people safe.”

Whispers went around the room, a fair bit of murmuring as the students wrapped their minds around what they were hearing that was quieter, and less abrupt, than Amber’s outburst. From the beginning, they’d always been told it was them against the criminals, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, holding the line. And it was true, to a point. At the end of the day, there was no backup plan to stop a powerful Super outside of using other Supers. If they failed, people would die; that truth remained untarnished. Yet now, as Dean Blaine peeled back the layers, they began to understand that they wouldn’t have to tackle these situations completely alone. He found this lesson to be telling not in the moment, but in the weeks that followed. It was important to see whose resolve would lessen when they thought there would be other people to count on and who would retain their sense of responsibility.

Slowly a hand rose, one belonging to Camille Belden. Mr. Transport pointed to her without bothering to check with Dean Blaine for approval first, a realization that hit him visibly as he glanced over in apology. Dean Blaine said nothing to stop him or Camille; better to move on to questions than let the muttering continue for much longer.

“I wanted to ask what else you do,” Camille said. “Knowing you can pull out hostages explains a lot, and would be really helpful in some fights, but Mr. Transport mentioned that there were different kinds of teams. Seems like we should know all the resources that will be available to us.”

“A lot of what we used to do is sorted into the domain of Subtlety Heroes,” Mr. Transport told her. “And some of it involves work directly for the government, with no Hero interaction. But aside from aiding with hostages, teams are usually called in for covert communication, working as translators, locating missing people, disposing of dangerous technology, and guarding high-value assets. You’ll get a full briefing once you become Heroes; those are just some of our more frequent requests.”

More hands went up, now that the gateway was opened, and Dean Blaine scanned carefully for who to pick next. Ultimately, their questions wouldn’t matter much; they’d get boilerplate answers or none at all if they dug too deep, but it would be revealing for him all the same.

There were only ten spots for graduation, and a class full of fierce competitors. At this point, he was taking into account every single variable he could for the looming decision.

111.

With every day that December’s trial grew closer, the amount students trained seemed to increase exponentially until free time was a functionally fictional concept. The lengths of class sessions hadn’t changed; this was effort they put in on their own well after the HCP had dismissed them each afternoon. Even if no one said anything, even if this was ostensibly just another test, they’d been around too long to need it spelled out for them. The end of a semester was always a high hurdle to clear; and even if this semester was the exception, it wasn’t as though there was any harm in improving themselves.

Yet, for as full as the gym and combat cells were in the weeks leading up to the event, on the day before it finally arrived there was nary a single white uniform to be seen outside of class. Determined as they were, every student who’d made it this far in the HCP understood the value in resting the day before a big activity. There was a huge difference between being prepared and exhausting one’s self; those who mistook the former for the latter had since been cut from the program. Even Chad was taking the night off, preparing for a video-chat date with Angela, assuming she didn’t get called away for work.

Vince planned to do something similar; he’d booked reservations at a nice restaurant for him and Camille later in the evening. It wasn’t the fanciest of places (being a waiter only paid so well, and with all the training, Vince had scaled back the number of shifts he took), but he was looking forward to the dinner tremendously. Truth be told, they could have cooked canned soup over an open fire and Vince would have looked forward to it. It was the company that made a meal, not the food.

Before he could enjoy a nice evening with his… well, Vince was almost certain they were a couple, but neither had actually brought it up or said it out loud. Regardless, there was still a task that needed seeing to before he could take the night off. While training might be foolish with the test so close at hand, there were still some preparations Vince needed to take if he wanted to be truly ready for whatever lay in store. For the most part, he’d done all he could in the previous weeks, training with and building up various energies. There was just one task remaining, and he couldn’t accomplish this one on his own.

Knocking gently on the door to Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport’s apartment, Vince waited for it to open. Instead, Mr. Transport appeared next to him. It would have been startling if not for the years of practice living with the teleporter.

“Good afternoon, Vince,” Mr. Transport greeted. “I take it you’re ready to go?”

Vince pulled the plastic poncho he’d donned tighter around his shoulders. “I am if you are. Did you find any?”

“When you’ve got most of the world to work with, you can find anything you need.” Mr. Transport held up his phone, showing a digital display of the entire nation. “In this case, we won’t even need to leave U.S. borders. Not that I’d let us, anyway; there are more than a few countries who get testy about people teleporting into their territory. One time, I was hopping across Europe, and I ended up—”

“Mr. Transport, I really do want to hear your story, but is there any way you can tell me once we’re there?” Vince’s tone was polite; he knew all too well that he’d just interrupted a man he was asking a favor from. “Camille and I have a dinner reservation to make, so I’m on a timetable.”

If the interruption bothered Mr. Transport, he had a funny way of showing it. Permitting himself a wide smile and very obvious wink, Mr. Transport glanced at the phone once more. “Of course, of course. I know how exciting date nights can be. Perhaps I’ll swing by and surprise Sally when we’re done. On that note, it looks like our best bet is Washington. Shall we go?”

“Yes, sir.”

The words were still echoing off the dormitory’s walls, but both men had already vanished. True to his word, Mr. Transport wasn’t wasting any time.

*             *             *

Zipping up his suitcase, Nick hefted it off the bed and dropped it to the ground, where it joined a small rolling bag and a dark backpack. Ostensibly, these were full of clothes and sundries he’d need over the Winter Break, and while there were a few outfits within, by far the bulk of his luggage was comprised of documents. Even with three bags stuffed to the brim, it was a paltry amount compared to what he wanted to bring along. But room was limited, and more than that, there were some things he couldn’t necessarily risk taking with him to Vegas. The smart assumption was that Ms. Pips would see anything he brought into her building, and while these were only small pieces of the overall puzzle, Nick knew better than to underestimate the head of his Family.

If not for Eliza’s cryptic warning, Nick almost certainly would have stayed put through the vacation, using his downtime to make some headway on the numerous tasks before him. She’d been quite adamant he go home, though, and Eliza wasn’t one to turn serious without cause. The most likely reason for the concern was that the Evers Family had begun to move for retribution. Ms. Pips would want to keep him far from that, as his presence could hinder talks for peace, but that only mattered if peace was truly a viable option. On the other hand, if things were about to go south, Nick did need to be there. While he was only a single cog in the organization, he still brought quite a bit to the table. Should the Evers go to war with Nick’s people, they’d find him right there, shoulder-to-shoulder with the rest, driving them back.

There was, of course, the possibility that he was off the mark. Being disconnected from the Vegas loop of information meant there were bound to be problems and issues Nick hadn’t been brought up to speed on. Maybe a new group was trying to muscle in, capitalizing on the tension between his Family and the Evers. Maybe the Heroes were sniffing around, trying to knock a few low-level heads for easy press. Whatever the issue was, Nick would make sure it was resolved by the time break was over. He specialized in fixing things, after all.

Occasionally, as he readied for the trip, a small voice would make itself known in the back of Nick’s mind, one whispering that perhaps the reason Eliza had insisted he go home wasn’t due to an outside issue, but an internal one. Every time that voice tried to be heard, however, Nick squashed it down. Obviously, the problem was external. It was something easily handled, and everything would be fine by the time January arrived.

Even Nick, for all the training and observation skills he possessed, was susceptible to self-delusion. And given what the clues fueling that voice were hinting at, it was a forgivable falsehood. Some ideas were too painful to consider, even as hypothetical.

112.

The gym was quiet, save for the sounds of rustling cloth and scuffing boots. Though nerves, curiosity, and excitement bubbled in every student, those inclinations were pushed away in favor of focusing on the task at hand. Staying calm, collected, and ready for anything was one of the most important skills they’d gained in their time at Lander, and with the last test of the semester finally here, it was one they all planned on putting to good use.

Dean Blaine was waiting for them as they filed in, patiently watching until everyone had formed a half-circle around him. It was a bit strange to see him here alone; usually, some of the other professors were in attendance at these announcements. Maybe they were greeting the Heroes who had come to watch, or tweaking the Sims to make them as dangerous as possible. Anything was possible, which meant the students had to expect everything.

“The final trial of your first semester,” Dean Blaine said, shattering the silence with his powerful voice. “Every year, this is a key point for you, and for us as your educators. Here is where we see how the training you’ve endured has changed you, crystalized into something that makes you more than you were when the semester began. It’s why we so often reassess rankings at these points, and this year will be no different. The information from today’s test will be used to create the new list of rankings, which will be waiting for you when you come back in spring. That will, by the way, be the last set of rankings until your graduation exams. Not all of you are attempting to graduate via martial means; however, for those who are, this will give you a strong indication of where you stand.”

He began to turn, slowly, making sure to meet the eyes of every student for at least a few seconds.

“You have all come so far since you stood here as freshmen, terror and uncertainty dripping off you while you waited to see what trial awaited. That was before you knew about the levels below, before you fought as teams, before learning to fend off entire groups of attackers. Many more of you were here then, yet those who remain today are by far stronger than that group, even with its advantage in size. All of you have grown and evolved in your time at Lander, and today you’re going to show us by exactly how much. Because, my students, you are all going back into the labyrinth.”

That did manage to surprise several students. They kept their mouths sealed tight, even if their expressions betrayed being caught off guard. Repeating a test was something that had never happened before. Even in the city-battles with the Sims, they were given different parameters to make the exercise unique.

“Rest assured, this won’t be the same test we give to the freshmen,” Dean Blaine continued. “For one thing, there won’t be any color-coded stun-guns this time around. You all have had more than enough training and familiarity with each other to fight for real. To defeat a fellow student, you must either knock them unconscious, achieve a hypothetical deathblow, force them to surrender, or render them incapacitated for three continuous minutes. That number isn’t chosen at random, by the way. Three minutes is the average response time for a collection team to arrive and restrain a criminal Super. Hold someone that long, and you’ve effectively defeated them.”

Behind Dean Blaine, a screen lit up on the gym’s back wall. It was divided into six blocks, each showing only darkness, although the more keen-eyed were almost certain they saw movement amidst the shadows.

“Every student you defeat is worth one point,” Dean Blaine told them. “When you lose, you’re out, and your point count becomes locked. Now, obviously, that somewhat limits things in terms of general strategy, as it becomes a simple game of hunting each other, and we’ve taught you to account for more variables than that. So, to keep things interesting, there will be lighted rooms within the labyrinth, just as there were last time. However, they will no longer be empty. Instead, there will be special challenges awaiting those brave enough to undertake them.”

The six black boxes on the giant screen flickered with white light, illuminating the rooms and, more importantly, the people inside them. Each student instantly knew who they were looking at; it would be impossible not to. These were, after all, the men and women who’d trained them, forged them into stronger warriors than they’d have ever been on their own. In each of the six boxes stood one of their professors, all looking directly into the cameras.

“Should any of you feel especially bold, you may elect to take on a professor. If you come into these rooms by accident, have no fear, as a formal challenge must be made to battle them. Once that challenge is declared, the room will seal shut to ensure no one can enter or leave, staying locked tight until a winner is determined. If that winner is you, then you will receive six points as your reward. And before anyone asks, yes, you can work in teams to take on the professors. In those cases, the points will be split evenly among the students, rounding down on decimal remainders. For anyone slow at math, this means that if you bring in more than six students to the fight, you’ll get no reward as everyone would only be entitled to a fraction of a point.”

It was a barrier put in for their protection as much as out of practicality. Trying to overpower a professor with numbers would be chaotic, and there was a high chance that someone might be injured in the fray. Keeping the number to six was more manageable, allowing for complex and coordinated strategies without people tripping over one another.

“The trial ends when there is only one student or fewer remaining,” Dean Blaine said. “This means that, if you want, you can avoid all of the professors. They are an optional component to the exam, one you need not deal with unless you think it will benefit you. Then again, perhaps you’ll team up with a few friends, opting to try and pad your scores until you’re inevitably forced to deal with one another. How you attack this challenge is almost as important as the results you get, because by now you know we’re looking at far more than simply who can beat up the most people. Oh, I almost forgot: teamwork only earns shared points against professors. Against fellow students, whoever achieves the win gets the point. Choose your strategy carefully, and choose it soon. In five minutes, we will begin dropping you at random points in the labyrinth. If you’d like to go in with people you trust, up to three students can be dropped off in one location. Or you can go in alone. Whatever way you decide to meet this trial, know that I wish you the very best of luck. And know that we’ll be watching.”

With that, Dean Blaine motioned for them to talk amongst themselves, and the illusion of calm was shattered by a wave of rapid conversation.

113.

Vince felt like he was being quartered as options yanked him in all directions. His initial reaction was that of course he’d work with a team; together, he and his friends could accomplish more than they could on their own. But right on the heels of that thought was the reminder that if he worked with his allies, he’d ultimately have to fight them, whereas that task might fall to someone else if he went solo. Not to mention, was fighting a professor really the best idea? A three-person team could earn two points each if they managed to win, but that was a gigantic if. Then again, six teachers in the labyrinth accounted for thirty-six potential points, more than double what could be gained by wiping out the rest of the class singlehandedly. That was a lot of points to walk away from without consideration.

Rubbing his temples to fight back a headache, Vince wished Nick was here. He’d always been the one they leaned on for this stuff, and he’d have seen the optimal path in seconds. But Nick was gone, and if he were around he’d have been a competitor. That was probably why the test was set up like this: to force every student to reach the conclusion that was right for them.

“Elephant in the room,” Alice said, gathering the rest of Melbrook together along with Shane, Camille, and Alex. “Do we take on professors or fight one another? And if anyone wants to do the first, who are they teaming with?”

“I’m going to challenge the professors.” There wasn’t even a sliver of hesitation in Chad’s voice; if anything he almost seemed excited. Well, as excited as Chad got, anyway. “Some of them, at least, I think we might be able to overpower. If they are willing, I would like to take Shane and Alex with me when we’re dropped off.”

There was a long stretch of silence. Alex’s eyes went wide and he looked over to Chad. “Wait, me? Are you sure you don’t want Mary?”

“Mary has more raw power than you; however, between Shane and myself, we are not short on offense. Fine control will more greatly add to our capabilities, and there are some strategies I have in mind that can only be accomplished with your help.” Chad paused for a moment, his eyes dipping slightly. “However, I would be remiss not to point out that joining our trio means that, in the best case scenario, the three of us will be forced to turn on one another at the end. I can understand if you’d prefer a more advantageous match-up.”

“No, I think I’ll take you up on the offer,” Alex said. “If nothing else, I have a hunch that this will be a show worth seeing.”

“That’s one trio off the table. The rest of you, think fast. We haven’t got very long.” Alice glanced over at Dean Blaine, making sure they weren’t being rounded up yet. “Personally, I’m going to take the solo route. In tightly confined spaces, it’s a real pain to only turn up the gravity on enemies without hitting allies, so I think I’m better off working on my own.”

With a quick look around, Vince realized that that left him, Mary, Roy, and Camille unaccounted for. Enough to pair up one more group to be dropped off together, if they wanted to team up, but inherently leaving one person out.

“I’m going to work by myself, too.” Though the voice had to be raised to ensure it was heard, there was no mistaking the fact it had come from Camille, who seemed to be physically braced for people to disagree. It didn’t take long before Roy proved her right.

“Are you sure about that? With you on a team—”

“With me on a team, you gain almost nothing,” Camille interrupted. “Dean Blaine laid it out clearly: once someone is eliminated, that’s it. Healing doesn’t help. You’re already done. That takes my support capabilities down to patching people up between bouts, which I wouldn’t do because you being hurt helps me when we have to deal with one another. Yes, I have offense, but an offense that will work much better in dark corridors than it would in a lighted room with a professor keeping an eye on me. This is my best shot at winning.”

So far as Vince could see, it was a well-considered strategy that was impossible to argue with. As much as he preferred to have her around, Camille did need to be capable on her own. This was an excellent opportunity to prove that she was: one touch and she could take down almost anyone in the class. The more Vince thought about it, the more he hoped they wouldn’t run into one another until the end. If she got the drop on him, Vince would be down for the count.

“That just leaves you three.” Alice nodded to Roy, Mary, and Vince, then jerked her head back in the direction of Dean Blaine. “Better decide fast if you want to team up or join the solo fray.”

“To be honest, I see merit in both strategies, so I’ll defer to you two,” Mary told them. “I can easily work either way.”

Roy took a little longer to respond, brow furrowed as he visibly mulled over his options. “It seems to me the smartest move would be to avoid the professors entirely and just have everyone fight it out amongst the students. But since that obviously ain’t happening, I think our scores will hit an early ceiling if we avoid dealing with the teachers. Then again, the professors are probably going to win most of their fights, so that’s less competition and also fewer points to grab. As far as I can figure, it’s sort of a wash either way. But the truth is, I don’t really care about any of that stuff. I want to fight a professor. I want to test myself, push my limits, and see where I stack up against living legends. Even if I know, deep down, that we probably can’t win, I still want to try. Of course, this demands one hell of a trio, so we need Vince on board as well.”

With that, all eyes turned to Vince and he was stuck in the very predicament he’d hoped to avoid. The final decision of whether to hunt other students or take on the professors fell to him. Since all hope of puzzling out the best strategy had abandoned him, Vince decided to take a cue from the others and simply figure out what he really wanted to get out of this trial. Points, obviously, since he was still battling for a graduation spot, but there was half a year left after this to prove he deserved to be a Hero. This was a unique situation, one he might never be handed again: the chance to test his mettle against the professors who trained them, who were some of the mightiest Heroes he was likely to ever encounter, to meet them head-on and see if he had what it took to stay standing.

“Chad, you’ve always got a good sense of this stuff. Is there any chance we can actually win against our teachers?” Vince asked.

“On our own, no. The odds are so small they’re negligible. But working together, with good cooperation and teamwork, three of us might be able to defeat one of them. It won’t be easy, mind you, and the odds are still well in our professors’ favor.”

“We’ve got a chance, though. That’s good enough for me.” Vince looked to Roy and Mary, unable to keep the nervous half-grin from forming on his face. “Let’s go take on some real Heroes.”

114.

The hallways felt curiously familiar, even if it had been years since she set foot in them—almost completely dark, with only a small amount of light coming from the occasional dim bulb or flash of a door opening. In a way, that was a blessing as Camille slipped out of her uniform and revealed the special outfit underneath. While she’d more or less gotten used to doing battle in Will’s custom fabric—which alone was a huge improvement from the sports bra and bike shorts she’d used before—it would be a lie to say she still wasn’t subject to the waves of embarrassment caused by disrobing. In the dark, there was no need for such sentiment, even if she did know the visiting Heroes were watching her from their unseen seats.

Her bare feet crept along the cold floor, cutting as brisk of a pace as she dared. Chad, Alex, Vince, and Mary were all working on teams to go after the professors, which left Amber as the lone student with detection abilities unaccounted for. Perhaps Will, too, depending on if he’d had the foresight to build something for dealing with darkness, which he probably had. Best to assume it was the case, for safety. So that made two people who could locate the other students with a method besides walking around and hoping for the best. Not terrible, but far from ideal.

With Amber and, presumably, Will capable of choosing their targets, it wouldn’t take long before anyone low on the combat-ranking list was picked off. That meant Camille needed to cover as much ground as she could early in the fight; hopefully, she’d be fast enough to snare a few points with surprise attacks before the herd was too far thinned. Of course, this strategy also heightened her risk of running up against someone who could easily defeat her, but it wasn’t like Hero work came without dangers. There was no perfect strategy. All she could do was choose the best option and pray that luck was with her.

Hunching down, making her already diminutive body as small as possible, Camille continued to creep through the shadows, hunting for her first victim.

*             *             *

With the students dropped into the labyrinth, Dean Blaine made his way to the medical monitoring room, where Dr. Moran sat keeping careful watch in front of a row of screens. Although he should be dealing with the viewing area packed to the brim with Heroes (the “Class of Nightmares” rumor seemed to be gaining steam and attention as time wore on), he felt compelled to make sure the safeguards were properly in place. Unlike Sims, the students couldn’t be remotely shut down if a situation turned too dangerous.

“Really? Once is practical, twice is understandable, but you’re swinging by to check on me again? At this point, I’m starting to feel like you don’t have faith in me to do my job.” Dr. Moran didn’t so much as turn from her screens as she berated Dean Blaine, who’d only gotten two steps in the door. It didn’t deter him, however, as he walked over to see what she was watching.

“You know I have complete faith in you. But bringing in outside assistance has left me slightly on edge. This trial is a dangerous one; I don’t want to see any of our students injured because there was a breakdown in the communication lines.”

“They aren’t random Supers we grabbed off the streets,” Dr. Moran said. “Dean Fox and Dean Bishop sent over trusted professors with plenty of experience. If we need to do an emergency extraction, they can handle it. What did you have to trade them for this favor, anyway?”

“Professor Stone and Professor Fletcher will both be helping out with Korman and Overton when they have their semester finals,” Dean Blaine replied. “And though I won’t admit it to him, I think Sean’s whining might have accidentally spawned a good idea. We’d do well to increase our interaction with the other schools beyond just me talking to my fellow deans and a yearly competition. Everyone gets so caught up in their own problems and objectives that we rarely make time for our educators to learn from one another. Perhaps we can make the occasional trading of teachers into a habit.”

“Not the worst idea you’ve ever had.” Dr. Moran pressed a button on the control panel before her. The screen zoomed in closer to reveal Roy, Mary, and Vince pausing at an intersection and then turning left. She hit a few switches and held up a finger for Dean Blaine to stay silent. “Professor Cole, it looks like you’ve got a group heading your way. Professor Wordsworth, you’re our nearest extractor, so please be ready to move if the signal is given.”

“They’re going after Sonya? I’d expected Mary to pick a less martially inclined target, like Ariel or Sean.” Dean Blaine was leaning over Dr. Moran’s chair, so caught up in the action playing out before them that he’d momentarily let his professional language slip. If she noticed that his eyes were moving to another section of the screens, containing a very different group than the one she’d zoomed in on, Dr. Moran didn’t make mention of it.

“Those two rarely engage in combat with the students, which makes them less predictable. Roy’s fought Professor Cole before, so they probably think they know what they’re getting with her. And besides, it’s not like there are any easy wins among our staff.” Dr. Moran pulled the screen’s view back out, spreading her attention across the monitors once more. “But here’s a question: why are you still standing here when there’s a room of Heroes waiting for you to show up and offer commentary?”

“I’m here precisely because there is a room of Heroes waiting to pester me with questions and small talk,” Dean Blaine replied. “I spend years training these students; is it so selfish that I occasionally want to sit back and enjoy watching them?”

“Not really. But that’s not the job you signed up for, is it, Dean?”

“I suppose not.” Dean Blaine tore himself away from the monitors and turned back toward the door. If he hurried, he could make it to the viewing room in under a minute. “How long until they engage with Professor Cole?”

“Assuming they don’t run into anyone else on the way, at least three minutes. They’ve got some ground to cover. With how everyone else is darting about, there’s a fair chance of them having to fight another student, though. As long as you don’t dilly-dally, you won’t miss anything.”

“Then I suppose it is time to get to work.” Dean Blaine headed out the door and down the hall as quickly as he could without crossing the line into a jog. It was a small mercy that he’d noticed Chad’s team on the screen, dropped in some distance from any of the professors. That gave him enough time to shake hands, brave the first round of questions, and hopefully get a good view. Because as much as he wanted to see all of the students he’d helped train show off their skills, there was nothing on Earth that would keep him from witnessing his godson’s match against a professor.

115.

“From what I can tell, we’re about equidistant from three professors.” Alex’s eyes were closed tightly, his legs crossed as he sat on the cold floor and focused. Chad and Shane both stood over him, keeping watch for any signs of other students hoping to score some easy points. With the trial so recently started, it was unlikely anyone could mobilize so quickly, but the stakes were too high to take needless chances.

“Who do we have?” Shane asked.

“We’ve got an almost perfectly clear path to Professor Pendleton, a few others between us and Professor Hill, and there are several students in the general area of Professor Fletcher, so we might be able to slip past or we could have to deal with them, depending on how they move.”

Although he was quite proud of his own senses, Chad was continually impressed at how simple having a telepath on the team (or a Super who was close enough to one) made information gathering. While he could pick out heartbeats and scents well enough to glean bodies’ general locations, not even his heightened observational abilities would have netted such an abundance of specifics in this short amount of time. Alex had saved them at least a quarter of an hour of stumbling around, hoping to find a professor. Now they not only knew where the three nearest were but could take their pick of which to battle.

“Professor Hill is out,” Chad announced. “Without someone who can restrict the use of gravity or manipulate a battlefield, we’d be working at too steep of a disadvantage. These fights will be difficult enough, there’s no need to put ourselves at a harsher handicap.”

“What then, we take on the man who beat the entire class, or the one who specializes in tricking people?” Shane was worried; Chad could hear his heart beating faster than normal. But at the same time, he seemed to be excited. It was a sentiment Chad understood perfectly well. Terrifying as the idea of battling a teacher was, they wouldn’t have made it an option unless students had earned those points in the past. Just knowing it was possible made Chad itch to see if he was capable, and Shane was no less determined than he.

“Does anyone know what Professor Pendleton’s power is?” Alex asked. “I’m not in Subtlety, and I’ve never seen him bust it out during training.”

For a moment, Chad hesitated. This might not be something he was supposed to know, technically speaking. He dismissed the concern almost as soon as it entered his mind, though. They were in a battle, and information was information, regardless of how it was obtained. The very fact that there was a Subtlety teacher spoke to that very point. And it wasn’t like the information was impossible to piece together, even if one hadn’t grown up listening to their godfather’s tales of the old Hero days.

“Professor Pendleton can turn himself into living fog, not unlike what Professor Fletcher does when he becomes living lightning. In that form, he becomes functionally immune to direct physical attacks.”

“But it’s not like he can do much while he’s fog, right?” Shane didn’t sound too sure of himself; they all knew teaching positions in the HCP weren’t handed out to useless Supers.

“He would never have become a Hero if that were the case,” Chad replied. “Subtlety specialized or not, we have to assume he’s capable of holding his own.”

There was a sharp intake of air from the ground, and Alex tilted his head slightly upward. “We should make a choice soon. Amber is heading this direction, and I don’t think any of us want to take her on before we try to go after a professor.”

Dealing with Amber Dixon was something Chad felt confident this team could handle, but they’d undoubtedly suffer injuries in the process. She would not go down easily, and since she could essentially use echolocation, Amber probably had the best sight among them in this environment.

“Lightning or fog. Not a great choice. Maybe we should hunt around and see if we can find Professor Baker. We’d have the advantage if we could force her into melee,” Shane pointed out.

“The longer we linger, the greater the chance that we run into another student. I can heal, but you two would have to carry your injuries to battle. We can’t afford to be weakened if we take on a teacher. Besides, there’s no guarantee we really would have such an advantage. I’m sure someone tried that tactic on Professor Baker during her Hero days.” Chad’s mind raced as they talked, furiously working out countless potential outcomes from facing either of the opponents. Professor Fletcher’s ability was more martially inclined; however, Professor Pendleton had the combat experience from being a Hero. A member of the Class of Legends, at that.

“Let’s go after Pendleton.” Alex uncurled his legs and slowly rose to his feet, eyes still closed tightly. “I don’t have any tricks up my sleeve to deal with lightning, but I might be able to do something with fog. Unless one of you has a plan to bring down Fletcher?”

“I have a technique in mind that might be viable, but to call it a plan would be giving the idea far too much credit,” Chad said. “I feel like I should point out that Shane and I are both geared toward dealing physical damage, though. If we go after Professor Pendleton, the bulk of subduing him will fall on your shoulders.”

“If you guys are okay with that, then it’s fine by me,” Alex replied. “You two were nice enough to invite me onto your team; I don’t want to steal your thunder in front of the watching Heroes. That said, I am going to be leaning on you both heavily if we go through with this fight. I have a sort of idea of how to go after him—more a general thought than a strategy—and there’s no way I can pull it off alone.”

A plan, no matter how unformed, was better than nothing at all. Chad nodded his agreement before remembering that no one else could make out such subtle motions in the dark. “I have no objections. A win is a win, regardless of who stands at the center. Being able to tackle opponents as a team is an essential skill for any Hero to train, so you’ve got my vote.”

“Count me in, too,” Shane added. “I’ve got no clue how to defeat the other two with this lineup, so I’m happy to follow someone with an idea.”

“Again, you’re really overstating this; it’s a hunch more than anything. But it’s all I’ve got, so I guess we’ll have to work with it. Let’s talk as we move, though. We’re going to want to come at this fight as fresh as possible.” Alex, still with his eyes firmly shut, turned to a hall on the left and walked down it without so much as even a hand out to check for walls.

Chad mentally readjusted his assessment of what Alex was capable of and followed. He’d been counting on being the only one with functional vision in the darkness when the end came and they had to battle one another; that Alex could evidently sense his way around made things more complicated. Then again, it might also prove to make him a more challenging opponent, and that was something Chad was never averse to.

Of course, all of that assumed they made it past their battle with Professor Pendleton, and Chad was far too wise to take that as a given. He had to focus on the obstacle in front of him before worrying about what lay further down the path. After all, there was a very good chance they’d be eliminated before they ever had to turn on one another.

116.

Going after Adam had been risky. If he were a little faster or a hair more prepared, he could have copied her power and turned it against her. Quick as the mimic was, Camille had been training hard to impart as much damage as she could in a single touch. Giving him a head injury was simple, and while his body had already started to shift the moment Camille grabbed his neck from behind, the change reverted almost immediately as he slumped to the ground.

There was no bell or voice to mark Adam’s defeat, and it wasn’t hard to figure out why. At this point in their training, everyone needed to be able to tell for themselves when an enemy was truly down versus when they were faking it. If they couldn’t determine when an enemy was defeated, they were just asking to catch a sneak attack from someone playing possum. To be safe, Camille counted out the three minutes, then reached down and reabsorbed the brain damage. Knocked out and held for three minutes, there was no way they wouldn’t count that as a win.

Nearby, a panel slid open to reveal a lighted doorway. Adam stirred, narrowing his eyes at Camille and the door as it became clear he was out of the game. Still, he left silently, not making a ruckus or trying to sabotage her on the way out. It might have been good sportsmanship or the fact that he knew Heroes were evaluating them. Camille liked to think it was the former, but she had little mind to spare for Adam’s feelings. While one point was a nice start, she had to hustle, or all that would be left were teams.

While there were still stragglers about, Camille needed to grab as many points as she could.

*             *             *

Alice had gotten lucky. True, she’d had the forethought to warp the gravity around herself to trip up anyone trying to sneak up on her, but even that could have failed if Rich had managed to approach her from the front. It was only fortune that had him come from behind her in the darkness, tripping over his legs as unexpected forces suddenly jerked him sideways. Once she knew where Rich was, it was a simple matter to win. She pinned him face-first to the ceiling and waited for three minutes, ignoring his taunts and barbs that she should face him head-on. Only when Alice was completely certain that the necessary time had passed did she drop him back to the ground. As Rich’s feet touched the floor, a lighted doorway appeared nearby.

With the momentary light source, Alice could just make out the sour look Rich shot her as he took the cue to exit. She couldn’t exactly blame him; being eliminated so early on meant he probably hadn’t scored any points. That was bound to be a blow to the ego, to say nothing of his graduation potential. But much as she understood the look, Alice didn’t feel guilty over beating him. If the roles were reversed, he’d happily have taken her out just as quickly.

It was a load off her mind to know Rich was out. The people with non-physical powers were going to be the biggest troublemakers for Alice to deal with. Handling Roy or Violet would be relatively simple, but neither Selena’s songs nor Shane’s shadows were going to be stopped by mere gravity. Not to mention there were already two teams she knew about, and at least a few of the others were probably going to try and take on a professor. If she met three students at once, it was going to be a hell of a fight.

Lifting several feet off the ground, Alice floated along the dark hallway, silently cutting a brisk pace through the labyrinth. The longer she took, the fewer fellow students there would be to defeat. Alice was aiming for three points within the next fifteen minutes. Assuming at least a few others were going to get knocked out by professors, that would pad her score enough to make sure she finished in a reasonably high spot. Of course, if any of the others actually did defeat a professor, those estimates were going right out the window.

But as far as Alice was concerned, anyone who could beat a professor, team or not, deserved to come out on top. That was an accomplishment worthy of shitloads of recognition.

*             *             *

She stood silently as they entered, giving no more acknowledgment than a slight turn of the head. It wasn’t until they’d all stepped through and the door shut that she spoke, fierce and clear as always, despite the cloths wrapped around her face.

“Take a wrong turn, or have you come here to challenge me?” Professor Cole was watching them, her bright green eyes never wavering as they stepped further into the room. Here, at least, there was plenty of light and space to work in. Mary hadn’t realized it as a freshman, but these rooms were almost identical in dimension to their usual combat cells.

“Challenge.” Roy shifted his grip on his bat at the word; however, he took no aggressive actions. None of them were going to screw up something this important by starting before they were supposed to.

All around them, the sound of clanging metal could be heard. The room was locking itself, ensuring that no one would enter or leave while the match was in progress. Professor Cole turned her body, facing them full on.

“I assume Dean Blaine ran you through the general rules, so you know you have to knock me out, hold me for three minutes, make me quit, or land a blow that could be a killing shot. Roy lightly tapping my skull with his bat, for example, would qualify, because if he did that full-force, I’d be a goner. Hitting my clothes, on the other hand, is not the same thing. You’d need a lot more power to kill me there. It’s going to have some leeway, so trust that if you do manage a hypothetical kill shot, I’ll admit it.”

She swept her cloak out, unsheathing the blade on her side as the bandages all over her body began to unwind. “You’re expected to hold back from dealing any serious damage. The three of you aren’t kids anymore. If you push yourselves, you could absolutely injure, if not kill me. As Heroes, you’re going to be expected to exhibit control over your level of violence as much as your powers. So while hypothetical killing blows are part of the fight, if you genuinely try to snuff me out, you’re going to be immediately disqualified. I’m not trying to kill you either, though, so at least it’s fair. Any questions before we get started?”

Mary could feel dozens of uncertainties racing through Vince and Roy’s minds, but both simply shook their heads. The rules were laid out; any questions they asked now would just be to stall, waiting for nerves or fear to vanish. Both had seen enough combat to know that was never going to happen. The only thing that would diminish if they waited was their courage.

“I think we know everything we need to,” Mary said.

“Fine by me. Then, as a professor of the Lander Hero Certification Program, I officially announce that this match has begun.” Professor Cole adjusted her footing as she raised her blade. “Come and show me what you’ve learned.”

117.

Like a screamed swear in church, the mood of the entire room instantly changed. Casual conversations fell silent, finger foods lay forgotten on their miniature plates, and bodies shifted in their chairs to try and get the best view possible of the pertinent television screen.

Not every HCP had the exact same tests; often the curriculum was left in the hands of the professors and dean. However, there were certain aspects that had to be incorporated at specific milestones, and offering students the chance to fight their teachers at this time each year was one such requirement. They couldn’t force the battles, though. It had to simply be an option. Seeing who went for it, and why, was often as telling as the fights themselves. It wasn’t that the best students took on the professors; it was more a matter of seeing who was self-aware enough to choose the path that suited them best. Knowledge of one’s own strengths and weaknesses was easily more important for a Hero than raw power.

When students did elect to fight their teachers, however, the battles were exceptional entertainment for those watching: three seniors with youth and ambition on their side against a combat-hardened Hero who was usually past their physical prime. While their victories were rare, students almost always put on a good show before their defeat. Even resulting in elimination, it was often in these battles that some students secured their internships, whether they knew it or not.

Professor Cole was an interesting choice. She was well-suited to taking on multiple combatants, which made her seem like someone to avoid, but on the other hand, her power was at least somewhat straightforward. There was no shifting of form or invisible forces to contend with. If they could overpower her, they could claim victory. Of course, overpowering the Hero once called Seamstress was no easy matter, even if she wasn’t quite as fast as she’d been in her earlier years.

Dean Blaine could hear his own voice speaking, yet for the life of him he couldn’t tell what he was saying. Those words were coming out on autopilot, as every ounce of his true attention turned with the rest of the room to see the spectacle unfolding on-screen. He was about to see three children he’d had a hand in shaping test their skills against a veteran warrior.

Moments like these were why he’d become an educator in the first place.

*             *             *

The plan, if one could be generous enough to call it that, was simple. Since telekinetically grabbing Professor Cole wouldn’t do much to stop her pseudo-limbs from attacking, Mary would instead try to neutralize as many of the tentacle-like bandages as possible from a distance, allowing Vince and Roy to get in close enough to fight Professor Cole in melee. Even then, they knew she’d have the upper hand, but between Roy’s assault and Vince’s electricity, they hoped to overpower her. After all, Roy could withstand quite a high voltage before he passed out, so at the very worst Vince could release a wide blast that would be impossible to dodge.

At least, they hoped it would be impossible.

No sooner had Professor Cole issued her challenge than Roy and Vince ran forward, the former a few steps in the lead. Professor Cole’s bandages began to rise, their tips curled around a myriad of weaponry, but a few scant inches from her body they struck an unseen wall and were unable to rise any higher.

“Telekinetically pinning me in. Smart, but why not try and grab my entire body?”

“Because Mary already knows you’re too damn slippery to keep hold of.” Roy finished closing the gap between him and the professor, bat raised high as he took a measured swing. From so far back, it was plain that he wasn’t trying to hit her. Instead, the ultra-heavy weapon came dangerously close to the tip of her sword; only an immediate reaction yanked it out of the way in time.

“Trying to disarm me? Cute. Kudos for knowing I’m too hard to contain, though. After all, who can keep focus on one person from every single angle?”

Roy felt the grip on his leg as she spoke, a glance down showing him the white cloth tendril woven tightly around his calf. His eyes traced it along the ground, and he realized that she’d somehow managed to inch it along outside of Mary’s notice, sneaking it into position.

His leg was already beginning to move when Roy heard the crackle from over his shoulder, and it took all he had to repress a cocky grin. She might have been able to counter him, but he’d still managed to distract her long enough for Vince to get in close. Roy readied himself to yank his leg free and attack while Professor Cole was stunned—even if Vince held back she was going to get a little crispy. Those electric attacks were nothing to laugh about; as Vince’s usual sparring partner, Roy knew that better than anyone.

The blast of bright light came from behind, searing past Roy on a course directly for Professor Cole. It struck dead-on, so close that all the hair on Roy’s neck and arms stood straight up. He seized the opportunity, jerking on the captured leg to rip himself free and capitalize on the chance Vince had bought them.

Except… her grip hadn’t loosened in the slightest. As Roy tried to pull himself free, the tendril responded by tightening its hold and jerking him upward, dangling him in the air like a rabbit caught in a snare. From his new vantage point, Roy could now see behind some of the layers and bandages Professor Cole had raised, and suddenly he understood what had happened.

Held in one of her cloth tendrils was a smoking, slightly charred metal dagger. She’d used it as a lightning rod to catch Vince’s attack. While it probably wouldn’t be enough to stop one of his most powerful blasts, it was more than capable of taking a strike meant for stunning. Roy was about to yell to Vince, but before he got the chance he started to move once more.

“A blatant charge and an electrical assault? You could have done that as sophomores. I told you to show me what you’d learned. If this is the best you can do, if this is the farthest you’ve come, then maybe you don’t belong here.” Professor Cole was swinging Roy around by the ankle, his enhanced endurance likely the only thing keeping his leg attached. Then, all at once, he wasn’t spinning anymore. Instead, he was soaring through the air. It happened so fast that Roy barely registered what was going on. Even as the room zipped by, it took a moment for Roy to put it all together. Professor Cole had thrown him like he was a sack of potatoes. As he tumbled about in midair, Roy caught sight of something that made the indignity of the situation vanish from his mind.

It wasn’t just that Professor Cole had tossed him away; she’d used him as a weapon. Roy was on a crash course directly for Mary, with no way to stop.

118.

“Well now. I assumed the only people who would come my way would be by accident. Given that you’ve got a telepath—in function, if nothing else—that means you picked me. Interesting choice, boys. Dumb, but interesting.” Professor Pendleton’s usual affected air of stoic disinterest had slipped; it was plain to all of them that he was excited to see students walking into his lighted room. Chad understood the sentiment; no matter how strong a Super became, the urge to test one’s limits against other opponents never truly went away.

“I’m sure Blaine walked you all through the basics: knock me out, keep me held for three minutes, make me give up, or score a hypothetical death blow. I really shouldn’t have to say this, but take care to keep those death blows purely hypothetical. Nobody wants the headache of trying to replace a professor midyear if one of you gets a lucky shot. Everyone good with that?”

“Works for us,” Alex said, while Chad and Shane merely nodded in reply. The sound of locking doors was an unsettling accompaniment to the widening smile on Professor Pendleton’s face, although it had nothing on what came once the room was secured.

“Bring it on.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than Professor Pendleton seemed to explode. His body vanished; in its place a massive cloud of white fog flooded the room in all directions. It had taken mere seconds for everything to be engulfed, including the three students. Visibility was drastically diminished, not that there was really anything to see in the first place. After all, they knew exactly where their opponent was—he was everywhere around them.

With no other immediate recourse, Chad swung a quick punch through the air, attempting to disperse the mist. There was definitely a swirl through the fog, but whether or not he’d managed to cause any damage was impossible to discern. Nearby, he heard Shane moving his arm, no doubt trying to slice through the cloud with his shadows. While big enough strikes might be enough to disperse the fog, without Shane knowing the exact location of the other two, he would have to confine his attacks to the area near his body.

“A near perfect defense,” Chad said, taking another few swings. If he could figure out something with the air density, perhaps there was a way to at least annoy the professor.

“Nothing is perfect.” The voice was everywhere; it felt like being trapped in an echo. “And I’m not stupid, either. You think I don’t know what you’re hoping for? I watched all the tapes of this year’s trials multiple times, and I can feel Alex concentrating.”

On cue, Alex let out a yelp, followed by a quick thud as he fell to the ground. The air around them chuckled. “I do have an offense as well. I’m not going to let you just stand around and get your focus.”

It was expected: Professor Pendleton obviously wasn’t going to just permit himself to be defeated, although they had hoped he wouldn’t catch on to their strategy quite so soon. They needed to do something, to think of a counter, otherwise the situation would spiral out of control—and that was assuming it hadn’t already, which even Chad would admit was optimistic.

The first thing they needed was information. Chad knew that Professor Pendleton, the Hero formerly called Wisp and graduate of the Class of Legends, could attack people within the fog he transformed his body into. That much was easily discernible with a cursory knowledge of the Hero’s history. What he wasn’t sure of was how the attacks were managed. Concentrated blasts of air, altered densities, there were no end to the ways he might be striking at Alex. Until they understood how they were being attacked, there was no hope of fighting back.

Chad dashed over to Alex, moving more swiftly than he rightly should have when physically surrounded by the enemy. At least Professor Pendleton seemed set on neutralizing Alex more than him or Shane, which permitted them some freedom to move about. Alex was still on the ground when Chad drew near enough to see him, rubbing the back of his head.

“What happened?”

“No idea.” Alex rose to his feet tentatively, waiting for an unseen force to knock him back down. “I was trying to focus, and something hit me in the back of the knees and the top of my chest at the same time. By the time I knew I was falling, it was too late to stop myself.”

Striking from two directions at once, and with enough physical force to be felt. Chad had an inkling of an idea about how Professor Pendleton’s offense worked, but he needed confirmation before they could proceed. Plus, if he was wrong, it was better to find out quickly and start working with correct information.

“Alex, focus again,” Chad instructed. “Push back the fog around you first then work on consolidating it.”

“You know he can hear us, right?” Alex swept his hands through the mist, which swirled at his side.

“Of course he can, but he’ll still have to attack if you present a threat. Let me handle it from there.” Chad stepped a hair closer to Alex, making certain he wouldn’t miss a single part of what was going on.

Alex’s eyes closed and he lifted his hands. Dealing with something this insubstantial and huge must have demanded tons of concentration; Chad wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a telekinetic interact with something as intangible as mist before. It was a tactic only Alex might be able to use, and it was no simple task for him.

“Decent plan.” The voice whispered in Chad’s ear this time, so soft he knew no one else could hear it. “But Alex isn’t the only target. I have to eliminate you all, so maybe I’ll start with the shadow-wielder instead.”

From across the room, Shane let out a harsh grunt. His heart rate was increasing, and though Chad couldn’t make out the exact details, something was clearly assaulting him. Seconds later, the sound of fracturing bone reached Chad’s enhanced hearing, and while Shane didn’t cry out, he did make a disturbing noise in the back of his throat.

All the while, Alex was still there, eyes closed and untouched, as the fog near him slowly began to recede. It was a diversion, plain and simple. Professor Pendleton messed with people professionally; that was what Subtlety Heroes did. They dominated not through physical superiority, but wiles and tactics.

“A little heartless, aren’t you, Chad?” The voice was still there, still whispering, much as Chad would have liked to ignore it. “Are you really going to let me eliminate your best friend from the trial? Even if you and Alex manage to defeat me, Shane is out. Or maybe you want that to happen. Three points per person instead of two. That is the more pragmatic approach, and pragmatic is your specialty.”

“You’re wrong.” Chad kept his eyes trained on Alex, even as more sounds from Shane flooded his ears. “The reason I’m not running over to Shane isn’t because I don’t care. It’s because I know just how capable he is. You think you’re going to beat him before Alex forces your hand? I think you’re underestimating my friend by quite a healthy margin.”

There was no doubt about it, the fog was moving away from Alex. It was slow going, but an inch at a time he was getting control over the cloudy form of their teacher. Then, just as a real separation began to occur, Chad saw it: barreling through the mist—almost invisible if one didn’t have their senses turned up past human limitations—a fist. A physical, actual fist.

It struck Alex in the nose, vanishing the moment it made impact even as Alex reeled back in pain. The focus was gone, and Alex was bleeding, but Chad smiled all the same. His guess had been right after all.

“You can reform parts of your body at will. That’s how you attack in the fog. Hitting from blind spots, targeting tender areas… I bet you can even kill someone with enhanced endurance if you reached down into their lungs. Too bad that’s off the table, because you’re going to dearly wish you had an easy way to dispatch us.” Chad didn’t bother turning toward Shane. In a room this small, there was no way he wouldn’t hear the command.

“Shane! Follow my voice and get over here. It’s time we started fighting back.”

119.

It was barely enough, but Mary managed to throw a telekinetic shield in front of Roy a few seconds before impact. Although he smashed through it, the obstacle altered his trajectory, sending Roy crashing into a nearby wall rather than directly into his teammate. He stood as quickly as he could, shaking off small flecks of debris and taking stock of their situation.

Things looked bad. Professor Cole was still standing there, sword in hand, untouched by their first round of effort. Meanwhile, Vince was limping from a cut on his leg and Mary had a dagger in her shoulder, wounds they’d no doubt taken while Roy was getting tossed about. She was so damn good at fighting multiple opponents; it’s what her whole strategy was built around. Roy could see no flaws to exploit, no weaknesses they could turn to their advantage. With lethality off the table, they couldn’t go for broke with Mary or Vince unleashing tremendous blasts—not that they’d have lived this long if the match were about killing in the first place. Even now, Professor Cole was waiting for their next attack, giving them a chance to regroup. She was going easy on them because this was the most they could manage, and Roy hated himself for that. Was he really going to be beaten the same way as a year before? Was this as much as he’d grown?

They needed to think. They needed to fight smart. Vince might be fearless, but he was about as wily as Roy, which wasn’t saying a lot. And while Mary was bright, she’d usually leaned on Nick for tactical choices when she was the leader. Lacking though they were, it was still obvious they had to try something different. As things stood, they wouldn’t last more than a minute once Professor Cole decided they’d had enough attempts.

“Vince, give me a cold snap! Mary, try and get me close!” Roy began to run without waiting for confirmation from either of the others. There was no time to hesitate, to let Professor Cole figure out what he’d meant. If they were going to have a shot at even making her sweat, they needed to catch her off guard.

Roy made it five steps before he felt the chill in the air. Another two, and his panting breaths became visible. Several cloth tendrils clutching weapons tried to interrupt the charge, but these were knocked away by an unseen force as Mary defended him from afar. By the time he was close to Professor Cole, it was so cold the metal of Roy’s bat was sticking to his flesh. Not many people knew that Vince had been working on absorption, but it was clear the training was paying off. He’d managed to drop the room to near-freezing in the span of seconds; now all Roy could do was hope it proved to be enough.

This time, Roy didn’t swing for the blade. Instead, he aimed his attack directly for Professor Cole’s shoulder, hoping that at the very least he’d be able to cripple her. Taking away an arm from someone with so many pseudo-limbs wouldn’t accomplish much; however, the pain might lessen her concentration. At this point, any advantage they could get would have to do.

As Roy had expected, the cloak on Professor Cole’s shoulders floated upward to intercept the strike, aided by three separate tendrils. To Roy’s delight, the bandages seemed to give way as his ultra-heavy weapon slammed into them. Professor Cole’s outfit was far from typical; Roy had seen how tough the material was firsthand. But everything got slower and more brittle when it was cold.

Unfortunately, what Roy had hoped for required a cold that Vince apparently couldn’t reach. While he made it through the first two bandages, moving them aside with his powerful blow, the third managed to knock his bat upward, and the wide sweep of the cloak sent the strike into the air. Roy had missed her body entirely. Even worse than the miss was the fact that, with both arms extended upward, his entire body was completely open for a counterattack, something that Professor Cole didn’t miss.

The bandages wove around Roy’s torso in less than a second, jerking him upward as they steadily tightened. Once again, he was airborne, and Roy braced for the next throw. It was only seconds later that he realized what was actually happening, and by that point Professor Cole had thoroughly bound both of his arms over his head. Much as he struggled, she’d locked him into a position with virtually no leverage, and those damn cloth tendrils refused to budge.

“How strong are these things?” Roy grunted, trying desperately to free himself as he watched Vince narrowly avoid a flurry of daggers and Mary shield herself from a pair of bandages wielding blades. Even twenty feet away, Professor Cole could force their ranged fighters into melee.

“Pretty damn strong,” Professor Cole replied. “We might not have had tech-geniuses working as Heroes back in the day, but we still kept a few on the payroll. Plus, my power lets me strengthen them to an exceptional degree. That second attack was better, I’ll admit, but you overextended. Though it pains me to say it: I’m afraid you’ve done all you can for this test.”

The grip on Roy’s chest tightened, squeezing the air from his lungs. He wasn’t sure if she was going to take his air until he passed out or just hold him like this until three minutes went by, and he didn’t especially care. Either one would eliminate him from the trial. Worse, it would leave his friends a man down. This fight was hard enough; without a strongman to take her blows the whole thing was probably a lost cause. Then again, maybe Roy was overestimating himself. What had he done besides get thrown at Mary and then immediately become captured? Maybe it would be better when he was out. Mary and Vince wouldn’t have to worry about hitting him with any attacks they used. He’d probably been holding them back all along.

Oh, come the fuck on!

The words didn’t come from anyone in the room, and Roy’s eyes widened as he realized who had spoken. It had been months since he’d heard that voice in anything outside of a memory.

“Her—shel?” His words were hard to form; the pressure on his chest seemed to be growing tighter by the second.

Of course, it’s Hershel! The question is who the hell are you? Having a pity-party just because a fight’s not going your way. That sure doesn’t sound like the Roy Daniels I know. So what if you’re losing? You’re almost always losing. To Chad, to Coach George, to Dad. But you keep fighting. Because we’re Daniels men. We don’t give up until we’re physically incapable of going on, and sometimes even that’s not enough.

“Gett—ing chok—oked,” Roy managed to grunt out. The edges of his vision were filling with blurry static; it wasn’t going to be much longer now and he’d completely lose his grip on consciousness.

Drop the bat.

“Huh?” Roy wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard that right. Even if he let go, his hands were still bound overhead.

Drop the fucking bat!

This time, Roy didn’t protest. He just did as he was told. As soon as the weapon fell from Roy’s grip, he felt himself moving. Dimly, he became aware of impact on his back as he slammed into the ceiling. But what mattered far more to him than some meaningless blow was the fact that the pressure on his torso lessened. Not by a whole lot, but it was enough for Roy to puff out his chest and get a good breath of air. With that, his mind pulled itself from the oxygen-less sludge it had become mired in and he realized what had happened.

Professor Cole might be able to use those bandages to hold Roy up, but it still took effort, especially since he was holding a weapon that weighed hundreds of pounds. When he’d dropped it, he’d drastically changed his weight, and suddenly the force she was using was far too much. With Vince and Mary demanding her attention, it had caused her to accidentally slam Roy into the ceiling as she was caught off guard. Staring down, Roy could even see the surprise in her eyes, fleeting though it was. It was the first time they’d done anything she wasn’t expecting, and Roy found himself filled with a fresh round of determination.

Mary is gearing up to attack. When she does, try and break free at the exact moment Professor Cole defends. If her focus is split, her restraints might not be able to actively fight you.

Surprised as Roy was to still hear Hershel’s voice as the mental fog lifted, he didn’t question the advice. As soon as Mary let loose a blast of telekinetic energy, Professor Cole dodged, and at the same moment Roy pulled against the cloths on his arms with every ounce of power he could muster. The coils were still incredibly tough, but without their wielder focusing on reinforcing them, Roy was able to yank them apart. Once his arms were free, it was a simple matter to reach down, grab one of the cloth tendrils stretching up from Professor Cole’s body, and rip it in half. She might be as skilled as they came, but damn if Roy didn’t at least have brute strength on his side.

Professor Cole noticed him as he fell. She sent another few bandages to re-ensnare him, but Vince drew her attention with a controlled torrent of fire. She easily fended it off with more of her cloth tendrils—which were proving to be exceptionally flame retardant—however, by the time she glanced back, Roy had already landed and reclaimed his weapon.

“Okay,” Roy said, savoring the ability to breathe easily. “Now what?”

If you’re game, I’ve got a plan.

Roy glanced over to Mary, who, despite her wide, uncertain eyes at the strange voices she was hearing in Roy’s mind, nodded in agreement. Vince couldn’t hear the proposal, but since he was usually on board for anything, Roy assumed that wouldn’t be an issue.

“Lay it on me, bro. How do we bring her down?”

120.

The concept was a simple one. Chad had found throughout his years of combat and training that the less complex an idea was, the better a chance it had of succeeding, and this was as bare bones as he could keep the strategy. He began to bark orders as soon as Shane appeared, bloody and limping slightly, yet obviously undeterred.

“Shane, surround Alex with shadow-blades. Don’t touch him, but keep them sweeping around at all angles as fast as you can manage.” Already, holes in Chad’s arms were opening as his blood-saw began to take shape. “While you cover Alex, I’ll cover you. Professor Pendleton might be skilled, but I’m much harder to damage for someone without augmented strength.”

Shane’s hands were up before Chad had even finished the explanation, blades of darkness sweeping all around Alex’s tense, focused form. “Much as I trust you, mind telling me what good this does? It’s not like I can attack fast enough to create a draft and spread the fog.”

“We aren’t trying to hit the fog.” Chad’s mind was abuzz, his speed of perception increasing with every passing second. Shane’s ability could provide full coverage, but Chad needed to see and react to any of Professor Pendleton’s attacks to be effective. “The professor has to turn physical to strike us: reforming a hand or a foot or what have you. That’s what we’re covering against, the moment when he becomes momentarily solid. Because if he can hit us, then we can hit him right back.”

“Clever.” The voice drifted around them once more, impossible to track. “It took some of my actual peers far more than a single match to figure out that strategy. Of course, it’s only as good a plan as you can execute.”

Chad didn’t bother looking around for the voice; his gaze never wavered from Shane. Alex would be protected within the maelstrom of shadow, but this tactic left Shane completely open to attack. The only defense he had was Chad, who would be damned if he saw his friend take any more hits for the team.

For a few moments, nothing happened. That was expected; Professor Pendleton was probably waiting for them to let their guard down. He wanted—needed, really—to catch them by surprise. It was a good tactic, just one that was wasted on someone with Chad’s ability.

The hand formed fewer than five inches from Shane’s throat, outstretched fingers betraying their intention to curl around his neck. While Professor Pendleton wouldn’t go so far as to kill any of them, losing oxygen would be more than enough to break Shane’s focus, which would open Alex up as a target. Its proximity to Shane’s face made hitting the hand a dangerous prospect. If Chad’s aim wasn’t perfect, if he missed by even an inch or so, he might very well be the one to break Shane’s concentration—or worse, injure him.

The blood-saw whipped through the air, arcing between Shane’s arms and coming down directly on Professor Pendleton’s hand. Though Chad’s aim was true, it seemed as though he struck only mist, as the hand unformed an instant before impact would have been made. Then his eyes caught the sight of something solid falling through the fog, and when it hit the ground with a soft thud he recognized the object for what it was. Chad had sliced off the tip of one of Professor Pendleton’s fingers.

“Shit!” The fog seemed to ripple with pain, swirling angrily around them. Except it wasn’t completely around them anymore. While Chad had been preoccupied with watching over Shane, Alex had been getting the job done. Slowly but surely, he was pushing the fog away, beads of sweat rolling down his face from the effort. In spite of the toll it was taking, his effort seemed to be paying off with every passing second, shoving more and more of the mist over to the other end of the room.

“Playing a little rough for a practice match, don’t you think?” Professor Pendleton didn’t seem quite so taunting anymore.

“Pretty hard to die from losing a finger. Or a whole hand.” Chad extended his blood-saws by a few inches, just to drive the point home. Anything Professor Pendleton manifested should be something he was prepared to have lopped off.

Some piece of their teacher formed from the fog behind Chad, on a crash course with the back of his knee. Even if he couldn’t see the attack, it was impossible to miss the sound of muscles and bones contracting. Without so much as a glance behind him, Chad sent a slicing stream of blood around toward the object. He didn’t make contact; however, the appendage vanished well before his attack came close. It seemed their teacher wasn’t taking any more chances.

Then again, there wouldn’t be that many more chances to take. As Alex gained momentum, the mist around him, Shane, and Chad was clearing. Professor Pendleton was being slowly driven back; he’d been contained to a single quarter of the room. It was time to switch up strategies.

“Alex, keep at it. You’re doing incredible work. Shane, Professor Pendleton is probably about to reform so he can ruin Alex’s grip and spread himself out again. We have to stop that.”

“Any ideas on how?” Shane’s teeth were ground together; he was clearly putting everything he had into Alex’s defense. Chad had expected nothing less.

“Yes, actually. Do the same thing you’re doing with Alex, only through the cloud. Stick Professor Pendleton in the middle of a shadow-blender, so that it isn’t safe for him to turn so much as even an ear solid. I’ll back you up.”

Without pausing for confirmation, Chad shifted his attention to the slowly shrinking bank of fog. His blood-saws arced through it, taking wide, long sweeps to cover as much ground as possible. Seconds later, blades of shadow began to whirl within the fog, churning at incredible speeds. The side of a shadow caught the tip of Chad’s saw, knocking drops of blood onto the concrete below.

“Pull back, Chad. I can handle this alone, and you’ll probably want to keep most of your blood,” Shane said. “Just keep watching the perimeter, in case he tries to slip out or anything.”

Chad did as requested, bringing the blood-saws out of the fog. It was a short journey; Alex was compressing Professor Pendleton down rather tightly by this point. Their teacher had become a cloud-ball roughly seven feet around.

“I think this is as small as I can go,” Alex said. His eyes were open now, and the amount of perspiration running off him had diminished considerably. “Keeping him bunched up like this is a lot easier than dealing with a room full of mist, though, so I should be able to hold him.”

Although Chad nodded, he kept his eyes trained on the bundle of fog across the room. “Then all we need to do is keep him pinned for three minutes.” Even as he said it, something in Chad’s gut told him it wouldn’t be quite as easy as it sounded.

121.

In that moment, Roy would have traded his left arm for Mary’s power to include the transmitting of thoughts as well as the reading of them. The more they could communicate without Professor Cole overhearing them, the better off they would be. As it was, all they could do was keep their verbal exchanges as limited as possible and trust one another to figure things out on the fly. On the upside, over three years of living, training, and meeting challenges alongside one another meant that he, Mary, and Vince had a level of understanding and trust that they’d never have managed had they been merely classmates. He just hoped it would be enough. On the upside, at least he wasn’t dealing with this on his own.

Professor Cole uses precision above all else, and manipulating so many pseudo-limbs has to take a good amount of concentration. So first, we need to take away her power to make such calculated strikes.

“Vince, get the lights!” Roy was racing forward as he listened to Hershel’s voice, with no time to spare so much as a glance to see if Vince got the message. “And just roll with whatever comes next.”

Two more steps, and suddenly the room went pitch black. Well, that was one stroke of luck; Vince had understood Roy’s request and absorbed all the light around them. Roy kept running, ignoring the darkness and staying on track toward the last place he’d seen Professor Cole.

“Interesting. You think taking my sight will give you an advantage?” Professor Cole didn’t seem worried in the slightest; if anything, she was a bit amused. “But none of you can see either, and—if you didn’t notice—you’re making more than enough noise for me to find you.”

With no other distractions, Roy could hear the rustle of those damned cloth tendrils snapping through the air, set on a direct course for him. Still, he didn’t slow down. He kept right on going, even as they drew closer. Then, just when impact seemed unavoidable, Roy felt a familiar pressure grip his chest and jerk him upward. His shoulder brushed the ceiling briefly before he dropped a few inches, soaring along just below the top of the room.

“What in the… you can’t fly.” It was the first time Roy could recall hearing Professor Cole perceptibly confused, and while it didn’t last long, he still took a great deal of pleasure in the moment. “Of course. Mary is lifting you up.”

“She’s doing a lot more than that.” Roy was jerked to the side as soon as he spoke, Mary not wanting to give away his position.

Good job, Mary. Now that Professor Cole is blinded and you’ve got the advantage on mobility, press the attack.

No sooner had Hershel’s voice echoed through Roy’s head than his body was thrust forward, right toward the room’s center. He was more object than warrior at this point, but as he soared past the tendrils, too quick to be caught in the darkness, he didn’t mind one bit. Finally, he felt like they were getting traction, and that sentiment was confirmed as his foot collided with something that felt like a shoulder. Only Mary’s firm grip kept him from spinning around as he was hoisted upward once more.

“A crude, rudimentary technique, but I suppose I have to say it’s effective. All the more so since it seems Mary is still maintaining a shield around herself.” The clanging from the other end of the room made it clear that Professor Cole had tried to nip this problem at its source, but Roy knew it would take more than a half effort from her to break through one of Mary’s telekinetic barriers. While she might not have Alex’s control, Mary had more power than she knew what to do with.

“Not bad, but let’s see how you fare when you lack a clear target as well.” From all around, noise filled the room, clattering and clanging as different objects struck concrete in every conceivable direction.

She’s making too much noise to track her location audibly, and I’d bet she’s skilled enough to keep her mind blank so Mary can’t read it. Think Vince has figured things out yet?

“Pretty sure we’ll find out soon.” Roy braced himself as the grip on his chest swung him around. Occasionally he’d hit a tendril, but between the speed and surprise, there was no time for any of Professor Cole’s cloth limbs to ensnare him. At first, he seemed to be moving nowhere, just idly circling. It was only after several seconds that Roy realized he was picking up speed. Mary was turning up his momentum as high as she could, determined to make the surprise attack count for all it was worth.

We should call this tactic the Roycking ball. Get it, like a wrecking ball?

“It’s a good thing you’re smart, because you suck like hell at naming things,” Roy muttered. The speed was turning up more and more, faster by the second. After one more rotation around the room, Roy’s direction changed, sending him on a crash course with what appeared to be empty darkness. Mary knew better, though. Within seconds, Roy’s torso collided with Professor Cole’s body. He wasn’t there for longer than a few heartbeats before Mary jerked him away again, but it was enough to feel their teacher stumble. They’d scored a real blow, one her cloth armor couldn’t totally stop. Not much in the grand scheme of things, yet a huge achievement so far as Roy was concerned.

“The hell? I’ve kept my mind empty; there’s no way you should have been able to pin down my location. You’re both working totally blind.”

But Vince isn’t. He’s drawing all the light in the room, including the miniscule amount all living bodies naturally put out. As long as he can sense the sources, Mary can read his thoughts and get our locations.

“It was a good idea; no one’s begrudging you that. The question is, will this work?” Roy was amazed at how far they’d come; however, there was still a high hurdle left to clear for Hershel’s plan to prove successful.

No clue. Not much we can do at this point either way. Mary, bring us in again as soon as you can.

On cue, Roy plummeted downward once more. This time, it was his knee that struck the professor. The next time around, he caught her with his hip. Three hits in rapid succession was a hell of a streak, one that Roy would have gladly seen continue into the double digits. Unfortunately, when Mary swung him around for the next attack, Professor Cole was waiting.

It felt like Roy had been tossed into a spider web made of cloth: the instant he drew near, dozens of tendrils closed around him. None got a perfect grip, but the lot of them caused his momentum to cease entirely and Roy became stuck in place.

“Your tactic was good, but using the same trick over and over will give your enemy the chance to adapt to it,” Professor Cole said. “You were never going to beat me with this tactic.”

“Yeah, we know,” Roy shot back. “That’s why it wasn’t my job to beat you. I just had to keep you occupied.”

In a blinding flash, light returned to the room. Roy blinked past the pain, determined to see for himself if their gambit had paid off or not. As his eyes adjusted, he could just make out the silver-haired form of Vince Reynolds, his fist pressed firmly against Professor Cole’s ribs.

“I believe the term you used was ‘hypothetical deathblow,’” Vince said. “Which means we win.”

122.

“Deathblow, you say?” Professor Cole certainly didn’t sound like someone who’d just lost a match against her students. She seemed more curious than defeated, really. “Mr. Reynolds, I know you’re generally not one to overstate your abilities; however, I’ve also seen your matches in the past. Forgive me if I’m somewhat skeptical that you could impart enough power in a single punch to put me permanently down for the count, especially with such a rapid transition from absorbing to unleashing different energies.”

Vince stared up at her, uncertainty written plain as day on his face. “Um… are you asking me to try and kill you, ma’am?”

Professor Cole chuckled, shaking Roy slightly as her tendrils moved with her. “Nothing so dire as that. As a student, you are constantly growing. I will admit that it’s possible your capabilities exceed what you’ve demonstrated in the past. That said, victory over a professor is no small accomplishment, and I can’t in good conscience allow you to take it without proving you have the power you’ve claimed. So let’s make this simple, Mr. Reynolds. I’d like you to unleash the attack you would have used to kill me on the wall. Exact same parameters as before, go from absorbing light to throwing a punch. If you can do sufficient damage to the wall, I’ll admit that I would have been knocked out, if not killed. Do too little, and we resume the match from this moment, with Roy captured and you open for a counter. Fair?”

“Hang on,” Roy yelled down from his captured position in the air. “Vince uses up his energy, you know. If he burns up power just to prove a point then he’s not going to have it for the rest of the trial.”

“Power he wouldn’t have if he’d used it to stop me in the first place,” Professor Cole countered.

“It’s okay,” Vince said. “She’s right; I’d be down however much power I used to defeat her. It’s not fair for me to claim the win but keep the energy. Managing my resources is part of what I have to keep up with in combat, so this is part of my training.”

Walking slowly, Vince made his way over to the opposite end of the room, as far from the others as physically possible. “Mary, could you put a shield between me and the rest of you? I’m going to use kinetic energy and I don’t want anyone to get clipped by debris. Also, is it clear on the other side of the wall?”

“The labyrinth’s entire structure is incredibly reinforced, Mr. Reynolds. You’d need a tremendous amount of power, more than even Mr. Daniels could manage, to put so much as a crack on the other side.”

“It’s clear, Vince.” Mary paid the teacher no mind as she made her way over, putting a barrier of mental force around Vince and his section of the room.

“Thanks, Mary.” Looking down at his right hand, still balled into a fist, Vince let out a long breath. “I’ll darken the room for ten seconds, then stop absorbing and throw my punch. Is that long enough, Professor Cole?”

Professor Cole stared at him, watching Vince’s every movement carefully. “I think that will be sufficient to recreate our scenario.”

With a nod, Vince made a small cupping motion with his left hand and the room went totally dark once more. They stood there, unable to see anything, until ten seconds had passed and the light came back in a sudden surge. Thankfully, it hadn’t been long enough for their eyes to fully adjust to the darkness, so they were all able to see quite clearly as Vince swung his fist forward and connected with the wall.

*             *             *

The noise was so loud Alice almost lost her concentration, which would have been exceptionally poor timing as she trailed the footsteps of a fellow student through the hall. It sounded like an explosion, which narrowed the possibilities significantly, and on instinct she tensed up. Was it another attack? Had something gone terribly wrong? Floating in the darkness, she waited for the lights to come on or an announcement to be made. After drifting there for thirty seconds, Alice finally accepted that nothing had gone too far off the rails and continued stalking her prey. Whatever had just happened, it evidently wasn’t enough to stop the trial.

Although she was quite curious to know what had made such a noise, Alice had other concerns to deal with first. She wanted to get her score as high as possible before only the tough opponents remained.

*             *             *

No sooner had she heard the noise than Camille knew the source. True, there were technically others who could have caused it, but she had no doubt in her heart that it was Vince. Only he was foolhardy and determined enough to end up in a situation where that much power was necessary. Really, she just hoped he hadn’t gone and gotten himself disqualified by using too much force, though that seemed unlikely. Strong as he grew, Vince never seemed to revel in causing others pain. At least, not unless they deserved it.

With an ear tilted upward to hear if there would be an encore, Camille resumed her trek through the labyrinth. It seemed a good bet that Vince had just done something that would make standing out much more difficult for everyone else, so she needed to rack up all the points she could.

*             *             *

Dean Blaine was out of his seat, knuckles white as he stared at the television screen. They’d missed much of the battle—Vince had been absorbing even the light that night-vision cameras registered—but what was displayed on the screens now more than made up for it. All around him, he could hear the chatter of the watching Heroes, normally stoic fronts all abandoned as they excitedly discussed what had just happened.

If there had ever been any hope for these students to escape the nickname Class of Nightmares, Vince had just smashed it into pieces.

*             *             *

Light streamed out from the room into the previously dark hallway. Vince pulled his hand back and uncurled his fist, staring in dumbfounded shock at the massive hole he’d just punched in the wall. Pieces of concrete were smashed and embedded on the other side of the hallway, a few causing cracks in the previously smooth surface. Turning around, he put on his best unassuming face and looked Professor Cole in her unusually wide eyes.

“That took pretty much every bit of kinetic energy I had. Was it enough?”

Slowly, Professor Cole began to nod as she lowered Roy back to the ground. “Yes, Mr. Reynolds. I can say without any shame whatsoever that a punch like that would have certainly overcome my defenses. Your deathblow stands, and you are officially the winners of the match. But where on Earth did you get so much kinetic energy?”

Smiling with relief, Vince pointed over to Roy, who was slowly getting his bearings as the cloth tendrils released him. “I’ve got a very strong sparring partner. That was really just a bunch of Roy’s punches being thrown all at once.”

Professor Cole looked from Vince, to Roy, to Mary, and back to Vince again before shaking her head. “Well, I did ask you to show me how much you’d all grown. I must say, you didn’t disappoint. As one of your educators, I am filled with pride at the fact that you three managed to score a win over me, no matter how strange the tactics you used were. Congratulations to all of you. Now, get back out there while I go help myself to some catered food, and perhaps a well-earned drink.”

123.

It was a split second of distraction. The boom that echoed through the labyrinth was unexpected; however, everyone in the cell was well-trained at keeping their focus. Their minds were drawn away for a span best measured in heartbeats. Still, that was somehow long enough.

No longer was a contained ball of cloud floating in the corner of the room. In its place was Professor Pendleton, once more corporeal and ducking nimbly out of the way of one of Shane’s shadows as he rolled across the floor. He was bare-chested, his shirt fluttering to the ground in two pieces as his bare feet slid along the concrete. If Chad was working under the assumption that the clothes couldn’t shift as well, Professor Pendleton had been carrying them around within the fog. It must have taken considerable effort, given all the shadows slicing around him, and struck Chad as somewhat curious. Before he could dwell on it further, their opponent spoke.

“Careful, Shane, that’s a lot of sharp shades to be swinging about. Some might even consider them to be a deadly amount of force against a flesh-and-blood opponent.” Professor Pendleton was smiling, in spite of how close they’d managed to get to victory. Even with emotions kept in check, Chad still managed to feel a bit irked by that.

“Alex, same plan, smaller target. Keep him solid and elevated. Shane and I will stay close by in case he tries anything.”

“Not the worst idea I’ve come up against,” Professor Pendleton said. “Unfortunately, Chad, your usual failing has struck yet again.” He reached into his pocket and produced a small silver device, pressing his thumb onto a blue button near the top before anyone could react.

Chad could hear the crackle, even before Shane and Alex dropped to their knees. Before the HCP, he wouldn’t have recognized it quite so easily, but years of classes with Vince and learning from Professor Fletcher had ingrained the sound of electrical discharge deep in Chad’s mind. Both of his teammates were breathing heavily as they struggled to stay upright, still conscious but incapable of doing much more than gritting their teeth in pain.

“You assumed I was fighting in a straightforward manner, like you were, trying to knock you out with physical blows. But students aren’t the only ones allowed to bring in tools. I snuck a few remote stunning devices onto your friends when I first spread out. Nifty little gizmo; the harder I press, the stronger the current. Don’t worry, though; it can’t do any serious damage to them. At the most, it will knock them out.”

The words hung in the air between them, interrupted only by the occasional fresh wave of electrical current surging into Shane or Alex. Chad knew he wasn’t as adept at dealing with people as, well, pretty much everyone else in class, but not even he was able to miss the threat that had just been leveled. If Professor Pendleton knocked them both out, they’d be eliminated from the trial. Plus, one on one, it was highly unlikely Chad would be able to defeat someone with Professor Pendleton’s ability. It was an easy victory… so why hadn’t the professor taken it yet?

“You didn’t put one on me.” The realization hit Chad immediately, and as it came so too did the logical extension of what that meant. “You wanted to face me alone?”

“Things can be done for more than one reason,” Professor Pendleton said. “In this case, I didn’t put any on you because as tough as you are, there was a good chance it wouldn’t be enough to stop you. And with your awareness, you’d almost certainly have noticed me try to put it on, which would have tipped my hand. No, Chad, I left you untouched mostly due to my own pragmatism. However, once I realized the team I’d be facing, an idea did form in my head. That’s why your friends are distracted, but not unconscious. I am, after all, an educator, and this was a chance I couldn’t let slip by.”

From the corner of his eye, Chad could see Shane lifting his hand, slowly trying to reach around to his back. There was no telling where Professor Pendleton had placed the devices; in his fog form he’d been all around them. The spine or neck did seem like prime areas, though. If Shane could peel his off, and Chad could reach Alex, they might still be able to turn things around.

Unfortunately, Chad wasn’t the only one who noticed the movement. Professor Pendleton tightened his grip slightly, causing Shane and Alex to both spasm and flail their limbs.

“Stop it! Torturing them is not acceptable for a simple test.” Chad could feel his annoyance and anger rising, despite efforts to keep them both carefully contained.

“You’d be surprised how important it is to endure pain as a Hero.” Professor Pendleton’s face darkened for a moment, some part of his past reaching out, making itself visible in a pinched and tired expression. It was gone as fast as it came, but Chad knew what he’d seen. “But that’s not what’s happening. While this is messing with their nervous systems, it doesn’t hurt any more than our usual sparring sessions. I should know; I had each one of the devices used on myself before I ever brought them into combat.”

This time, it was Alex who moved, and there was no delay before the spasms began anew. “Listen up, you two. If either of you tries to pull off the electrodes through any means, I’ll drop you both. Chad, if you try to take the devices off, I’ll knock your friends out before even you can make it over. If you try to attack, I’ll go into fog only a few seconds after taking them both down.”

“So what am I supposed to do, then?” Chad asked.

“Easy. Knock yourself out.” Professor Pendleton reached up with his free hand, blood from the missing fingertip dripping down his wrist, and tapped lightly on his own temple. “You’ve got the ability, and we both know it. Send your brain into sleep mode, and I’ll drop the controller. I won’t pick it up again, either. Your friends will be free to continue the fight, but you’ll be eliminated.”

“I… I don’t understand. Two against one is a greater threat. Why not take them both down and fight me? None of this makes sense.” As much as Chad turned the situation around in his mind, it didn’t add up. Why would Professor Pendleton be willing to make that trade? Chad wasn’t even the most pertinent threat in this fight; Alex was by far more essential.

“And see, that is exactly the lesson you’re going to be learning today: not every enemy takes actions that make sense. Some people are illogical, or so emotional they can’t think straight, or just flat-out dumb.” The remote never wavered in Professor Pendleton’s hand; his thumb kept a constant pressure even as he spoke. “As for me, I just want to see the way you think, Chad. You’re a strong Super, no one can deny that. But you lack the ability to think outside the box well. So, I want to see what you’ll do when really pushed to the edge. Sacrifice yourself, and your score, for people you’d have to fight anyway, try and take me on alone in a fight we both know is pretty much unwinnable, or find a way out of the situation. Sometimes, being a Hero means making hard choices in the heat of the moment, decisions you can’t take back. If you can’t find a solution, then you have to make do with the shitty options in front of you.”

Slowly, Professor Pendleton extended his arm, holding the remote a precious few inches closer. “You’ve got until the count of ten to make your choice, or your friends finish their exam here and now. Let’s see if you can surprise me.”

124.

He hadn’t known how, but Dean Blaine had been certain from the moment he agreed to let Sean take part in this year’s exam that he would regret it. Staring at the screen, watching as the professor pressed Chad into a seemingly winless situation, it took all he had to keep the exasperation from showing on his face. Of all the match-ups possible, this was probably among the worst conceivable. Chad knew how to fight at a level virtually none of his peers could match, but his thinking had always been predictably linear. Sean, on the other hand, was as wily as they came. Wisp hadn’t been a legend among Subtlety Heroes without reason.

The worst of it was that, annoyed as he was, Dean Blaine couldn’t dispute the merit in what Sean was doing. Although they weren’t daily occurrences, sometimes situations occurred in the field where pure victory was impossible. In those moments, a Hero had to determine the best course forward and live with the consequences of whomever they failed. It was a harsh truth, but a truth all the same. One day Chad might find himself in just such a predicament with far more than mere exam points on the line.

Around him, the crowd was interested—no small feat, given how much chatter there had been after Vince’s display. Most of the eyes in the room were focused on Chad’s screen, anxious to see if he would sacrifice his friends or himself. For his part, Dean Blaine was hoping that somehow, no matter how small the chance might be, Chad would find a way to yank a fragment of triumph from the situation.

It was far from likely, but that was the thing about Heroes: they always had the potential to surprise.

*             *             *

While a ten-count was no doubt meant to hurry him along and impede his decision making, for Chad it was ample time to think. Speeding up his perception, he was able to calmly analyze the situation from every angle his brain could find, rather than hurtling blindly along based on instinct. Unfortunately, even if he’d been given an entire day Chad wasn’t certain he could have found a good solution to the dilemma facing him.

At his top speed, Chad could move incredibly fast, but there was still no way he could reach either of his teammates before Professor Pendleton took them out of the fight for good. Without Alex, there would be functionally no way to harm or stop the teacher in cloud form. However, they were only his teammates in the context of this fight. Looking at the trial as a whole, they were opponents he’d have to strike down eventually. If Chad sacrificed them now, he would at least have a chance to keep fighting. Perhaps he could manage a draw with Professor Pendleton and be freed back out into the labyrinth to battle his fellow students.

From a purely analytical standpoint, letting Shane and Alex be knocked out held the most potential gain for Chad, and as a freshman there was no question he would have elected to take that route. But now… the idea of sacrificing people who were counting on him, trusting him, even if only for the span of this one match, filled him with an undeniable sense of disgust. If he was the sort of Hero who could only win by climbing over the backs of his friends, then he’d prefer to walk away here and now.

Besides, when he looked at this situation as a mock-battle with a villain, then the priorities shifted. Alex and Shane were far more valuable. They had a real shot at stopping Professor Pendleton, even if it would be harder with one man down. The right choice, the only choice, was to let himself be eliminated. Yet Chad knew he couldn’t accept the professor’s terms without failing this test. He needed to do something different, something that showed outside-the-box thinking. And while the idea he had wasn’t especially spectacular, it was something only he could do.

“I’ll knock myself out,” Chad declared, only an instant after Professor Pendleton reached the count of six.

“The self-sacrifice move, huh? Well, you might not be swift, but at least you’re not a heartless bastard. Fair warning, though, we’re monitoring everyone’s vitals, brain waves included—so don’t think you can just fall down and I’ll take you at your word. I’m waiting until I receive confirmation that you’re out before I let these two go. And make sure you don’t try to wake up and interfere; if you become conscious, that remote is fair game again.”

Chad nodded. He hadn’t been sure how Professor Pendleton would check this sort of thing, but he’d never doubted that bluffing was off the table. And he had no intent to do so, either. Reaching deep within his brain, Chad activated the same process that he used every night to put himself into a restful slumber.

Well, almost the same process, anyway.

There was a muffled thud as Chad slipped to the ground. Seconds later, a voice in Professor Pendleton’s ear confirmed that Chad Taylor had gone unconscious and was therefore eliminated from the trial. Shaking his head, Professor Pendleton took his hand off the remote and slipped it back into his pocket. It had been a tough choice to make, and while Chad hadn’t shown any unexpected thinking skills, at least he’d proven that he could care more about others than himself. For a kid who started out as a tin man, that was something Professor Pendleton was glad to see.

Slowly, Alex and Shane rose to their feet. As they moved, they reached around to their necks and back respectively, ripping off the electrodes that had been used to keep them down.

“Well boys, it looks like Chad bought you both a second bite at the apple. Try to make the most of it, will you? I’d hate to see such a noble—”

Professor Pendleton was interrupted by sudden movement. Between Shane and Alex, Chad leapt back to his feet in a single fluid motion. Was he really trying a double cross? And here Professor Pendleton was beginning to think a little better of his decision-making skills. It wasn’t even like his friends had gotten enough time to find and remove all of the electrodes yet. Professor Pendleton’s hand was plunging into his pocket when Dr. Moran’s voice echoed through his comm.

“None of that, Sean. I’m still watching Chad’s brainwave activity, and he’s passed out. You touch that remote, and you’re the one who went back on his word.”

“How the hell is he passed… oh, you sneaky little bastard.” Now that he was paying closer attention, Professor Pendleton noticed the way Chad swayed uncertainly on his feet, and how his eyes were unfocused even with an opponent standing right before him. “You put yourself in a dream and kept your body active. Even if you can’t get any credit for it, you still want to help your buddies take me down, huh?”

It was with a smile that Professor Pendleton removed his hand from his pocket, absent of the remote control. He’d wanted to see if Chad could think in a direction other than straight ahead, and that was exactly what the kid had managed.

“Well then, looks like it’s still three on one,” Professor Pendleton said. “That should keep things interesting.”

125.

Professor Pendleton had been telling the truth; the shocks undoubtedly looked worse than they felt. However, that didn’t mean the experience had been pleasant by any stretch of the imagination. Alex finally shook off the last of the pain, trying to take in stride the fact that not only had Chad sacrificed himself, but he’d done it in a way that still let him help out. Touching as the gesture was, it would be for nothing if Alex and Shane couldn’t capitalize on it to pull out a win.

Across the room, Professor Pendleton was still solid, though for how long was anyone’s guess. Alex could theoretically contain him if he went into fog-mode again, but between the effort of last time and the stress to his system from the shocks, he was starting to feel mentally drained. If Alex really pushed himself, he could probably pull the same trick off once more, but that would be it. He’d be wiped out: an easy target if the professor escaped, or if Shane decided to fully liquidate the team once the fight was over. He wouldn’t even be able to blame Shane for the decision; at that point Alex would be nothing but deadweight.

Besides, only an idiot would assume those electrodes were the sole trick Professor Pendleton had up his sleeve. Fighting him so straightforwardly put them at a disadvantage; they were dealing with the Subtlety teacher, after all. It was time to start thinking non-conventionally.

The one thing they did know was that Professor Pendleton’s physical body could still be injured; the bloody end of a missing fingertip on his left hand proved that point well. Chad had chopped it off when the hand formed from the fog, so as long as Professor Pendleton was solid, they should be able to do some damage. Deep down, Alex had known it might come to this from the moment he accepted Shane and Chad’s offer to join. Part of him had feared the possibility, while another piece had hoped for it. He’d been refining his control for months, ever since the night he lost Sasha, ready to make sure he didn’t fall short again. Scary as it was to finally put one of his new techniques into action, this was also the best shot he was going to get. There were some things that Sims just didn’t cut it for.

Alex narrowed his focus, all too aware that Professor Pendleton was expecting to be bound once more so that he couldn’t engulf the whole room. But this time, Alex was conjuring a much smaller area of force. Like a tiny, powerful fist, it squeezed on the cluster of nerves Alex was targeting. Professor Pendleton was still staring at them, cocky grin on his face, when his legs suddenly gave way beneath him.

“Shane, surround him with shadows!” Alex yelled. They weren’t going to have long: only a few precious seconds where, for once, Professor Pendleton was the one confused.

“What in the hell… I can’t feel my fucking legs.” It was the first time any of them had ever seen genuine worry on Professor Pendleton’s face, and bad as Alex felt for inflicting the wound, it was an expression that filled him with a small measure of accomplishment.

“That’s because I’m pressing down between the vertebrae of your spinal column,” Alex replied. “I could sever them outright, if I had to, but I think this works better. See, your hand didn’t regrow that finger Chad lopped off. So I don’t think you can reshape your body however you see fit when you reform. If I hold on to a specific body part’s worth of smoke when you shift, then, if you turn back without it, you’ll be missing that piece. Something tells me you don’t want to be separated from a section of your own spine.”

“I’m impressed, and a little surprised,” Professor Pendleton admitted. “This is a far more ruthless tactic than I expected out of you, Alex.”

“I’ve learned the importance of stopping my enemies, even if they’re stronger than I am.” Alex’s brain flashed back against his will to that night when he’d tried to hold a Super with enhanced speed up in the air. If only he’d been more prepared, if only he’d been able to end that fight before it started, there would be one more student in the class this year. Alex wasn’t dwelling on his failure anymore; he’d accepted the loss and was slowly moving on from it. But that sure as shit didn’t mean he planned to make the mistake again further down the line.

“Clearly,” Professor Pendleton replied. “So, what now then? Are you going to break my spine?”

“No. If I snap it and lose my grip, you can turn into smoke without fear of me ripping the part out. Besides, this takes a lot of concentration. I don’t think I could do anything else even if I wanted to. They, on the other hand, are a different story.” Alex nodded to Shane and the still unsteady Chad. “While I make sure you don’t turn to smoke, they’re going to take you down.”

“Fascinating.” Professor Pendleton was smiling again, although this was nothing like the cocky smirk he’d donned when delivering an ultimatum to Chad. It was a surprising reaction, but it had nothing on what came next. In one swift motion, Professor Pendleton hopped to his feet, seemingly unbothered by the pressure Alex was still exerting on his spinal column. “I must admit, Alex, you’ve impressed me. I never thought I’d actually have to show off this aspect of my abilities.”

“The hell? Your spine should still be pinched.”

“And pinched it is,” Professor Pendleton agreed. “But just as I can turn the fog back into flesh selectively, I can also shift parts of my body to mist. They still function in that form, albeit not as well as normal, and it’s not something I can keep up indefinitely. So congratulations, you’ve functionally neutralized my ability to shift entirely. But if you want victory, these two are still going to have to best me to take it.”

“No argument here.” Shane made a quick motion with his hand, and three shadows struck the professor simultaneously. All three hit his legs, specifically targeting groups of muscles that would ideally leave him hamstrung and helpless—or at least hurt if nothing else. The dark blades hit their marks without error, yet even as they passed through, Alex could feel the disturbance in Shane’s mind.

None of the strikes had drawn so much as a drop of blood. From Alex’s vantage point, he could just make out a few wisps of fog trailing the final shadow as it pulled away from Professor Pendleton’s unmarred flesh.

“Come on, did you really think it was that easy? I just told you I can turn my body to fog as needed. Did you forget I graduated with the Class of Legends? I had to learn to react to attacks much faster and stronger than that.”

Alex looked at Shane, who was staring back at him. They’d managed to limit the professor’s movements, and with the situation laid out as it was, there was only one viable option: overwhelm him with attacks so they could hit before he could react. For Shane alone, it would have been a tough battle. But, luckily for them, they weren’t in this fight alone. Even through the haze of slumber, Alex could still feel Chad deep within his dream, just waiting for the call to lend aid. The time had come to make one last push with everything they had. If this didn’t work, then they were out of options.

“Chad, I know you’re in there, and I hope you can hear me okay,” Alex called. “We need you to fight Professor Pendleton as best as—”

Chad’s charge across the room was instantaneous, his unfocused eyes locked in Professor Pendleton’s direction.

Well, at least they didn’t need to worry about whether or not he could take orders.

126.

Dean Blaine really needed a drink. He’d thought Vince was as bad as it would get, putting on a primal display of raw power that drew the attention of nearly every Hero present. But no, he was not so fortunate as to merely have dozens of Heroes whispering about an astounding, yet singular, feat. Now he had the joy of dealing with the fallout from one of his students grabbing a teacher by the spinal cord, inducing temporary paralysis and threatening to rip out a section of Professor Pendleton’s nervous system. At this point, if people didn’t leave calling his seniors the Class of Bloodbaths Dean Blaine would claim it as a victory.

The one component offsetting such brutal tactics was how controlled everyone had been in using them. Yes, Vince had smashed through a wall he shouldn’t have been able to dent, but he’d made certain no one was in danger from debris first. And while Alex’s stunt was definitely going to have people talking after the match, no one could deny that he was using the technique delicately. He could have grabbed a place higher up on the spine to drop Professor Pendleton’s entire body, or simply snapped the nerve from the outset to try and cripple his opponent. Instead, Alex had gone for the capture, and that hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice.

How the fight turned out would all come down to endurance and precision. As one of Sean Pendleton’s oldest friends, Blaine was well aware of how adept the man could be in close combat. And while Chad, even sleeping, was not to be taken lightly, Sean had dealt with similarly skilled opponents many times in his own HCP days.

After all, he’d been forced to face off with the original Intra: Joshua Taylor.

*             *             *

Alice heard the scuff of a foot in the darkness. She readied her gravity field, drifting back carefully. She’d already managed to bring down Will thanks to a poorly-timed misstep coming around a corner, but Alice wasn’t counting on luck to see her through the rest of this competition. Floating silently, she listened, waiting for a sound that would reveal her opponent’s exact location. It came sooner than she was expecting and was far more familiar than she would have preferred.

“Alice?” Camille’s voice was whispered, but unmistakable. “Is that you?”

“Um… yes.” While she wasn’t entirely sure if she should confirm her identity or not, the words slipped out automatically. A greeting from a friend came with certain ingrained responses, and Alice made a mental note to get better control over them.

“Oh. I thought I saw something up there. So… having much luck?”

“Got Rich and Will,” Alice said.

“Adam and Selena,” Camille replied.

“Selena? How’d you manage that?”

“As soon as I caught the first notes of her song, I broke one of my own fingers so I’d have something else to focus on. After that, it was just a matter of getting close enough to touch her before she noticed I wasn’t compelled. Not the most fun strategy, but it worked.” Camille paused, hesitant to continue the conversation. It wasn’t especially hard to figure out why; there was an elephant in the room that neither was sure how to deal with. “Only four down then, that we know of. Still plenty of points left to be had.”

“Yeah,” Alice agreed. “Lots of other students to defeat.”

“I’m… going to keep on moving, then. See if I can track some more down.”

“Ditto.” Alice held her breath as she listened to the steps continue moving in the darkness, slowly fading away bit by bit. While she was almost certain she could have taken Camille in a fight—after all, the girl was pure melee—Alice didn’t feel particularly compelled to test the theory just yet. When she was sure the pickings were lean, it would be another matter, but for now there was no reason not to let her friend pad her score a bit before the inevitable end.

Besides which, Alice paid close attention to people. She’d taken note long ago that when someone underestimated Camille Belden, they often ended up unconscious and with a few broken bones. True, she couldn’t imagine what sort of tactic the diminutive damage absorber would employ against a field of gravity, but she was in no hurry to find out.

Peace and alliances were also a strategy of battle. Temporary ones, yes, but useful all the same. For now, anyway.

*             *             *

“Hey, Professor Cole. Since you’re eliminated, and we sort of wrecked the place, is it okay if we use this room?” Roy’s words came only seconds after the sound of the doors unlocking had finished ringing through the chamber. It was a far less impressive noise now that there was a hole punched through a nearby wall, but it sounded like victory all the same.

“If you mean as a spot to hunker down and rest, feel free, but between the window Vince opened and the unlocked doors, I can’t promise you anything in the way of privacy,” Professor Cole told him. She’d rewrapped herself in the bandages, dozens of weapons once more hidden under layers of cloth.

Roy shook his head. “No, I don’t want to take a break. Far from it. I want to fight Vince, right here and now, and I’d prefer a place with nice lighting and room to move. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t breaking the rules to do this here, instead of in the dark halls.”

“With me eliminated, this is nothing but an empty room. Do with it as you will.” Professor Cole walked to the metal door, which opened at her approach, and stepped through, vanishing into the shadows of the labyrinth.

In the room she’d left behind, the air grew thick with tension as Vince looked at Roy and Mary with apprehension, turning his body slightly so as not to be left unguarded. “What was that about wanting to fight me?”

“Exactly what it sounded like. You think after a display like that I’m going to risk anyone else getting the chance to take you on? Hell no. I want to see what you’ve got in a real fight, Vince. No sparring, no holding back. Really testing which of us is stronger.” Roy glanced over to Mary, who was standing by patiently as the two declared their intention to battle. “Mary, you can jump in too, if you’d like. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to do this one on one, but it’s well within your right to strike if one of us is weak.”

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’d get as much out of this as either of you. How about I make certain no one interrupts?” Mary offered.

“Are you sure?” Vince asked. “We’re all enemies at the end of the day. We all need the points.”

“While that’s technically true, neither of you are really thinking about your scores right now. If you were, then we’d be hunting down another professor, rather than turning on one another. This is about testing yourselves with stakes on the line, and that’s something you’ll both get more out of if it’s just the two of you.” Mary allowed herself a brief, controlled smirk. “Besides, I can always take on the winner. And after this battle, that should make for a much easier fight.”

“She’s got us there,” Roy admitted. “Vince, you need a second after that punch or are you good to go?”

Vince turned to his side, letting Mary slip from his attention and facing Roy full-on. “I’m ready whenever you are. Truthfully, I’m glad you threw down the gauntlet. I’ve wanted to see how much stronger you’ve gotten, too.”

“Then get ready to recharge your kinetic stash, because while I won’t kill you, I’m coming in strong enough to at least crack a few bones.”

127.

Dealing with Chad in combat was an interesting, oddly nostalgic experience. Although he’d never tell the boy (and Chad probably wouldn’t believe him even if he did), Sean was positive that Joshua hadn’t been this tough a fight in his senior year. While the Hero named Intra had unquestionably grown stronger in the field, as things stood now, Chad was ahead of his father in terms of ability, even while fighting unconscious.

Awake, Chad probably would have been even more of an obstacle, and that made Sean Pendleton all the more thankful that he’d semi-neutralized him. Knocked out, Chad was still a handful, striking at Sean relentlessly. No matter what Sean did, no matter how he moved, Chad was there, followed closely by those damn blades of shadow trying to take a slice of Sean’s flesh the moment he was distracted. If it were a full-on fight, things would have ended almost as soon as they began. Physically, Sean was no match for Chad, conscious or not. The only thing that was keeping the Subtlety professor in play was his defense: shifting bits of himself to fog every time Shane or Chad landed a blow.

It was a technique that had been born of necessity back in his own HCP days. Turning into a full-blown cloud had been too limiting, at least against his peers, so Sean had needed a way to be useful even when in a mostly human form. Reactive shifting had been the solution, and while it had taken him years to hone, the technique had saved his life in the field more times than he could count. It was not, however, a perfect strategy, especially since it left him on the defensive.

Sean leapt back, trying to put some distance between himself and Chad, only to have the blond senior twist in place and lunge forward. Chad’s hands tried to close around Professor Pendleton’s arms, only to pass harmlessly through like they were made of smoke—which, in that moment, they were. From the corner of his eye, Sean caught sight of a dark shape flickering toward him. The shadow struck his leg, and it would have severed more than a few tendons if it hadn’t met mere fog rather than flesh. Across the room, Alex was standing motionless, eyes never wavering from Sean no matter how much the professor leapt. He still had the piece of Sean’s spine in his mental grip, the pressure noticeable even with that section turned to fog, and that was the biggest issue of all.

Even if he’d worked hard to keep the thought from his mind lest Alex get a true sense of the situation, Sean was running a bluff. While he could turn sections of his body to smoke and still function, it was incredibly taxing to do so. Flesh and fog weren’t meant to intermingle in such a way; there was a reason he only used a few pieces of his body at a time while in cloud form. Between dealing with Chad and Shane’s assault and keeping his spine misty, Sean’s concentration was slipping. He had more tricks tucked away in his outfit, but much as it pained him to admit, the kids had done a decent job of shoving him into a corner. If only Chad had stayed down, Sean could have dodged Shane’s attacks and turned the tables on Alex. But with the number one rank in the class never letting him get more than a few feet away, Sean had to give all of himself just to stay in the fight.

He needed to turn things around. The obvious solution was within reach; he did still have the remote control in his pocket. One quick press of a button and everything would change. Sean could go misty again, and this time he wouldn’t give them time to regroup before taking Alex out of the fight. In a real battle, with life or death on the line, Sean wouldn’t have hesitated to do so. He was a Subtlety Hero, and part of that title meant being willing to win any way he could. However, this wasn’t a real battle; it was just a test. And he hadn’t sunk so low that he would disregard a student’s sacrifice to score a hollow victory.

Instead, Sean did something no one in the room was expecting. He charged forward, barreling into and then through Chad, turning himself into full-fog for a split second and pushing on toward Alex. If he could just take down the supposed Jedi, that would regain him control of the match. Sean would have preferred something a little more crafty and dignified than a flat-out sprint, but doing whatever it took to win didn’t always mean double-dealing and tricks. Sometimes, it just meant accepting that the classic methods were sometimes the best.

He’d made it all of ten steps past Chad when he heard the sound of boots on concrete quickly catching up to him. Sean twisted around, ready to defend against whatever attack Chad was preparing to launch. To his surprise, it wasn’t Chad drawing close at all. This time, it was Shane who had broken into a sprint. Sean and Shane’s eyes met for a moment, just before the latter launched himself toward Sean’s torso. Of course, what he met was only fog, as Shane’s hands clutched the air uselessly. Yet he seemed undeterred, and as Sean felt the blow to his knee, it wasn’t hard to guess why.

In the moment of confusion at seeing Shane mount a physical assault, Sean had momentarily taken his eyes off of Chad Taylor. A relatively minor error in other circumstances, but this time it had cost him dearly as he felt his knee splinter and break. Chad had managed to land a kick on Sean’s body, one he wasn’t able to defend against, and it hurt like a son of a bitch.

Sean was already falling when he saw it, a brief flash of darkness that whipped by his face. That was when he knew. Before the sharp pain in his neck and the slight wetness trickling down to his shoulders. Before Shane’s declaration. That was the moment Sean Pendleton knew he’d lost the match.

“Deathblow,” Shane said, voice somewhat ragged. He was more out of breath than Sean had noticed; evidently throwing around his power that much took a toll. “I just scratched you on the side of the neck, but if I’d gone deeper I could have slit your throat.”

“You’ll get no argument from me. That was a clean kill, no question about it. I officially admit defeat to the team of Shane DeSoto and Alex Griffen.” Sean kept an eye on Chad as he spoke, watching to make sure no more attacks came through the dream-filled haze. As soon as he conceded, Chad relaxed. With an expression more peaceful than Sean could ever recall seeing on his waking face, Chad lowered himself slowly to the ground and went still.

“I feel like Chad should get some credit, too,” Alex said.

“He made his choice. It wasn’t an easy one, I saw to that, but sacrifices lose their meaning if there aren’t consequences. Don’t worry too much for him, though. Chad already had more than enough on his record to prove he can fight. Today, he proved he could use his head a little, and that he was willing to take one for the team when the occasion called for it.” Professor Pendleton paused, fighting back a fresh wave of pain that he was working tirelessly to keep off his face and out of his voice. “Alex, are you still holding on to my spine? If so, please release the grip.”

“Whoops, sorry about that, sir.” Alex let out a long breath then nodded. “You’re free.”

“Thank you. I need to get to a healer, and I’d much prefer to do that without walking on a broken knee. As for you two, get back into the labyrinth. You might have each gotten three points off me, but you’ll need more than that to secure victory.” With the last order given, Sean shifted his body fully over to mist-form and headed for the nearest exit.

Much as he disliked losing in general, he still felt a measure of pride at what had taken place. Those kids had grown so much since he first saw them in their sophomore year, and Sean liked to think he’d played a small role in it. Maybe he could see why Blaine was so into this teaching thing.

128.

Despite both men’s brash natures, neither charged in recklessly. Vince and Roy circled one another, the room quiet aside from their shuffling feet. Both knew the other’s moves extremely well; between Hershel and Roy, Vince had spent a vast amount of time training with the Daniels brothers. But this was different. Sparring was a place to make mistakes and learn, with nothing more on the line than the momentary pain a blow might inflict. Here, in this cell with a broken wall, there were real stakes, and nothing as trivial as a single point in the test. This was a chance to push themselves, to see who was stronger. That there was a room of Heroes watching their battle only added another reason to bring all they had, not that it was needed.

It was Vince who struck first, capitalizing on his ranged advantage with a blast of fire that leapt across the room. Roy dodged, leaping back and slamming his feet into the ground so hard the concrete fractured. Another shot from Vince, and this time Roy crouched down low to avoid it, dropping into a position like a sprinter on the starting line. That was the only warning Vince got before Roy pushed off, blasting forward like he’d been shot from a cannon and careening through the room. While he still wasn’t able to aim perfectly, Roy’s leaping skills had improved considerably over the past year. He landed within inches of Vince, who immediately hopped back. It was a good reaction, but Roy was a touch faster. Sweeping the bat around, he connected with Vince’s shin, hitting hard enough to decimate the bone.

Instead, the blow simply stopped, all of its kinetic power flowing into Vince even as he continued to move backward. Rather than press the assault, Roy let him go, and soon the gap between them had returned.

“Surprised you didn’t chase me.” Vince’s tone was light, even as he stared carefully at Roy, watching for any sign of movement.

“And juice you up? Fat chance. I know better than to attack when you’re ready for it.”

“Then you might be out of luck. Between all the training and the fact that you’ve only really got kinetic on your side, I’m not sure how you’re going to beat me, Roy.” Vince altered his footing slightly, getting into a more streamlined position.

“It won’t be easy. That’s true,” Roy admitted. “You ain’t the only one who’s been getting stronger, though. That punch you used on the wall would have hurt like hell, but with all your kinetic used up, I’m not sure you’ve got enough of the other stuff to take me down. I’m pretty used to fire after all this time, and I can take a lot of electricity. More than you tend to keep on you.”

“That so?” Vince’s hand began to crackle, then glow as sparks of electricity rippled off his fingers. Roy made a quick motion with his free hand, but otherwise remained unaffected by the display of power. Vince was still in the middle of charging up when he felt the sudden potent pain in his left leg. Risking a glance down, he saw a gash above his knee, the skin around it already purpling with a large bruise.

“How in the... did you throw something?” Vince looked back at Roy, who was now tossing and catching a few irregular rocky shards in his left hand.

“I may not come with a natural ranged attack, but if you’re strong enough, everything can be a weapon. Including broken concrete.”

It was then Vince remembered how Roy had reacted during his first assault, breaking the concrete with his foot and then getting into a position that allowed him to scoop some up, all without ever drawing suspicion. That was well beyond unexpected. That was the sort of quick thinking that Roy generally eschewed in favor of just punching harder. Although he couldn’t be sure until they talked, Vince had a good suspicion that right now he was actually fighting two people at once: Roy and Hershel.

“Not a bad plan,” Vince said. “One problem, though: you can’t hit what you can’t see.” The room plunged into darkness once more as Vince stopped calling on his pilfered electricity and began to absorb the light.

“Temporary measure,” Roy called. “We both know that if you’re absorbing light, you can’t take kinetic. And I’ve got a lot of concrete here.” He lifted his bat and drove it to the ground, shattering a section of floor into small, easy-to-throw chunks.

Vince could see Roy’s movements—at least, in a manner of speaking. Sensing the light he and Mary’s bodies threw off wasn’t quite the same as real vision, but it was a close enough approximation to get by. Vince could tell when Roy grabbed a handful of debris, and he was able to get down just in time as Roy began to hurl it about willy-nilly. He was taking a shotgun style approach, and while a few bits did break harmlessly against Mary’s defensive telekinetic bubble, none came close to Vince.

Roy was right that this tactic wouldn’t be useful for long, but it didn’t have to be. Vince only needed to buy enough time for Roy’s eyes to adjust. That turned out to be easier said than done, though. Roy continued to fill the air with flying bits of concrete. While none of them were strong enough to do serious damage, Vince had no doubt they would make concentrating on the task at hand hard if he was hit by one. He dove and dodged, keeping as quiet as he could, counting the seconds as he moved.

It had only been a minute when a piece of concrete clipping Vince on the shoulder, nearly causing him to lose focus. Roy was getting more accurate, which meant this strategy was too dangerous to keep using. Shifting from defense to offense, Vince darted forward, quickly closing the gap between him and Roy. From the way he was holding his bat, Roy was clearly prepared for this and could hear Vince’s approach. He was ready, and as soon as he could see, Roy would try to take Vince down. At least, that’s what Vince was hoping.

Light filled the room once more, illuminating a curious scene. Roy was standing with his bat poised to strike, Vince only a few feet away. Rather than have his fingers curled into a fist, Vince’s hand was open, the palm directly facing Roy. For a brief second, their eyes met, and in that moment it was clear Roy realized what was about to happen. It was too late, though. There wasn’t even enough time to blink, which was extremely unfortunate.

The blast of light caught Roy right in the eyes, his dilated pupils taking the equivalent of a full-force flash grenade. His free hand went to cover his face even as Roy released a string of swears. Vince didn’t stop or hesitate; he knew too well how quickly Roy could recover. Blinding him had never been the real goal of this assault. No, all Vince really wanted was to buy a few precious, uninterrupted seconds. That was all he needed to build a powerful electric charge in his left fist.

“Sorry, Roy. I know how tough you are, so I’m going to have to put some real juice into this.” With no more warning than that, Vince struck his friend in the shoulder, releasing a blast of controlled lightning that he was positive would drop even the powerful Roy. Sure enough, Roy fell to his knees, eyes still closed and a small tendril of smoke rising from the spot where Vince had landed the blow.

That done, Vince turned to Mary, waiting to see if she would enter the fray now that his and Roy’s match was over. When Vince met her eyes, though, Mary said nothing. Instead, she only shook her head and pointed behind him. Vince turned just in time to see Roy blinking away spots from his eyes and getting back to his feet.

“Good trick. You managed to knock me over. But if you think I’m going down for good off a hit like that, then you have severely miscalculated how much damage I can take.” Roy yanked his bat up from the ground and pointed the end of it toward Vince.

“I hope you’ve got a lot more up your sleeve, because I’m nowhere near done yet.”

129.

Vince was momentarily dumbfounded. While he’d been sure not to cross the line into real danger, he also knew Roy’s endurance well enough to have put a lot of power into that last shot. If he were running with his usual amount of electricity stored up, Vince would have practically wiped out his reserves in that one attack. Yet Roy, despite some visible singeing, was shrugging the whole thing off like nothing more than a well-placed punch.

“You’ve gotten tougher.” Obvious as it was, Vince still felt it needed to be said. He couldn’t skim past such a display without some manner of acknowledgment.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Roy agreed. “After getting my ass handed to me by that suped-up strongman last May, Hershel and I have been working overtime to increase endurance as much as strength. It’s been slow going, but we’re making steady progress.”

“That you are. I thought for sure that last attack would have taken you out.” Vince took a few steps back, reevaluating the situation. He’d thought getting off one good shot on Roy would be all that was needed; only now did he realize that he’d been severely underestimating the Daniels brothers.

“This time last year, it probably would have. But haven’t you noticed yet, Vince?” Roy smiled, advancing a few paces forward as the last of the electricity’s lingering effects seemed to dissipate. “We’re halfway through the year, and nothing has managed to knock me down for the count yet. Not a Sim; not a student. I might not be as versatile as the rest of you, but I’ll be damned if I don’t have staying power.”

Roy was right. Now that Vince was really thinking about it, the last time anyone had managed to seriously injure Roy was during the attack on Lander last May. Since then, he’d endured everything thrown at him. Even after being halfway crushed by Professor Cole, he’d seemed none the worse for wear. It was an easy thing to miss, since Roy didn’t stand out as much compared to the students sweeping entire sections of Sims off the battlefield. One on one, however, he was probably among the most dangerous opponents in the class.

They’d all gotten two points off of defeating Professor Cole. And unless Vince brought his absolute best to this fight, those were all the points he’d be scoring.

*             *             *

“How many people know what they’re really seeing?”

Gale slid into the seat next to Titan—one of the many empty ones around him. Although he’d wanted to jump closer to the screens as soon as Roy went into a cell with Professor Cole, to cheer for his sons as they managed to yank a seemingly impossible victory out of sure defeat, Titan had done none of that. Instead, he’d sat in the rear of the room, sipping a beer, acting as detached as possible. Hershel and Roy deserved to make their own way in the world. Being known as Titan’s offspring would link them to him forever, and they’d made it clear that that wasn’t something either of them wanted.

“A good fight?” Titan asked. “I’m pretty sure they all know that. It’s impossible not to. How often do students manage to beat a professor? And then go right into a one-on-one match against each other? This is high entertainment.”

“Oh, there’s no question that people are going to be telling their teams about this when they go home tonight,” Gale said. “But that’s not what I’m talking about. What I mean to say is, how many people in here realize that they’re seeing a live match between the son of Globe and the son of Titan?”

Titan turned his head around quickly, seeing if anyone nearby had reacted to Gale’s words. She’d spoken softly, but there was no telling what augmented senses other people might have. Seeing his concern, Gale dismissed the issue with a wave. “I shifted the air around us while I was speaking, and no one is paying attention to us anyway. This is just between you and me.”

“Much as I appreciate that, I’d rather you never said anything at all,” Titan told her. “So, who spilled the secret?”

“Did you forget that I’ve got a Subtlety Hero on my team and favors I can call in? After that weird display at the last mixer, I decided to dig a little deeper. I have to say, the connection explains a lot. Guess the relationship is a rocky one?”

“It’s gotten much better in the past few years. But we’re still far from being on good terms,” Titan admitted.

“Yeah, I figured that out for myself. Chin up, though, Titan. If you can win me over, then no one is totally hopeless.” Gale paused, taking a sandwich from one of the many small tables set up around the room. “I have to say, it sort of makes me respect the kid a little more now that I know his relationship to you.”

“Because you think that highly of me?”

“Because I like the fact that he isn’t trading on your name,” Gale explained. “I mean, if he made the relationship public, there would be some people who wanted to scoop him up for the associated reputation alone. You might not be universally loved, but no one can talk shit about your abilities. Seeing him try to make his own way, I don’t know, I like that. Weird relationship stuff notwithstanding.”

“I get what you mean.” Titan looked back at the screen, where Vince and Roy were back in the middle of the room. “Roy doesn’t need to trade on my name, anyway.”

“That so? Is that your way of saying he stacks up to the legendary Titan?”

Looking down from the screen, Titan glanced over his own thick, muscular frame. So much power, so many battles that had pushed him past his limits and given him strength he never knew he was capable of.

“Compared to the me of now, no, it’s not a contest,” Titan said. “But if Roy were to go up against the HCP version of me, he’d almost definitely come out on top.”

Gale swallowed her sandwich a little harder than was strictly necessary. “He’s that strong?”

“He’s probably almost at the same level I was at his age, though I doubt that ‘almost’ lasts for much longer. But no, what makes Roy really dangerous is that, unless I miss my guess, he’s going to be able to fight much more intelligently than anything I was ever able to manage.” Titan looked back at the screen again, where Vince’s retreat and Roy’s advance had both halted. “Then again, that’s not the same thing as saying he can beat Vince.”

“The absorber has been putting on a hell of a show so far,” Gale agreed.

“Take it from someone who has watched him train: we haven’t really seen anything yet.”

130.

“Roy, I’ll admit this is unorthodox, but I’ve been thinking as hard as I can and I just can’t come up with any other way to do this.” Vince was watching his opponent closely, waiting for any sort of surprise attack. “While I don’t want to risk seriously hurting you, I think we both plan to give everything we have in this fight. Neither wants a hollow victory from the other holding back.”

“Bit of a weird lead-in, but you ain’t off base, so I’m listening.” Roy’s entire body was still, ready to react in an instant if this turned out to be some ploy or trick.

“Then, if you wouldn’t mind, can you tell me how close that last blast was to knocking you out?” Vince saw the uncertainty wash over Roy’s face and scrambled to explain. “I don’t want to use so much power that I cross the line, but it’s obvious that I’ve underestimated you once already. If you can give me an idea of how close that last shot was, I can use the right amount of power without frying your brain.”

Roy said nothing for a moment, merely staring at Vince with careful consideration. “You know, if this was a real Hero fight, you wouldn’t have access to that information. You’d just have to keep coming until you got the job done, and if you overshot the mark then your enemy would be dead.”

“True, but if this were a real Hero fight you’d be a criminal, not a friend,” Vince countered.

“Guess you’ve got me there,” Roy admitted. “All right, Vince—only because I really want to see which of us is stronger in terms of pure combat power, I’ll do my best to ballpark it for you. This is a guess, mind you; I don’t know exactly how much electricity it takes to bring me down. But based on how that last one felt, I’d say it needs to be four to five times stronger if you want a shot at taking me out of the fight. That’s the other reason I don’t mind telling you: we both know you don’t keep enough juice to manage that sort of attack. Maybe you can find a way to use a similar amount of fire, though.”

Although he kept a straight face, inside Vince was balking at the number Roy had given. Four to five times stronger than the last attack… did Roy have any idea how much power had been in that first strike? If he was telling the truth, then it was going to take a ridiculous amount of raw energy to bring Roy down. If he was bluffing... there was a good chance Vince might accidentally cook one of his closest friends. But he’d underestimated Roy once already; that wasn’t a mistake he planned to repeat.

“Mind if I adjust my armor?” Vince asked.

Roy nodded, and without waiting for more than that, Vince began to peel away the layers of body armor he’d pulled over his costume. Much as it seemed like altruism, and it certainly was, they both also knew that Roy was going along with the request because it gave him more time to recover. That last attack would have left an impact, even on Roy, but this might buy him long enough to shake it.

It worked out well for Vince, too. He tossed the armor onto the floor. Against Roy’s strength it was useless anyway, and Vince was going to need every ounce of speed and flexibility he possessed if there was even a hope of dropping Roy. Hard as he’d been working on rapidly summoning stored energy, electricity didn’t come as fast as kinetic, and drawing that much was more than Vince could manage quickly. He wasn’t going to be able to shift between absorbing and attacking for this one. The only chance he had was to summon the energy and land his shot. If he missed, or failed to dodge a single one of Roy’s attacks, that was going to be the end of this fight.

The last piece of Vince’s body armor fell to the ground, and he took a quick stretch to feel his body moving properly once more. “Ready when you are,” he told Roy. There was still some preparation left to do, but it would have been disingenuous to gather power with the break he’d been given for stripping off armor.

This time, Roy didn’t bother with being subtle. He slammed his bat into the floor, creating a small shower of concrete chips, which Roy scooped into his free hand as he advanced toward Vince. He was methodical and careful, but a bit more aggressive this time. Seeing Vince’s first big strike fail had obviously given Roy confidence, and he probably wanted to press the advantage before Vince thought of a way to recover. Not a bad plan, actually; however, it failed to take into account the fact that Vince’s electrical supply was nowhere near tapped out.

As Roy moved closer, Vince’s right hand began to crackle once more. Unlike the first time, he didn’t immediately sling a blast at Roy. Instead, Vince continued letting the power build, focusing on drawing forth as much as he could while still keeping an eye on Roy. The caution proved prudent, as seconds later a volley of hand-thrown concrete buckshot whipped through the air. Vince leapt to the side and dodged, hand growing still brighter as he moved.

With that one motion, he’d exposed his weakness. Roy now knew that Vince was powering up, and that meant he couldn’t absorb kinetic blows without losing his progress. Suddenly, offense was back on the table, and Roy didn’t hesitate as he bolted in closer, swinging the bat at Vince’s legs. Stepping back carefully, Vince dodged the strike, and the punch Roy tried to throw at his shoulder after. Blocking was a non-option—even a glancing blow from Roy would shatter bone at this point—so all Vince could do was dodge and jump around. It took nearly everything he had, slowing the rate he could draw out electricity tremendously. It was still growing, thankfully, even if it wasn’t as quickly as Vince might have liked.

Then, it happened. Roy read his movements a little too well, and Vince realized that there was no move that would get him completely free of the impending punch. Thinking fast, moving almost on pure instinct, Vince threw up his left arm to catch the blow. Roy’s knuckles struck Vince’s forearm, and just like that, it was shattered. The pain was incredible, blinding even, but Vince fought through it. He refused to let his effort go to waste, and even as his bones came apart within his skin, he continued concentrating on his right hand, which was glowing a hot white color with all the energy he’d been pulling toward it.

Bad as it hurt, the injury did cause Roy to back off for a moment. It was a kind gesture, meant to give Vince a chance to forfeit so he could get healing, but Vince merely shook his head in reply. Roy stared at him for a long moment then let out a small snort.

“Damn it, Vince. You can never make this easy, can you? Fighting through a broken arm, and don’t think I haven’t noticed how much juice you’re charging. Where did all that come from?”

“Mr. Transport took me to a lightning storm.” Vince spat the words out, not due to anger, but because the pain and concentration had caused him to clench his jaw. “I came ready to fight.”

“That you did.” Roy glanced down at Vince’s hand, unable to miss the electric glow that was shining brighter than the lights around them. “Guessing that one is about four to five times stronger than the last.”

“Close as I could get,” Vince confirmed.

“But that forearm looks like hell, and you’re in a lot of pain. One more blow, and I doubt even you can keep focus.” Roy was grinning now, even as he clearly readied himself for another charge. “Next one to land a clean hit will probably win, then.”

“Looks that way.”

“Then let’s make sure the winner really earns it.” Roy blasted forward, launching himself off the concrete and hurtling toward Vince so quickly there was barely time to move out of the way. Vince managed by less than an inch, swinging around to find that Roy had dug his feet in and was coming with another attack from behind. The bat nearly clipped Vince’s shin, and Roy’s punch would have cracked Vince’s shoulder if he hadn’t ducked at just the right time.

Somewhere in the battle, between the focus and the tension and the pain, Vince had stopped consciously thinking about the moves he was making. Every ounce of mental power he had was directed at keeping the electricity ready; his body was acting by sheer instinct and reflex. A lifetime of training condensed down into a few steps and quick dodges and, amazingly, it was working. He was hanging in there, albeit always by a span of inches.

When the opening appeared, Vince instantly knew it was too good to be true. Roy was only pretending to have exposed his left side, trying to bait Vince in so he could counter. Yet Vince took the chance all the same. Even if it was a trap, the opening was there and it was the best one he’d seen yet. Besides, Roy still had to move faster than Vince if he wanted to counter, and that was a task easier said than done.

Vince wouldn’t remember much of the fight’s details when the day was done. Most of the minutia and moments were lost in the fog of battle. But that instant, where his hand was inches from Roy, who was swinging a bat about to make contact with Vince’s right elbow, was seared perfectly into Vince’s mind. In that freeze-frame, either of them could have been victorious. But Vince, now that he was finally close enough to be sure Roy wouldn’t be able to dodge or deflect, was a lone heartbeat faster.

The room seemed to dim as Roy glowed with lightning, so much coursing through his body that Vince imagined he could see Roy’s bones. It was a tremendous blast; smaller bolts leapt off Roy’s back, hitting the overhead bulbs, causing them to spark and shatter. Like all lightning strikes, it was over quickly. Vince stared at his friend carefully, hoping against hope that he hadn’t done so much damage as to really hurt him.

“Yup. About four to five times as much.” Those were the only words Roy spoke before he fell over flat on his back, his bat cracking the floor as he landed.

“He’s okay,” Mary said from nearby. “As fast as Roy heals, I bet he’ll be up and around again before we get a healer down here. But he’s definitely out. You win, Vince.”

Much as he wanted to pump his fist in triumph, Vince let out the scream of pain he’d been holding in since Roy broke his arm.

131.

Dean Blaine was already out of his chair before Dr. Moran’s voice whispered in his ear, letting him know that, while the monitoring devices in the suit were toast, visual systems indicated that Roy was still breathing. As Vince and Mary left the room on-screen, a new figure appeared, stepping through the hole Vince had punched in the wall and effortlessly scooping up Roy’s heavy body. Professor Wordsworth gave a quick wave to the camera—one of the remaining few still functioning after Vince’s lightning storm—and mouthed a sentence no one could hear. Apparently, the nearby microphones had taken damage as well. Thankfully, moments later Dean Blaine received confirmation that Roy Daniels was stable and about to receive healing.

Only then did he sink back into his seat, pausing to give Titan a small, hopefully discreet, nod of reassurance. Even after Vince’s wall-punching antics, Dean Blaine hadn’t expected to see him whip out so much power against a human opponent. It would have been undoubtedly excessive against anyone else, but Roy had proven he was not a man who went down easily. Still, the amount of force Vince could now use represented a new danger, one that might require specialized training if he was to wield it effectively.

That was a concern for later, however. At the moment, there were still ten students left standing in the trial, although that number wouldn’t hold for much longer. With the team of Amber, Britney, and Violet entering Professor Stone’s room and the others nearing the point of having to turn on one another, the students would begin dropping rapidly soon.

*             *             *

“Why aren’t you fighting me?” They were out of the cell, back in the darkness, but with Mary’s telepathy there was no fear of being snuck up on by anyone short of Chad, so Vince felt comfortable having some lightly whispered conversation.

“Did you want me to?” Mary asked.

“Not especially.” The pain in Vince’s arm hadn’t subsided, but it had dulled somewhat as he grew accustomed to it. Between dropping all of his kinetic energy to earn the win over Professor Cole and the ridiculous payload it had taken to drop Roy, Vince was feeling rather drained. Of course, he still had fire and some electricity, but with injuries nagging at him, using those energies effectively would be much harder than normal. “This just seems like a good time to strike, if you wanted the point.”

“Come on now, we both know that how you get those points is almost as important as the points themselves,” Mary said. “If I picked off a teammate when he was injured that wouldn’t be a satisfying victory for me or anyone watching. Sure, if we were the last two and I had to do it to end the trial, that’s one thing; kicking you while you’re down is hardly heroic, though. I’d much rather keep working together until we have to deal with one another. But I may take the lead on the next fight, since you’re not at the top of your game.”

That went beyond understatement and into outright falsehood. Vince knew himself well enough to be keenly aware of his limits. He might be able to put up a good fight against a few of their fellow students while this battered, but the vast majority of them would easily be able to overpower him. If they stayed together, he would be a detriment to Mary, not an asset. And there was no way she didn’t know that.

“Actually, Mary, I think it’s time we went our separate ways.” Vince stopped a few feet short of a sharp turn in the dark hallway. “Maybe it’s better we handle the rest of this on our own.”

“Come on, Vince. I know you’re feeling weakened, but together we can still—”

“I’m not sure what’s going on with you, Mary,” Vince interrupted. “And I trust you enough not to pry. But considering the battle against Professor Cole, refusing to take part in Roy’s and my fight, and now sticking with dragging me around… did you really think I wouldn’t notice? You’re holding back, working as support instead of going for the win. I’m not going to let you drag yourself down anymore by trying to help me. That’s not the kind of victory I want.”

“Vince, you’re down an arm and you’ve used up a tremendous amount of energy,” Mary pointed out. “Is this really the time to try and strike off on your own?”

“As I see it, this is the perfect time.” Vince turned from her, heading down a nearby hallway that split off from their current location. “Feel free to come at me, since we’ve dissolved the team. I can’t do much to stop you now. If not, then next time we see each other, it will be as opponents.”

Some part of Vince was braced for an attack—one good telekinetic slam that threw him into a wall or broke more of his bones—but it never came. Instead, Vince was allowed to keep walking down the hall, until another turn took him in the opposite direction of Mary. He really didn’t get what was going on with her today. All the same, he was glad she hadn’t struck when she had the chance. Broken and battered though he was, Vince hadn’t yet given up on victory.

After all, it wasn’t like everyone else would be unscathed by this point either.

*             *             *

Despite the effort claiming two points had taken, Alice was remarkably unhurt. She was feeling unexpectedly cheery about that as she floated along, glad not to be nursing wounds mid-battle for a change. There was something to be said for the Subtlety method, skulking around unseen and then striking from the shadows. In the constant run of Sim trials and city-wide battles, she’d almost forgotten the utility of stealth. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one employing such methods.

Alice had just entered a new hallway when the doorway behind sealed shut with orange energy, the same energy that began to run along the walls, all the way to the next doorway, which also sealed shut. It was like she was inside a tube of phosphorescent orange, with a lone man covered in the stuff a few feet away.

“This is new,” Alice remarked. “Usually, you just wrap yourself in energy.”

“I’ve been trying to increase my effectiveness in close quarters combat,” Thomas replied. “Although finding a suitable location and lying in wait did diminish the number of opponents I could engage.”

“And then you had the misfortune of getting me. That really sucks; I’ll buy you a beer when this is all over.” Alice shifted the nearby gravity, using enough force to slam Thomas into the ceiling without doing too much damage. To her surprise, he remained rooted in place, still looking at her through the armor of orange energy.

“Funny thing about gravity: if you have a firm enough grip on a surface you aren’t going to be thrown around by it. And the bond between the energy on my feet and the floor is unshakeable. So, Alice, I think it’s going to be me who owes you a beer when we’re done here.”

132.

Professor Pendleton had once told his senior class that a Subtlety Hero was often expected to see a hundred moves ahead—to know every plot, scheme, and trap the opponents had prepared and be ready to counter them all. He’d then gone on to explain that this was, of course, fucking idiocy. No one could plan for every possible scenario or know the schemes of all potential opponents. However, the fact that it was untrue didn’t mean that, as Subtlety Heroes, they shouldn’t play into the expectation. Not for the sake of their teammates, who would know better, but rather for their enemies. Being seen as all-knowing was a useful reputation to have.

Alice wasn’t sure how she was going to bluff her way out of this situation, unfortunately. It was obvious that she’d stepped right into one hell of a trap from pretty much all angles. The orange energy glowed along every surface, disorienting her as she searched for the concealed exits. Even if she knew where to escape to, it wasn’t as though she had worked out how to pull it off yet. Thomas’s plan was a good one. Scary good, in some ways. After lagging behind the rest of the others in growth for a while, he’d hit upon a technique no one else could pull off: total territorial domination. Everything in this hall belonged to Thomas, coated in his damned energy and completely under his control.

Dipping low, Alice barely dodged a fist that swung out from the ceiling toward her. Two more hands reached out from the wall, causing Alice to veer more toward the center of the hallway. She’d only just realized that she was being herded when a half-dozen orange tendrils shot out from Thomas’s hand and tried to wrap around her. Darting through the air, Alice backpedaled and avoided them momentarily, but the effort had driven her closer to the walls and therefore left her vulnerable.

It had been a long time since Alice had been on the ropes like this; between her flight and gravitational skills, there were precious few threats she couldn’t handle from a distance. But she had been pushed into a corner before, and she’d never forgotten how much she hated it: the panic, the fear, the sense of being useless. That was why she’d undertaken her summer training with Roy and Mary; sometimes she couldn’t fling an opponent through the air, and in moments like that she needed raw power as much as finesse.

Sliding away from the wall, Alice glanced over at Thomas’s glowing orange form. So far as she could tell, the suit of energy covered every inch of him, bonding his feet to the ground and keeping his body propped up. While she could, theoretically, turn up the gravity around him until it was too strong for his energy to support, depending on the amount of power it took he might die the moment his suit of protection failed. Against a real villain, it was an undesirable but potentially necessary move. Against a fellow student, however, it was far too dicey to risk. Luckily, Alice did have other options. It was just too bad for Thomas that they were going to hurt like hell.

“Hey, Thomas, just a quick heads up.” Alice spoke even as she wove her way through more limbs striking out at her from the ceiling. One caught her shoulder, imparting a powerful blow that she could feel starting to bruise immediately. “When you feel something start to give, please surrender. I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I have to.”

“Your concern is noted, and your warning is heard,” Thomas said. “But don’t presume victory just yet. You aren’t the only one with tricks up your sleeve.”

Alice struck then, because she knew she had to. While she had yet to see the exact form of what Thomas was planning, she knew he was preparing for a large assault. If she didn’t take this opportunity, there very well might not be another. She narrowed her focus, carefully examining every curve and angle of his energy-coated form to assess where parts of his body were. The world around her sprang to life. Dozens of hands surged from the walls, floors, and ceiling, surrounding her instantly. There was no way to dodge, no chance at escape. Some detached part of her was floored that Thomas could create so many pseudo-limbs at once. He really had come a long way since freshman year. But then again, so had she.

The glowing hands grabbed her arms and legs, yet Alice didn’t try to avoid them. This was no longer a match of dexterity; it was one of focus. The victor would be whoever had the greater concentration… and perhaps the ability to fight through pain. Keeping her attention at the spot where Alice imagined Thomas’s ankles to be, she let loose another fluctuation of gravity. This time, the area was tightly contained; everything was happening within Thomas’s skin. Twin forces suddenly manifested, pulling with extreme power in opposite directions, one slightly higher up than the other. With enough force, Alice could theoretically sheer bones in half or rip limbs clean off, although she’d never actually attempted such a tactic. Today was no exception. Alice didn’t need to break a bone, not when joints were already much easier targets.

In the chaos around her, Alice couldn’t hear the ligaments tear or the joints dislocate, but she did notice the hands around her slow down. Good a sign as that was, with no call of surrender from Thomas she didn’t pause to presume victory. That proved to be a smart call, as moments later the orange arms redoubled their efforts. Inhumanly strong hands tightened their grips, until it felt like they were holding her by the bones. Some began to pull her limbs back, trying to put her into a submission hold. It struck her that, in a sense, she and Thomas were using the same strategy, just going about it in different ways.

Her right arm snapped at the same time she dislocated Thomas’s knees. Both of them screamed that time, and the orange walls warped and rippled. No doubt about it, Alice was weakening his concentration. Unfortunately, it wasn’t as though she were free of trouble herself. It was taking everything she had—and perhaps a bit more—to continue focusing on warping the gravity around Thomas’s body. Everything else had fallen away. She hardly even remembered why they were fighting or what they were doing down here in the first place. All she could think of, all she could see, was victory.

Then her left leg broke, and Alice nearly bit her tongue by accident as her jaw tightened. One more… one more, and she’d probably lose focus from the pain. But not yet. She could hit him again. Even if it was nothing more than a parting final shot, Alice refused to go down without getting in another strike. Blocking out the pain as best she could, Alice glared down at that damn orange body, which had to be the only thing keeping Thomas upright, and created one last burst of warped gravity.

There was no scream as Thomas’s legs dislocated from his pelvis, which seemed strange until Alice noticed the pressure holding her immediately lessen. All around her, the orange energy was fading, leaving her once again cloaked in shadows as the darkness returned. Thomas was the last source of light, and as his body-covering flickered out, he tumbled over. On instinct, Alice slowed his descent so he landed lightly rather than cracking his skull against the concrete.

“You passed out from the pain, didn’t you?” She lowered herself carefully to the ground, never quite making contact. Part of this was out of caution, just in case he was playing possum, but it was also due to the fact that her snapped left leg wasn’t going to hold her weight. “Credit where it’s due: you never did give up.”

With Thomas out, that gave her three points. She’d been hoping for more, but given her injuries, Alice had to face the possibility that she might lack the focus to win another. Still, the trial wasn’t done yet, so it was worth trying.

If nothing else, she liked to think she’d put on a hell of a showing for a Subtlety major.

133.

After a powerful opening set of matches, slowly but surely the students were beginning to fall.

Amber, Britney, and Violet got off a series of exceptional attacks on Professor Stone, but ultimately the woman once known as Emerald Hydra proved to be more than they could handle. Violet was the last to go down, stubbornly manipulating her density with shocking skill as she was pelted with attacks. Eventually, she too was knocked unconscious. It had been a good showing though, and that was what these trials were about as much as the actual results. Could a student learn when backed into a corner? Could they grow and show that their evolution was not yet complete? Could they prove that they would continue getting stronger after graduation, becoming the sort of Heroes who could carry on for decades?

Many of Dean Blaine’s students had done just that already, and the crowd clearly noticed. But the trial was nearly over, with only six students still in the labyrinth and all save for Mary and Camille injured in some way. There wasn’t much left to go. Yet the crowd stayed focused, because in some ways this was as vital to their evaluation as the first battles. After all, Heroes often went into situations tired, or hurt, or drained in every measure. Seeing who could push through, who could get the job done in spite of battered bodies and broken bones… well, that was as much the measure of a Hero as punching through walls or turning into fog.

Here, at least, Dean Blaine was unworried. Whatever fears he might have had about his students and their abilities, whatever rumors or nicknames might be circulating about the senior class, there was one thing he was unshakably certain on: this was a class with grit. They would fight until they were unable to move.

And even then, they might try to squeeze off a parting shot or two.

*             *             *

“Mary, Vince, Alice, and Camille. Mary is the closest, with Vince being the second.” Alex opened his eyes, ignoring the static swimming at the edges of his vision. Between manipulating all that fog and having his body shocked halfway to unconsciousness, it felt as though his entire head was stuffed full of cotton. Shane appeared to be holding it together well, but Alex could feel the pain radiating off his body. While Shane might act like he was fine, he couldn’t lie to himself, and that was the same as not being able to lie to Alex.

“Please tell me everyone else is at least a little hurt,” Shane said. It had been his idea to rest and let Alex assess the remaining opponents in the labyrinth. After walking for ten minutes without seeing a soul, they’d both been curious about how many opponents were left. And, though he hadn’t said it out loud, Shane was beginning to wonder if he and Alex were going to have to deal with each other.

Alex nodded. “From what I can tell, Vince and Alice are both in bad shape. Camille and Mary don’t seem to be feeling any pain, though.”

“Well, no surprise from the healer, but I was hoping Mary would be a little roughed up. If she’s still at full strength, we don’t stand a chance. Maybe if she wasn’t a telepath, and we could surprise her, but as is, she’d know we were coming and lie in wait.”

“Who should it be, then?” Alex asked.

“I think… I think it’s time we faced the facts.” Shane took a few steps away from Alex, not assuming an aggressive stance yet, but Alex already knew it was only a few words away. “We’re in pretty similar shape right now. Neither of us can handle another professor, and if we go after other students, only one of us would get the points for it. Plus, there’s no guarantee we’d even win those matches. Against each other… I’m not sure it’s right to say this is a fair fight, but we are both about the same degree of wounded. If you’re okay with it, we should probably square off.”

“And if I’m not?” Alex actually didn’t mind the idea one bit; he’d expected it would come down to this from the moment he accepted Chad’s invitation. If anything, this was better than he’d hoped for, since he wasn’t fighting Chad as well. He was curious to see what Shane would say if he declined the fight, though.

“Then we go our separate ways,” Shane replied. “As a teammate, temporary or not, we can give one another that courtesy. Walk off, do our own thing, and next time we see one another it’s as opponents. You had my back in there with Professor Pendleton; I’m not going to stab you in yours as thanks.”

“I appreciate that. I really do.” It was Alex’s turn to move, shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear the static and walking several feet away from Shane. He could barely see him in the dim halls of the labyrinth, but he could feel Shane’s existence, his tension, his every movement. “All the same, I think I’d rather have that match right here and now. It feels fitting, in a way. If someone is going to take me down, I think it should be my teammate. Besides, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a bit curious about who can win under these circumstances.”

Shane smiled in the darkness; already he was mentally shoving away his pain. “Tight quarters, minimal vision, and both of us with moderate injuries. No way around it; this is going to be a quick draw.”

“My thoughts exactly.” With nowhere to run or dodge to, it was going to be a matter of who got their attack off first. Either Alex would grab Shane by the spine, or Shane’s shadows would come close enough to score a hypothetical deathblow. “We agree to officially start the match on three?”

“Works for me.” Shane tensed as he began focusing on the myriad of shadows around them. Speed and precision: those were his strengths, the aspects of his ability he trained most diligently. Alex, on the other hand, had spent years working on control and increasing his power. From every conceivable angle, this match was in Shane’s favor, yet Alex said nothing in protest. When he was a Hero, assuming he reached that lofty goal, his fights weren’t going to be fair, or balanced, or carefully monitored. Taking on stronger opponents now was how he’d ready himself for when he faced the same situation later on, albeit with much more dire stakes.

“One.” Alex’s voice echoed through the nearly empty hall.

“Two.” Shane’s word was barely above a whisper, yet Alex could hear every last syllable and inflection.

“Three.” That time, they spoke together, and as they did both reached out with their minds and powers. Alex could feel the shadows around him springing to life even as he narrowed his focus. There was no time to be gentle with this; he just had to aim low so as not to disturb any of Shane’s more vital biological processes. Mentally grabbing a cluster of spinal nerves, Alex delivered a swift, careful blow, severing them completely.

He had just enough time to feel a thrill of triumph and hear the gentle thump of Shane falling over before the tips of several shadow-blades rested against his neck and chest.

“Death… blow.” Shane’s jaw was clenched in pain, but the blades never wavered. Somehow, he’d managed to stay conscious and land the winning attack, even as his back broke within his skin.

“Damn, I thought I had you, but there’s no denying this would be my death.” Alex raised his hands slowly, and the shadows evaporated from around him. Nearby, a portion of the wall slid open, revealing bright light and a stairway leading up.

“It was pretty far from a clean win.” Shane tried to pull himself forward on his arms and made it a few feet before pausing to rest. “Guess I’ll have to hope the others stumble upon me.”

A new shadow appeared in the doorway, belonging to a stocky man with a thick beard. “I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Mr. DeSoto. While you have been awarded the point for defeating Mr. Griffen, Dr. Moran has also ordered your extraction. An injury like that needs to be examined and treated right away lest there be any complications.”

“Who the hell are you? And what gives you the right to pull me out? I can still fight,” Shane protested, but his complaints fell on deaf ears as the man walked over and carefully lifted him from the floor.

“I’m Professor Wordsworth. Here to help out. And perhaps you could still manage to make a good showing, but I am not in the habit of ignoring the orders of an HCP physician. You shouldn’t allow yourself to be, either.” He carried a still-complaining Shane into the stairwell, pausing only long enough to glance over his shoulder and make sure Alex was following.

With no other real options, Alex did just that. Three points from a professor and almost beating one of the best fighters in the class. Not a bad day, as he saw it. Not bad at all.

134.

Alice was almost certain they’d have turned the lights on or otherwise found a way to let her know if she was the last student standing (or floating, in her case), but as the minutes wore on without seeing a single other soul, she began to wonder. There were no more loud booms, no more shuffling footsteps, not even so much as the sound of someone panting from around a corner. If there were any opponents left, they were in short supply.

A bright spot of light drew her attention as she rounded a corner. Moving carefully closer, prepared for another trap, Alice realized that the light was coming from a teacher-combat room. For a moment, she thought the door had been left open, but then she noticed the debris and rough outline of the opening. Someone had busted a hole in one of these damn rooms, which was no small feat given how tough HCP building materials tended to be.

“Looks like I missed a hell of a match.” Alice’s voice was soft; even as alone as she seemed, it was dangerous to assume she was by herself. Nevertheless, she still found herself surprised when someone replied.

“Vince did that. He’s made great strides in a lot of areas, but he downplayed just how hard he’d been training to quickly bring out large amounts of energy. Just when I think none of you can get any scarier, you prove me wrong.”

Mary stepped into view from a nearby hallway, smiling placidly as she looked up at the floating form of her best friend. Alice’s muttering was too soft to be heard at all this time, although the tail ends of a few choice curse words could be made out if one paid close enough attention.

“Of all people, I had to end up against you,” Alice said, audible at last. “Let me guess: I’m in a field of mental force, which is slowly tightening around me.” Sticking out her unbroken arm, Alice seemed like a mime as she swatted about, trying to grope for an obstacle.

“I’m not here to fight you, Alice. I knew you were lost, so I came to give directions. Vince and Camille are the only other students remaining, and both are not too far away. If you hurry, I think you’ll be able to catch either one.”

Slowly, Alice lowered her hand after failing to find any telekinetic cages. “Hang on. So you blew your chance to surprise-attack me, and now you’re saying you didn’t come for a fight at all? Just to tell me where the next opponents were?”

“It seemed more prudent than letting you stumble around in the dark until you happened upon them,” Mary said.

“Uh huh. And what about you?”

“I got a few points from helping to defeat Professor Cole. With Chad eliminated, I think I’ll have to step into his shoes as the final grand obstacle. The boss battle, as Hershel would put it.” Mary turned, heading back down the hall where she’d come from. Two steps in, and suddenly her entire body felt heavier. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re damn right there’s a problem.” Alice floated slightly lower; she didn’t want to have this discussion any louder than was strictly necessary. “Saving yourself as the final boss? That’s bullshit. Maybe you could fool someone who doesn’t know you well, but we’re both aware you lack the ego to ever see yourself that way. I know what you’re doing, Mary.”

“Oh, do you?” Mary glanced over her shoulder, meeting Alice’s gaze. Alice was perfectly aware of what was happening: Mary was searching her mind, and Alice made no attempts to stop her. Seconds later, Mary’s amber eyes widened slightly, catching the light streaming out of the nearby room. “Oh… you actually do know.”

“I’ve had some suspicions for a while; this just confirmed it. Were you even going to tell us?”

“Of course… eventually. After I met with the dean next month.”

“When this is all over, you and I are going to have a long talk,” Alice warned her. “But for now, we’ve got a trial to finish.”

Mary turned back toward the hallway. “Right. I’ll point you toward Vince and Camille.”

“The hell you will.” Alice amplified the gravity a bit more, making sure Mary couldn’t miss the message. “I’ve got an opponent right in front of me, and I’m not letting her go that easily.”

Slowly, Mary swiveled back around to face Alice, and when she did there was no trace of the calm grin she’d been wearing. In its place was an expression of seriousness and determination. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“In case the gravity didn’t tip you off, I’m already doing it. This fight has started, Mary. And we’re seeing it through to the end.”

*              *              *

He couldn’t see the person approaching, but he could hear them: soft movements that betrayed little, yet, with a careful ear, one could make out the sounds. Vince waited, tracking the movements. While he wasn’t particularly fond of surprise attacks, there was no denying their usefulness in battle. And this was a mock-battle. Still, he kept the voltage in his right hand low. There weren’t that many physically-resistant opponents in the class, and he’d already taken Roy out. Striking without warning was bad enough; he couldn’t use excessive force without good cause.

The sound of footsteps came from around the corner, and Vince leapt forward, unleashing his attack as soon as he caught sight of a human-shaped silhouette. The bright bolt surged through the air, momentarily lighting up the hallway and providing him with an excellent view of Camille as she rolled to the side like she’d been expecting the attack. When she came up, the two of them locked eyes and realized for the first time who they were facing.

“Vince? You look like hell.”

“Fought Roy and Professor Cole,” Vince replied. “You look totally fine.”

“Absorbed my own damage.” The light from the blast was fading, yet Vince could still make out Camille’s movements as she shifted her position slightly.

“How did you know I was going to attack?” Vince asked.

“Your breathing is louder than you think. Tends to happen when people are dealing with the pain of broken bones.” She took a step to the side, moving away from the wall and giving herself room to dodge. “Anyone else left?”

Vince started to nod then realized the motion would be too subtle to make out in the darkness. “Mary, last I saw her.”

“I think Alice is still around, too. Probably Chad as well; he always makes it to the end of these things. Lots of strong opponents.”

“Being the last one standing will be quite the difficult task,” Vince said. “Think either of us will have a shot?”

“Depends on how we look after this fight. Are you ready?” Even without seeing the details of her form, Vince could tell she was in position, ready to pounce in a heartbeat. There was no question of whether or not they would face one another; it had been a given from the moment their eyes met. This was going to be a dangerous fight. Fragile as Camille’s body was, a single touch from her was enough to claim victory.

“I’m ready.” Vince had no sooner spoken the word than she rushed forward. He turned to his side, narrowly avoiding the first charge as he summoned more electricity to his hand. She ducked the blast nimbly as it went high, scrambling to land a blow as Vince rapidly backpedaled. Easy as it was to underestimate Camille; he knew better.

This was a fight of precision. The first one to make a mistake would be the loser.

135.

It shouldn’t have been a hard fight. Hell, it shouldn’t have been a fight at all. Maybe if Alice were in peak form, not dragging along a pair of broken limbs and a host of bruises that were sapping her stamina and focus, perhaps then she and Mary would have been able to square off properly and put on a good show. But that wasn’t the case. Alice and her power were both slower than normal, creating dozens of opportunities for Mary to capitalize on. Even as she’d laid down the challenge, Alice had known it probably wouldn’t last for even a full minute.

This understanding made it all the more infuriating when Mary mentally lifted a few bits of rubble and sent them flying toward Alice’s legs, landing blows that hurt but were far from crippling. Alice tried to dial up the gravity around Mary; however, the small Super shoved her own body several feet down the hall with a delicate burst of telekinesis. Defense. Defense and minor potshots while Alice struggled to keep her mind focused on the task at hand instead of the tremendous pain rippling through her body. This wasn’t a fight at all; it was nothing but goddamn pageantry.

“You know, for a minute there I thought you were going to fight me seriously,” Alice called.

“I am fighting you seriously. And you are putting on a remarkable show against one of the higher ranked combatants. If you defeat me, I imagine it will be quite the bump to your standings.” Mary was still wearing that grim expression, only now Alice knew it for what it was: a mask to make the Heroes watching on camera think she was doing her best.

“Do you even believe that? These people aren’t stupid, you know. I’m sure they can hear us.”

Mary’s face never wavered, even as she lifted a few more bits of rubble and made a show of lining up new shots. “Actually, Vince let out an electrical blast that fried most of the cameras and microphones in this area. I’ve kept an ear out for stray thoughts from anyone who wanders too far from Dean Blaine, and I don’t think they’ll be able to pick up anything short of a shout.”

“Which is why you picked this area to approach me in, just in case I said something that would be hard to explain away.” Slowly, Alice lowered her hand, allowing the warped gravity on everything but herself to dissipate. “Mary, I’m not going to play-fight you. You deserve better than that, and so do I. If you want to fake your way through this test, then I can’t stop you. But I don’t have to play along.”

“Alice, we’re still on camera. You look like you’re giving up.”

“So? What, are you afraid I’m going to steal your thunder?” Alice floated closer to the ground, still keeping herself largely weightless as her good leg made contact with the floor. “Why are you even doing all this in the first place? Why are you still fucking here? Why hang around if… if you’re planning to quit the HCP.”

And there it was. All the strange behavior Alice had seen, all the curious choices Mary had been making since the year began, all the hunches and theories she’d gone through about her friend’s shift in behavior, and now she’d finally said the truth out loud. Even if no one else could hear, even if Mary had just confirmed it via telepathy moments prior, the words still felt like tossing off a weight that fell heavily to the ground and echoed through the hall around them.

“Because I wanted to help you all for a little while longer.” The grim mask slipped, and Mary tilted her head downward, unwilling to have her face seen or meet Alice’s eyes. “This was never my dream, you know. All I ever wanted was peace and solitude. Just to be able to shut out the voices. Being a Hero and everything that came with it... I never imagined myself in that world.”

“That’s crazy. You’ve made it through three and a half years of intense, endlessly taxing training. If you didn’t want to be a Hero, why in the hell would you put yourself through that?” As the words left her mouth, Alice already knew the answer. She’d gotten too good at Subtlety, at seeing between the lines. There was only one reason that could possibly explain Mary’s actions. But she still had to ask. Too much had gone unsaid for too long. With the end looming before them, they had to clear the air now, before they lost the chance.

“Same reason as before: I wanted to help my friends.” Mary’s head rose a fraction of an inch, just enough for Alice to make out the shining wetness of tears along the edges of her amber eyes. “You all were strangers when we came to Melbrook. None of us met when we were getting treated. But it wasn’t like that for me. I spent months in that building, with all of you as most of my mental company. I wasn’t able to turn it off back then, so all I could do was listen. To the brothers at odds, failing to work through the anger they felt towards the father who left them. To the boy who’d lost everyone in his life, who felt like he destroyed whatever he touched. To the criminal with a conscience he was desperately trying to ignore. And to the lonely rich girl who’d spent her life afraid to ever feel too happy, because that kind of joy was always followed by a sharp fall. I knew you all so well by the end, and when I realized everyone was coming here, I couldn’t not follow along. Even if you didn’t know me, we were friends. Besides, I figured the idea would grow on me—the chance to help save people and make the world a better place. It did, too. For a while.”

“Then Lander was attacked.” It wasn’t hard to put the rest of the pieces together, yet Alice gave her friend nothing more than a mere nudge. Mary had been carrying this around for a long time, and no one had tried to help her. They all took for granted that she was their rock, taking that confident smile at face value when, deep down, they knew she would have fears and worries of her own.

“Then Lander was attacked,” Mary softly echoed. “I heard people die that night. I heard their last thoughts. It’s not the first time I’ve experienced that, but there were so many, and I couldn’t tune them out, not when those still alive were counting on me. Then, when the professors started fighting back… I don’t want to kill anyone, Alice. I let myself believe there would always be a way. That with my power, I could make there be a way. I know better, now. I know what being a Hero means. And I know it’s not a job I can do.”

“I get it. Deep down, I think I always knew you were too gentle for this sort of work. I’m going to miss you, Mary. You’re my best friend. The first real friend I think I ever had.” Alice wasn’t crying, not because her heart wasn’t breaking at the thought of losing Mary but because she couldn’t afford to let it out yet. The trial was still going on, and unlike Mary, Alice had a lot riding on the outcome. “So, how do you want to end this?”

“With you getting a point off of me,” Mary said. “Same way I was trying to end it from the beginning. This is probably the last bit of help I’m going to be able to give anyone in the HCP. I’d be happiest if it went to you.”

Gingerly, Alice reversed the gravity on Mary and lifted her to the ceiling, pinning her delicately there. To everyone watching, this match would make no sense, but for the moment that didn’t matter. Alice didn’t even care whether they gave her the point for this one or not. It wasn’t about that anymore. Right now, it was about giving Mary the ending she wanted for her final HCP activity. It was about saying goodbye.

After three minutes, a nearby door slid open, and Alice lowered her best friend back to the ground. “You’re like a sister to me, you know. I love you.”

“I know.” Mary landed gently, adjusting her footing once and glancing to the door. “And I love you, too. Now go win this thing.”

“Who’s even left to fight?”

Mary pointed to a hall leading away from the room with the busted wall. “If you go that direction for long enough, you should find out. But they won’t be as easy a match as me.”

“Good. After all this emotion, I’m sort of in the mood for some real combat.” Alice watched as Mary climbed the stairs, keeping her eyes trained until the door slid closed once more. Only then did she float back into the air and head down the hall Mary had shown her.

136.

Camille didn’t dodge the torrent of fire; instead, she barreled right through it, her skin roasting as she stretched out and tried to grab Vince’s hand. He halted the attack in order to dart back out of reach. She kept after him, moving continuously, never stopping. Camille knew he’d want to line up a shot or think of a strategy, and she was keeping the pressure on him relentlessly. His hand sparked with fire once more, and in the flickering light Vince noticed that her skin was completely unmarred. If not for the singes along her outfit, it would have been impossible to tell she had ever been hurt in the first place. Camille was self-healing as fast as she was getting injured.

Despite the dire straits he was in, Vince smiled. So that was what she’d meant.

*              *              *

“Don’t you worry. I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.” Camille had to stretch a little to reach the basket of bread; the restaurant’s tables seemed unnecessarily large. Perhaps that was just how fancy places had their furniture made. Vince certainly didn’t have a lot in the way of comparison; Supper with Supers was hardly upscale and he’d never had enough money growing up to come to these sorts of places. In a way, the concept boggled his mind; he could never understand why people would spend so much on a single meal when they could buy vastly larger quantities of food for the same cost.

However, not understanding the premise didn’t mean he was totally ignorant of social convention, so as this date approached, Vince had tucked away most of his tips from Supper with Supers, knowing that such extravagance was expected. Truth be told, he’d planned something a little more modest, but Nick had intervened and given Vince specific instructions about where to take Camille. He’d even helped Vince pick his outfit, which included a sport coat and slacks.

“Of all the people I have to worry about tomorrow, I know you’re not one of them. Nobody out there is tougher than you.” Vince carefully lifted his wine glass and extended it outward. While still not much of a drinker, he’d grown comfortable enough with the concept to have an occasional beer or a bit of wine at dinner. “But that’s tomorrow, and this is tonight, so I want to make a toast.”

“Oooh, does this mean I finally get to find out why you took me somewhere so fancy?” Camille was smiling, unbothered by the mystery. She hadn’t objected when he’d told her nothing more than that they were going somewhere nice. She’d merely shown up at his door wearing a lovely silver dress, expertly applied makeup, and styled hair. Alice had been involved in her outfit, there was no doubt about that, but it was Camille who made it look so beautiful. Staring at her, it was hard to imagine there was ever a time when Vince had felt unsure about his feelings. She was pure wonderment, and he couldn’t believe she’d fallen for someone like him.

“I guess it’s because… how to put this… you and I don’t really have an anniversary, you know. We came into this bit by bit, a little at a time, so it’s hard to say exactly when everything started,” Vince told her. “But about a year ago, just before Winter Break, is when you took the big step of laying everything out in the open. Without that, I doubt I ever would have had the courage to get things moving. So, tonight, I wanted to celebrate the anniversary of that moment. I know our lives are crazier than most people’s, and I know I’m not always the best at saying the right things at the right times, but I wanted to make sure you knew how glad I am that that night happened. How thankful I am to have you in my life.”

Vince tilted his glass forward, and after a moment Camille lifted her own and gently clinked the edge against his. “I feel the same way. Don’t worry so much, Vince. Even if you might not always say it, you show it more than you realize. But I do want you to promise me something.”

“If it’s that this wine will be good, I’m working off Nick’s recommendation, so that might be out of my ability.”

Camille giggled halfway through her sip of wine, snorting slightly into her glass. In that moment, Vince fell just the tiniest bit more in love with her. “No, but it is good. I want you to promise me that if tomorrow’s… semester final… is competitive, you won’t hold back. Not against me. I know how gentle you are, but the stakes are too high for both of us to risk something like that.”

“Oh, is that all? Sure, I can make you that promise, but there was never really a need to ask me for it,” Vince replied. “I couldn’t go easy on you, even if I wanted to. You are much too dangerous for anything like that.”

Her smile deepened as she set the wine glass down. Stretching out once more, Camille reached across the table, this time ignoring the bread and carefully resting her fingers on top of Vince’s hand.

“I have to admit, every now and then, you say exactly the right thing at the right time.”

*              *              *

It was like fighting someone invulnerable; every bit of damage Vince did vanished within seconds of hitting Camille’s body. She was constantly absorbing wounds, her flesh knitting itself together faster than even Chad could have managed. A powerful enough charge could knock her out, but that still required at least a few seconds to line up, and she was dead-set on not giving Vince even that much time to focus. All he could manage was burst-shooting multiple smaller blasts that would have easily worn her down if she weren’t healing herself to perfect health every few seconds.

Vince had one tactic left for getting some distance. As Camille came in close, he let loose another flash of bright light, trying to catch her in the eyes. It wasn’t a perfect shot, but she spat a string of curse words and reflexively rubbed her face. Constant healing or not, some reactions were deeply ingrained, and that was exactly what Vince had been hoping for. He only had a few precious seconds, but in that time he called forth enough electricity to drop someone twice Camille’s size. Even if she was healing as it hit, there should still be enough to knock her out. She tried to dodge again, fuzzy vision be damned; however, the bolt of electricity caught her directly in the hip. Camille tumbled back and hit the ground, sliding to a stop when she bumped against the wall.

Vince was panting, exhausted from constant movement paired with his injuries, and coated in sweat. Still, he’d won, and he was damn proud of that fact. Walking over to her, Vince knelt down to take Camille’s pulse.

Her hand closed around his just as it came close to her. Camille’s triumphant grin was the last thing Vince saw before an influx of new injuries drove him into unconsciousness. She laid him onto the ground carefully, making sure his head didn’t slam down.

“Good shot,” Camille told him, even though he couldn’t hear. “But it looks like I can heal a little faster than you can hurt, at least with that level of power.” A doorway slid open in a nearby wall, casting her and Vince in fluorescent light. Leaning over, she kissed him on the forehead for some time, taking away all of his injuries. He’d wake up soon, though she wouldn’t be there to see it. “Next time, maybe hang back and make sure the opponent isn’t playing possum.”

Hauling herself to her feet, Camille absorbed the last lingering damage from Vince’s attack. With no announcement made and the lights still off, it stood to reason that there were still enemies left to be found. Camille picked a nearby hall and headed off, making sure to be out of sight before Vince’s eyes fluttered open and he returned to the waking world.

137.

Alice wasn’t moving nearly so quietly this time as she floated down the hall, drops of blood from still closing wounds and her own ragged breathing making her much easier to track. She knew these were problematic, but with no bandages, medicine, or access to a healer, there was little that could be done. Blood would fall, and heavy breathing was simply a side effect of trying to ignore two broken limbs. Besides, she’d leaned on surprise a lot during this trial; it might be good to show the watching Heroes how she fared on even footing.

The sounds of steps came from nearby; soft, steady, and instantly recognizable. “Camille?” Alice called.

“Yeah. Alice?”

“You know it. Is Vince with you?”

“Nope. I beat him.”

It wasn’t exactly a shocker; Alice knew how dangerous Camille could be. But beating Vince was no small accomplishment in its own right, and her esteem of the damage absorber raised by a few more notches. “According to Mary, that makes us the final two.”

“Hang on, you beat Mary?”

Right… to anyone who hadn’t seen the battle, that might be something of a shocker. After all, Mary’s telekinetic power was nothing short of incredible, a fact that made losing her from the HCP all the harder to swallow. But Alice couldn’t deal with any of that just yet; for the moment she needed to focus on getting through to the end of this trial. Thankfully, it seemed only one more fight stood in her way.

“I won,” Alice replied. “Saying I beat her might be disingenuous. But I won. Which means it’s down to just you and me.”

“The healer and the Subtlety student. If anyone was taking bets on this, we’ve definitely screwed up their pool.” Despite the cheerful words, Camille’s tone was dead serious. They both knew what was about to happen, and they were both worn down—mentally, if not physically. Making it this far was a big accomplishment, but neither would slack at the end. They both wanted to be the last, to truly beat the odds and cause an upset. While the overall winner would come from the point total, there was a lot to be said for being the last Super standing.

“I’m sure we’ve surprised a few people by pulling this off. Let’s make sure to finish strong,” Alice said. “You ready?”

“Sure,” Camille agreed.

“Good, me too.” Alice floated slightly further back, making sure there was ample distance between herself and her opponent. “So, I guess, here we go!”

With that, both of them flew into action. Camille dashed to the side as Alice dramatically increased the gravity in her area. She wasn’t going for anything fancy like a ceiling capture; all Alice wanted was for this to be done. Quick as she was, though, Alice’s injuries were still muddling her head, dulling her reactions. Camille managed to get out of the area just in time, continuing her sprint as she zigged and zagged toward Alice.

Fighting back an initial instinct of fear, Alice forced herself to stay calm. She was slower than usual, and that sucked, but it didn’t change the obstacle before her. When a tactic failed, the best method was to switch to something else; she’d learned that lesson in combat and Subtlety many times over. If Camille was moving too quickly for Alice to pin her down, then she wouldn’t try to. Alice couldn’t be quick and precise, which meant her next best method was to be the complete opposite.

Alice floated higher, pressing herself against the ceiling and wincing as her broken limbs made contact with the rough stone. She shrank her own area of warped gravity down as small as possible then turned her attention to the hallway around her. It was a big space, plenty of room for Camille to dart about. But that didn’t mean she was safe by any means. Lifting her hand, Alice focused with all she had and began to increase the gravity around the entire hall. It was hard: the area was already bigger than what she usually worked with, and adding in the mental exhaustion of nursing so many injuries only made the task more difficult. Regardless, her hand and gravity never wavered. Alice couldn’t risk Camille making her way over and leaping up. One touch from that woman would mean the end, and Alice wasn’t ready to be done just yet.

The sound of stumbling was the first cue that it was working. Alice grinned in the darkness, taking heart in the noise and continuing her efforts. Another stumble, then a trip, and then an unmistakable thud. Camille had fallen, and before she could even entertain the idea of rising once more, Alice narrowed her area of focus and cranked up the gravity around Camille. There was struggling, defiant and unyielding, but all the heart in the world didn’t give Camille enough raw strength to lift herself from the ground.

They stayed like that for three long minutes: Camille fighting to rise with all she had while Alice did everything she could to stay focused and maintain her gravitational hold. She wasn’t sure she would make it, honestly. Her vision was beginning to get blurry, and it felt like her whole brain had been dunked in a pool of water. In the end, despite all the tricks and tactics they’d employed over the trial, it came down to a test of simple endurance.

When the lights suddenly flashed on, it surprised Alice so much that she nearly dropped to the ground, catching herself mid-fall and floating down gently. Seconds later, Dean Blaine’s voice came over the intercom.

“Alice Adair has defeated Camille Belden and is officially the lone remaining student in the trial. Both of you, please take your exits so you can be checked over by our medical staff and properly congratulated for your outstanding achievements.”

A sense of relief flooded through Alice’s veins, which was a welcome respite to the constant agony. Camille pulled herself up from the floor, took one look at Alice, and appeared as though she might faint.

“Holy shit, Alice! What in the living hell happened?”

“Don’t ever let anyone tell you Thomas can’t put up a good fight,” Alice said.

“No one would.” Camille bolted over, moving almost as fast as when she’d been trying to defeat Alice, and laid her healing hands on the wounded woman’s neck. “You couldn’t just beat me, could you? You had to do it while looking like you just walked away from a car accident.”

The sudden absence of pain was so intoxicating that Alice nearly forgot to respond. “I… yeah… guess I wanted to put on a good show.”

Camille pulled her hands away, and Alice tested her limbs. Everything was whole and functional once more, although she was probably going to sleep like the dead with the toll that had taken on her.

“Come on. I’ve got a lot more people to heal, and I think you’ve probably got a crowd of Heroes that are even more interested in you than they were before.”

“Psh. I’m hot, I can fly, and I’ve got Subtlety skills. You think they weren’t already in love with me?” Alice threw her arm around Camille, and together the two of them made their way to a doorway that was sliding open. Even with Mary weighing on her mind, it was hard not to be in good spirits. She and Camille had made it to the end, Alice had been the final one standing, and both had done well enough to at least be sure they weren’t in the bottom of the scores.

Most importantly of all, the trial was done. They’d made it through their next-to-last semester. Only one more to go.

138.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.” Gale was still looking at the door on-screen, even as it slid shut and the other Heroes rose from their seats. There would be a half-hour break before the mixer in the gym began, and most were heading down early. Ostensibly, it was to be prepared when the students arrived, but truthfully they’d probably spend the time rehashing the trial’s highlights with one another. Most Heroes, at least the kind still willing to take interns, never lost the joy of watching students reach new potential before their very eyes.

“Unfortunate? Alice just swept the midyear trial. She was the last person standing, and unless my math is off, she had more points than anyone else. I’ll admit I’ve been out of the loop for a while, but I can’t imagine many students from the Subtlety department regularly manage that.” Titan stood from his own chair at the same time Gale did. They were being given a modest berth by the others, although that could have been due to Titan’s size as much as his reputation.

“Yeah, that’s my point,” Gale said. “I saw her potential from day one, and I’ve been courting her because of it. After a showing like that, she’s about to get a lot more people interested.”

Well, that was certainly true. Even teams that weren’t fully on board with Subtlety Heroes wouldn’t mind taking one on if they had Alice’s combat potential. It just meant she brought a measure of cunning to the grit, endurance, and skill she’d put on display.

“Alice is a smart young lady; she knows how to pick the teacher who’ll help her grow the most.” Titan clapped his hand on Gale’s shoulder as they headed toward the door. “Just keep reminding her you’re interested. She’ll make the right choice.”

Gale nodded, albeit stiffly. “Guess that’s all I can do for now. Come on, Titan, let’s get down there. The first round is on me.”

“It’s an open bar,” Titan reminded her.

“Then I’ll get the first two.”

*              *              *

“—glad to hear it. Okay. Okay. Yes, I—it’s fine, Vince. We’ll talk details tonight. Now get back there. You don’t want to miss your reception.”

Nick lowered the phone from his ear and ended the call, tossing it onto the bed next to his modest bag. He didn’t need to put away much for tomorrow’s trip; the majority of the packing was already done, aided greatly by the fact that the majority of his belongings were still in Vegas. This was nothing more than some items to have on hand during the trip. Still, he packed the bag, more for catharsis than necessity. Moments like these helped him mark his transitions between roles. Tomorrow, he would need to be the Vegas con man instead of the unseen aid to a group of would-be Heroes. These two weren’t necessarily different people, but they would react to things in different ways. Details mattered, especially around Ms. Pips. With the HCP so close to being done, Nick couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

“Was that Vince?” Eliza walked in and dropped a small package next to Nick’s phone.

“You heard me say his name, so you know it was. He stepped out to call and let me know everyone made it through the test safely. Or as safely as one can emerge from an HCP trial. I’m sure I’ll get a play-by-play when they come over tonight.” Reaching down, Nick scooped up the package. It was cylindrical, wrapped in simple brown paper with a white ribbon tied around it. “I don’t mind if you made a copy for yourself, but this had better be the real deal.”

“Be fair now. I might be happy to pilfer things from you, but I’d never steal from someone I respect.” Despite the smile and sass, Nick saw a flicker of sadness pass through Eliza’s eyes. She was doing her best to hide it, yet with every passing day it grew more pronounced. Whatever waited for them in Vegas, Eliza wasn’t looking forward to it.

Wordlessly, Nick slipped the package into the suitcase alongside a pair of jeans. Much as he wanted to grill Eliza, it wouldn’t do any good. Ms. Pips had obviously given the order for silence, and her word was law. There was nothing to be done but smile through the evening and get an early start on the drive home tomorrow morning.

Nick was tired of the quiet sadness and unspoken fear. It was time to get to the bottom of this.

*              *              *

Charles didn’t bother looking up from his desk as the door opened. If someone had come to kill him, then they’d made it past all of his security and no defense he could offer up would likely stop them. If they were in his employ, then they knew to wait quietly until Charles was ready. He continued working through the document before him for several minutes before finally reaching a stopping point and glancing at the intruder.

Simon stood there, unbothered by the lack of attention and steadfast silence. As one of Charles’s best aides and longest tenured employees, he knew well the habits of the man he served. Although he’d never say it to his face—for that would be highly improper—Charles was a touch fond of Simon. The man had turned down lucrative offers over the years to stay his employee (not that Simon was aware that Charles knew of said opportunities) and it spoke to his character. There were precious few things Charles Adair valued more than loyalty.

“Yes, Simon?”

“Forgive the interruption, Mr. Adair, but I just received news from Mr. Hill that I felt should be brought to your attention. It seems Alice has completed the HCP’s midyear trial. She won, and not only in point total; she was also the lone student not to be eliminated.”

“Is that so? Interesting. Thank you, Simon. That will be all.”

Simon nodded then let himself out, shutting the door gently behind him. Despite being alone once more, Charles didn’t turn immediately back to his paperwork. Instead, he pulled open a desk drawer and removed a photograph housed in a silver frame. In it was a woman who looked strikingly like Alice, and as his eyes fell upon her, Charles’s countenance softened ever so slightly.

“It seems our daughter is at it again, Shelby. This time, she went and won her semester trial, despite insisting on that Subtlety major. Honestly, if I ever somehow managed to forget that she was your child, moments like this would serve as undeniable reminders. She pays no more heed to the idea of what is reasonable than you did, just plunges on and does the impossible as if it isn’t even noteworthy.”

Carefully, Charles ran his index finger along the edge of the frame, eyes and mind lost in the picture’s depths. “I’m sorry you missed this moment. I’m sorry for all of the missed moments in her life. Just a little longer, Shelby. Bear with me a little longer. I’m going to bring you back, my darling. No matter what it takes.”

139.

There weren’t many things Alice valued about her time before Lander. Looking back, it was a blur of memories centering mostly on an empty mansion, punctuated by the brief outings into high society where she was expected to uphold the image of a proper young woman. But pointless as so much of those years had been, they had instilled in Alice the ability to remain smiling and buoyant even as she was miserable inside. Between the revelation about Mary, the weariness from having her injuries healed, and the overall mental exhaustion of the battle they’d just endured, Alice was deeply thankful for the gift of false cheer as she shook hands with another Hero who congratulated her on her victory.

If not for all the training with Professor Pendleton, the names and faces would have begun bleeding together. Good a front as Alice might be able to put up, she was still worn and weary, which was why she felt a sense of genuine relief at the tall shadow that fell across her. While she’d need to keep smiling for the benefit of anyone glancing over, here, at last, was a person she didn’t have to pretend with.

“Hell of a win,” Titan said, carefully shaking her hand in congratulations. “And it certainly went over well in the viewing room. You probably feel like your father, with so many people kissing your ass.”

A cough of a laugh escaped Alice’s mouth, the first genuine reaction she’d had since entering the gym. “Well, I’m also pretty sure they aren’t secretly plotting to attempt hostile takeovers or screw me in contracts, so it’s not a perfect comparison.”

“Maybe not, but I’d advise you to keep in mind that even Heroes are people, and sometimes they let their own best interests cloud their well-meaning intentions.” Titan stayed near, even as he let her hand go. “Just some advice from an old-timer: always ask yourself why a possible mentor is interested.”

“If this is you making a pitch, I’m flattered, but it’s a little unorthodox. Also, I don’t think we’d be a great fit,” Alice said.

It was Titan’s turn to laugh. “Nothing like that. I’ve just grown fond of you kids. I want to see you all end up in the best possible situations, learning under a Hero with a lot to teach, not someone who wants to scoop up your prestige and connections.”

“Ah yes. The Adair name, always so much fun to lug around.” Titan had a point, although not one she hadn’t already considered. Being connected to one of the most wealthy, influential men on the planet had made people take an interest in her for most of her life. Those truly in the know understood how little Charles Adair cared for any living person, but there were always some inept schemers who thought they’d gain influence with him by winning his daughter’s favor. “All right, Titan. I think you’re about as impartial an opinion as I’ll get today. Who would you recommend focusing on?”

“I can’t say I know nearly enough about the people courting you to answer that. I may be back in the swing of things, but a lot of Heroes sprang up while I was gone. Besides…” Titan paused, looking over his shoulder to a cluster of costumed people on the other side of the gym. “I’m not quite impartial. I’m sure you know Gale is interested in you, and we’re… friends. I think. Amiable colleagues, at the very least.”

Following Titan’s gaze, Alice found herself looking at the leader of Elemental Fury. She was talking to Roy at the moment, one of many people who’d been doing so after he shrugged off an attack from the guy who’d just punched through a wall. Gale hadn’t been especially coy in her interest; however, Alice rather liked that fact. It was nice to meet someone who was upfront with what they wanted.

“Then would you recommend I pick Gale?” Alice was less interested in whether Titan would say yes or no and a lot more curious about whatever reason he’d give for the response.

“I would recommend you think carefully and choose the mentor who is best for you,” Titan replied. “And I will add that Gale is headstrong, stubborn, prone to being overly defensive, and sometimes a little too concerned with how the public views her team.”

“Wow, is that the friend endorsement, or the amiable colleague one?”

“It’s just the truth, as I see it, and I think you deserve to know that truth,” Titan said. “Just like you deserve to know that she is selfless, dedicated, honest, loyal, and has always put the good of the people we serve above her own. I respect her, as a person and a Hero. That doesn’t make her perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but if you’re holding out for someone flawless, you’re in for one hell of a wait.”

“Thanks, Titan. I’ll keep that in mind.” Alice threw one last glance over to Gale’s area. “Are you going to congratulate Roy for his showing, too? From what they told me in the recovery area, it sounds like he gave a good demonstration of what a tough bastard he is.”

Titan looked over for a brief moment then shook his head. “Roy doesn’t want to talk to me during these things. Especially not after a loss, no matter how impressive it was.”

“Do you think so? I’d say that’s exactly the time he’d like to talk to you. Just my opinion, though, feel free to ignore it.”

The large man’s eyes rested on her for several seconds before the side of his mouth turned upward into a smirk. “Truth for truth, huh? I’ll keep that in mind. Now, I’d better clear out so you can keep being wooed.”

Titan stepped away, and moments later, another Hero in a bright yellow costume took his place. Her smile firmly reaffixed, Alice greeted the new potential mentor with a cheerful voice and excited eyes. After all, if she couldn’t fake her way through something like this, what kind of Subtlety Hero could she really hope to be?

It didn’t escape her notice, however, that Titan was edging his way through the room, moving a little closer to Roy with every awkward step. There was no telling if he’d find the courage to keep going or if he would turn away and pretend to be enthralled by the finger foods. Anything was possible, and she dearly hoped Titan found the courage to finish his journey.

It was a thought that made her smile genuine, even if only for a brief moment.

140.

Vince thanked the Hero with lightning bolts on her costume, shook her hand, and then turned to say hello to the next person walking up to him. He’d been so distracted that it wasn’t until Vince was looking the man in the eyes that he realized the face was familiar. It was Dean Blaine, who seemed oddly out of place in his usual suit amidst the sea of costumes.

“If this is about the busted wall, I’m so sorry. Professor Cole made it sound really tough, and I wanted to show that we deserved that win, so I—”

“Vince, you’re not in trouble for breaking the wall.” Dean Blaine held up his hand, as though trying to push back the flood of words surging from Vince’s mouth. “You’re not in trouble for anything, actually. I want to make that clear up front. Today, you put on an excellent showing and should be extremely proud of what you accomplished.”

“Oh. Um, thank you, sir.” Somehow, the praise from Dean Blaine seemed far more potent than any of the kind words the other Heroes had offered already.

“You never need to thank me for speaking the truth,” Dean Blaine told him. “However, there is a matter I’d like to discuss with you. Again, let me impress upon you that you are not in trouble. This is just… an opportunity is perhaps the best way to phrase it. When you’re done here, I’d like you to meet me in my office. The meeting shouldn’t take very long; I won’t keep you from your celebration.”

“Yes sir, I’ll be there as soon as the mixer ends.” Vince paused, thinking over the dean’s words. “Wait, how did you know we were celebrating tonight?”

Dean Blaine arched a single eyebrow and looked, only for a moment, deeply amused. “How did I know? Sometimes I feel as though none of you remember that I was once an HCP student as well. Take your time here, Vince. I’ll be waiting in my office when you’re ready.”

*              *              *

Mary slipped out of the gym with relative ease. Among the many standout performances that had been put on during the trial, her assist in a single professor battle and strange defeat at Alice’s hands had allowed her to fall under the radar. And that was exactly as it should be. If she was leaving the HCP, then at the very least she was glad to give her friends one final push. There wasn’t really any reason to stick around at the mixer anymore, just as there wasn’t really a need for her to be here at all.

They didn’t need her anymore. It had been a strange, scary, and wonderful realization when Mary had finally come upon it, but in the past few months each of her friends had driven the point home more with every passing day. Hershel and Roy were on the best of terms, working in tandem to constantly become more powerful. Alice was unrecognizable compared to the spoiled, lonely woman who’d walked into Melbrook on that first day. And Vince, scared-of-his-own-power Vince, was training to release massive amounts of energy in single bursts. They were long past needing her direct intervention, and even the occasional guiding nudge had become less and less necessary. For possibly the first time since Mary had arrived at the decision to leave, she felt at peace. They would be okay without her; she truly believed that. There was just one last matter of business to attend to.

Making her way down the halls, it was hard not to feel a touch nostalgic. Save perhaps for her meeting with the dean when they returned in January, this could very well be the final time she ever walked down them. These bleak, sturdy concrete walls had been a huge part of her home and life for the last three and a half years. The same walls had housed countless students before her and would no doubt shelter countless more after she was gone.

Mary kept walking through the halls, past the classrooms and the professors’ offices, until she arrived at a small door. This room, she had no particular attachment to, nor to what lay behind it. But her work wasn’t done. Lifting her fist, Mary rapped on the door three times, and then pushed it open. Telepathy meant she knew the person inside was alone, busying himself with paperwork and reports now that the show was over. There was so much more she’d have liked to have gleaned from his mind; however, the DVA clearly took mental training seriously. If she wanted to get more information from him, she’d have to do it the old-fashioned way.

Ralph Chapman looked up from his desk in surprise at Mary’s entrance. She stepped through the door, shut it behind her, and took a seat in one of the room’s open chairs.

“I think it’s time you and I had another chat.”

*              *              *

“You took a hell of a hit down there.” Roy looked up from his beer, having mercifully gotten a few seconds to relax and drink, only to find Titan standing several feet away. If he didn’t know better, if he had the capacity to imagine his father as genuinely fearful of anything, he’d have guessed that Titan was afraid to fully approach him.

“Tell me about it. Felt like my teeth were buzzing in my head for ten minutes, even after the healing. I swear, the more I train to take damage, the stronger everyone else seems to get.” Roy wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about Titan walking over, but to his own surprise, he wasn’t immediately compelled to send the man away.

“It tends to go that way,” Titan agreed. “That’s if you’re lucky. A lot of strongman types—hell, a good chunk of the ones that I’ve known—wouldn’t have been able to talk after taking a final hit like the one Vince delivered. They’d have been laid out flat on their asses in a heartbeat. You’re a tough, determined young man, and don’t think for a second those who know what to look for couldn’t see the amazing display you put on. I just wanted to let you know that.”

Before Titan could begin to turn away, Roy picked up his beer and stepped closer to the giant Hero. To his surprise, he found looking in his father’s eyes required less of a tilted neck than he recalled. Maybe Roy was still getting taller, still growing, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“Thanks, Titan. From someone with your reputation, that means a lot. I can’t take all the credit, though. The professors here at Lander are top notch. And I did some summer training with a specialist coach as well. We don’t always get along, but the guy is a hardy old bastard. I wouldn’t have gotten this far without him.” Roy stuck out his hand, and after several seconds, Titan accepted and shook it.

“Give yourself proper due. You were always going to be great, Roy. The most anyone could do was make the journey go a little smoother and faster. I’m sure all of your teachers are immeasurably proud of you and glad to have played even a small part in your education.”

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t much, little more than a few kind words and a handshake. But it was the first time Roy had willingly interacted with Titan without needing saving or training, and that fact wasn’t lost on either man.

141.

The door was open when Vince arrived, and as he slipped through, Dean Blaine motioned for him to close it behind him. He hadn’t noticed at the mixer, but the dean looked far more tired than usual. Evidently, the day had been stressful on his end as well. Given just some of what Vince knew had happened in the trial (either by personal experience or through gossip before the mixer), it wasn’t surprising. Vince didn’t know much about the other schools’ HCPs; however, he imagined they would probably end their trials with fewer broken bones than Lander. There was an edge in battle now, one that hadn’t been there before last May. Everyone still here was training to fight with their lives on the line, and they knew it.

“Vince, take a seat,” Dean Blaine said once the door was closed and he’d fiddled with a few switches on his desk. “Just to reiterate before we get into things, this is not a disciplinary meeting. However, today you utilized some new tactics and levels of force previously absent from your training. I wanted to talk to you about that and about some potential options moving forward.”

“Okay.” Despite the reassurance, which he did appreciate, Vince still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this meeting. He’d never been called into the dean’s office like this before. Usually, their interactions were limited to class discussions or meetings with DVA agents about the mystery of Globe.

“Good. Now, let’s start with the elephant in the room: that bolt you threw at Mr. Daniels. In terms of raw destructive power, that was a class above what you’ve utilized in the past. Several classes, actually. As far as sheer destructive potential in a single strike, I daresay it surpasses anything else your fellow seniors could conjure. Honestly, if you hadn’t been so careful as to make sure Mr. Daniels could withstand it, we would be having an extremely different conversation right now. But you were smart and safe, as you were with the punch on the wall. So tell me, why am I only now seeing this level of power from you?”

“In the Sim fight, the one where everyone looked human, I had a… realization? I’m not sure what the right word is.” Vince fidgeted in his chair, but Dean Blaine sat patiently, waiting for him to continue. “I just had this moment where it hit me that if I couldn’t stop a Sim, it was going to kill some of the civilians. And even though it was all fake, it felt real. Like… like I was back in that night again. I understood that sometimes, I wasn’t going to be able to be gentle and wear people down. I might only get one shot to save a life, so I couldn’t afford to fall short. Since then I’ve been working hard on gathering and releasing bigger amounts of energy. It’s a work in progress, and some energies still come faster than others, but I’m getting better.”

Dean Blaine nodded—a careful, controlled motion that betrayed nothing more than the fact that he’d heard Vince’s words. “The hole in our wall and semi-fried electrical system can both attest to that. I’m glad to see you’re coming to terms with the dire necessities that sometimes come with Hero work, but I’d caution you not to go too far in the other direction. Discretion and mercy are important pieces of being a Hero as well. Without them, we’d be little more than unchecked tyrants.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’d also like to talk about your absorption.” This time, Dean Blaine did look a touch uncomfortable as he fiddled with some papers on his desk that seemed to have no bearing on the discussion whatsoever. “You used it offensively in the battle, darkening the field and trying to freeze Professor Cole’s equipment. But you stopped short of the technique that could have gained a potential early victory against Mr. Daniels, electing instead to try a riskier gambit with electricity.”

Finally, Vince understood why Dean Blaine had been so polite and reassuring every step of the way. This was the real meat of the conversation. What happened that night in May wasn’t a secret; it couldn’t be, not with dozens of DVA agents going through the crime scene that Lander had become and interviewing every student that had been out on the grounds. Stopping one of the hopped up Supers brought in by the Sons of Progress was a huge element to what had happened, and Vince had been forced to explain the feat in excruciating detail, no matter how much he’d wanted to put the incident out of his mind.

“You want to know why I didn’t do to Roy what I did to the super-speeder.”

“I want to understand where your mind is at, Vince.” Dean Blaine tilted his head forward, forsaking the pointless pages. “You’re starting to grapple with serious destructive potential. Between the ability you showed that night and the wreckage you left in your wake today, I would be remiss in my duties as an educator if I didn’t make sure you were on the right path.”

“I guess that’s fair.” Vince tried to put his thoughts together neatly, imagining how he’d concisely explain everything, then quickly gave it up as a lost cause and resigned himself to rambling. “From a practical side, I need to feel the kinetic energy to steal it, like when someone punches me. For stopping a heartbeat, it means skin-to-skin contact. I have to feel the heart, the pulse, the blood pumping through them. Roy wasn’t exactly going to make getting a grip on his neck easy. But… but even if he had, I’m not sure I would have used it. That technique is dangerous. I can’t… I don’t know what the difference between capturing and killing is when I use it. A few seconds too long and I could do something permanent. I’m not… I’ll use it if I have to. When I have to. But not for a trial, and not against someone I’m not prepared to kill.”

Dean Blaine stared at him for a long, silent moment, then reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a form. “I understand, Vince. That skill is one that scares you because it is, at its core, a killing technique. I’m glad it does, too. If you were the kind of man who embraced such options without pause, I shudder to think at what sort of person you’d be after ten years in the field. But, on the other hand, polishing your absorption skills will make you vastly more effective, and in this class, to ignore such potential would be folly. So I’d like to make you an offer: what are your plans for Winter Break?”

“Just going to visit Hershel and Roy’s house, as usual,” Vince replied.

“Would you be open to spending it elsewhere? You see, Vince, you are certainly strong, but you are hardly the first Super to come through this program wielding more power than could be safely contained and properly utilized on a college campus. A long while ago, we created a separate training facility, somewhere far from civilization where those with destructive, dangerous abilities could sharpen their skills without fear. Well, it serves that purpose among others. Anyway, if you’re willing, I’d like you to spend Winter Break there. I think it will give you perspective, as well as the chance to fine-tune your power in a way you might never find here.”

There was barely a pause after Dean Blaine’s offer was fully formed before Vince spat out, “I’ll go.”

Slowly, Dean Blaine slid the form across the desk. Vince noticed that the top portion was already filled out.

“I took the liberty of getting a head start,” Dean Blaine explained. “Something told me you’d be game. Just fill out the rest yourself, and by the day’s end we’ll have a temporary spot lined up for you at Lander’s East Campus.”

142.

As far as college parties went, this one was rather subdued. Part of it was because nearly everyone in attendance was exhausted; even if their bodies had been mended, the injuries had still taken a substantial toll. Not to mention that the trial itself had been emotionally draining as well. Once one added in the efforts to keep their normal class grades high, it was enough to leave anyone lethargic. But, truth be told, those were only smaller pieces of why everyone in Nick’s apartment was a little sluggish that evening, nursing their drinks and making light conversation. The real cause was more deeply rooted: this was their final Winter Break. The real world was looming on the horizon, casting its shadow on even these festive occasions. And the closer its arrival drew, the harder it was to put the inevitable change out of mind.

For her part, Alice wasn’t entirely sure what to do. She knew Mary planned to leave the program, and part of her felt like she should share that fact with the others. Then again, Mary acted as the keeper to all of their secrets and private thoughts, a responsibility she’d never once treated lightly. Was it really so wrong for her to have one secret of her own, even fleetingly? Alice didn’t know; it fell into the gray area she’d become more and more comfortable with as her Subtlety education went on. All she knew for certain was that once a secret was out, it couldn’t be unspoken, so she wanted to be sure of whatever move she made. And with the day they’d had, she definitely wasn’t making that choice tonight.

“—so the theater downtown is doing a Space Puncher marathon, which should be a fun way to kill a day,” Alex said. Although they’d invited several friends to the party, Alex and Camille were the only non-Melbrook residents who’d taken them up on the offer. Even Chad had declined, as he was heading home that evening like so many of the others. It was hard to blame any of them; if Alice had grown up in a loving home, she’d have jumped on the opportunity to visit it as well.

“Anyway, that’s my plan, aside from training. What about you all?” Alex asked. He played a card on the table, something with a monster illustration and numbers in the corner, which elicited a curse from Hershel.

“Damn you, and damn your greens with their damn trample,” Hershel muttered, flicking through his own hand. No one else entirely understood the game they were playing, not that Alex and Hershel hadn’t tried to rope the others in. “Roy and I are going home, as usual. Well, mostly going home. With the way our powers have been… developing, we’re going to take a day out sometime during the month to visit an old family friend. Just to make sure everything is going well.”

With a flourish, Hershel laid down a card with a red border on top of Alex’s weird monster. He looked mighty smug about the move, right up until Alex pulled a blue card from his hand and pushed Hershel’s red card away. Alice didn’t grasp the intricacies of what had just gone down, but from the darkly muttered swears escaping Hershel’s mouth while he took the red card back, it wasn’t hard to figure out things had not gone his way.

“I’ve just got the training,” Vince said. “No idea what it entails, but hopefully it will be productive.”

“You spent your whole summer training, and now you’re giving up winter too? You know, there’s a difference between being dedicated and just hating downtime.” Nick appeared with a pair of drinks, slipping one to Alice as he took a seat next to her. “Some of us are going to spend our time off as the gods intended: drinking champagne by the pool.”

“In December?” Camille asked.

“It’s a desert. But even if we get a cold front, I’ve got options. People come to Vegas all throughout the year. It’s just good business to have a few indoor, heated aquatic lounging options,” Nick explained. “There’s never a bad time to visit Las Vegas.”

Mary made her way in from the kitchen, holding a slice of pizza. They’d attacked dinner hard earlier in the evening and were now picking through the scraps as hunger occasionally reared its head. “Lovely as I’m sure it is, I think I’m more than happy to have a nice winter back in my woods. The peace and quiet will be a welcome change of pace from this town.”

“Aw, you know you’ll miss us,” Nick said. “I give it five days in the woods before you’re calling everyone up, trying to get us to visit.”

Alice didn’t look at Mary during the discourse; she was better trained than that. Any sort of conspiratorial nod or sideways glance was risky, especially around someone as perceptive as Nick. A question appeared on the tail end of those thoughts: what if Nick already knew? Playing it close to the vest was certainly his style, but since there wasn’t a way to ask about it without tipping her own hand, there was no way to be sure. And besides, it didn’t really matter if he knew or not. It wouldn’t change the outcome. Only Mary could do that.

“I’m just going to be home with my family,” Camille said. “We go caroling for Christmas, which is fun, and then my mom makes a big ham for me and all my cousins.”

“Sounds idyllic.” Hershel was half-distracted, rapidly shuffling the cards in his hand, clearly searching for a solution that failed to appear.

“It’s nice enough. I’m the only Super in my family, so things were more awkward when I was a kid. Nowadays it isn’t as bad.” Camille rested her head on Vince’s shoulder, and for a moment Alice felt like she’d stolen Mary’s power. It was too easy to see into that woman’s mind, imagining a Christmas where she got to bring Vince home to meet the family. Maybe she’d even been working up the courage to ask, before Vince had arrived and casually announced he was heading off to some eastern campus for more training. The guy was an open book, a trait that Alice strangely found herself envying from time to time.

“What about you, Alice?” Vince asked. “Are you going home for Christmas?”

It was a fair question, one she’d been asking herself for some time. Knowing what she did about her father, it had been extremely tempting to skip the whole thing—buy herself a ticket to a tropical island and spend the break in luxury. But the more she’d dwelled upon it, the more she’d come to the realization that this wasn’t a burden: it was an opportunity. Alice had information about her father that he wasn’t aware of. If she was smart, if she was careful, and if she was daring, she might just be able to twist that advantage into getting more information out of him. Besides, with all that she’d seen, she needed to talk with him. This might be their last chance to have any sort of honest dialogue, and she owed her father at least that possibility. It was a gamble, through and through; however, this was what she’d been training for. This was the perfect opportunity for someone who wanted to be a Subtlety Hero.

“You know I can’t miss it, even if I wanted to.” Alice put on her best exasperated yet stalwart smile. They needed to think she was stuck going, not that she had anything planned. After all, if they knew, then they might try to talk her out of it, and this was too good of a chance to miss due to anything as paltry as logic or reason. “There’s nothing like an Adair family Christmas.”

143.

Nick sat in the back, eyes out the window as Eliza and Jerome switched off the role of driver in the gas station parking lot. It wasn’t a terribly long trek from Lander to Las Vegas, but neither were especially fond of the task. Curiously, part of Nick actually missed the old days when he’d had to stuff himself into a shitty Bug rather than the spacious backseat of a luxury SUV. There had been something peaceful about it being just him, a ridiculous car, and the open road sprawled out before him. Maybe he liked the idea of all the possibilities that lay on a stretch of highway. Maybe he enjoyed the small section of time where he didn’t have to play any games or wear any faces; he could just be a man on the road. Maybe he was glazing a past experience in nostalgia to avoid dwelling on his current situation.

That last one seemed mostly, albeit not entirely, right.

Technically speaking, he had no idea what was waiting for him in Vegas. Eliza had been tight-lipped aside from her one bit of advice, and there were just too many possibilities to know anything for certain. All Nick was sure of was that it would be troublesome, and that had a fifty-fifty shot of being interesting.

Still, no matter how he tried, Nick couldn’t shake the feeling in his stomach. The sensation was like the inverse of what had been waiting for him when he finally found Abridail’s body. It was dark, unwanted, and heavy. Worse, the closer they got to Vegas, the stronger the feeling grew. Whether it was a new aspect of his ability or simply intuition his conscious mind refused to acknowledge, it was persistent.

Nick kept staring out the window as Jerome threw the car into drive and put them back on the long stretch of highway leading to the bright, twinkling lights of a place Nick had once considered home. Whatever challenge or problem was awaiting him there, Nick would face it head-on. That’s who he was, that’s how he’d been trained to deal with things.

But until they arrived, all he could do was count the road signs going by and think.

*              *              *

The cold struck him by surprise, although it shouldn’t have. Mr. Transport had insisted Vince don a heavy jacket before they teleported, and now that they were staring out at a snow-swept landscape, Vince understood why. For a moment, his heart leapt into his throat as a memory from freshman year came bursting forth. They wouldn’t dump him at the same mountain, this time alone, would they?

Then Vince noticed the stone building farther up the battered and half-frozen path upon which they’d landed. Looking past it, seeing the peaks of other mountains nearby, he realized that this certainly wasn’t the same place, and even if it had been, at least they weren’t at the bottom. Moving forward, Vince trudged along, Mr. Transport crunching through the snow next to him.

“Dean Blaine is going to join us soon to walk you through everything; he just had a meeting come up at the last minute,” Mr. Transport explained. Originally, the dean of Lander’s HCP was going to accompany them on the journey, but his job came with more than a few unpredictable elements. “Until then, we’re just supposed to get you settled.”

“Where are we?” Vince asked, scanning the white lands around them. “It looks like the mountain training scenes from the old Kung Fu movies Hershel sometimes puts on. Are we in Tibet or something?”

Mr. Transport’s chuckle came out as fog, lingering near his mouth before slowly dissipating. “We’re in Colorado, Vince. This is still Hero-related, so the HCP couldn’t very well set up a training facility in a foreign country.”

“Oh. It’s just… Dean Blaine called it Lander’s East Campus, so I sort of assumed…”

“Lander is in California. Almost everything is east from there,” Mr. Transport pointed out.

Together, the pair made their way up the path, finally arriving at the building’s thick stone door. Despite the rustic appearance, both men noted the security cameras that were watching as they approached. Vince had reached out to try and shove the door open when a heavy thud came from the other side. Slowly, the door opened, revealing a man Vince’s age wearing simple gray gym clothes. For a moment, Vince couldn’t place him. The hair, short and brown, made it tougher, as did the fact that he wasn’t wearing a half-mad expression and cursing Vince for even existing. But after a few seconds, it clicked, and Vince took a step back even as he let out a single word that was part gasp and part accusation.

“Michael?”

*              *              *

“I’m supposed to be with Vince at this very moment, explaining what the weeks to come will be like,” Dean Blaine said. He wasn’t quite glaring across the table, situated deep in their hidden bunker, but he made no effort to appear anything other than displeased about being called in to a sudden meeting. “The fact that you wanted to talk here is the only reason I granted the request. I’m assuming this is something Globe-related and time sensitive?”

“It is, and it isn’t,” Mary replied. Her eyes darted to the other two people in the room—Mr. Numbers and Professor Stone. The latter gave Mary a gentle smile and a soft nod. It was comforting, but it didn’t make the task before her any less onerous. “This is the meeting I requested at the beginning of the year. Originally, I wanted it to be after Winter Break, and I figured that setting it up for when we returned would be fine. However, the situation has changed since then, and I think it’s important to get this all squared away.”

Dean Blaine tapped his index finger on the desk methodically. “If my original complaint didn’t make it clear, time is a factor here. Let’s skip the preamble and jump right to the heart of the matter. What is it you need from me?”

“Well… I needed to let you know that I don’t intend to graduate from the Hero Certification Program,” Mary told him. His eyebrows rose a few inches, but otherwise he remained unmoved. It made sense; in his time as dean he’d probably seen dozens of students realize that this wasn’t the job for them. Hell, she wasn’t even the first one to tell him that this year.

“I am saddened to hear that, although I’d considered it a possibility,” Dean Blaine said. “You lack the temperament for the job, and since May I’ve seen your taste for battle diminish significantly. That seemed the likeliest reason for the meeting request; however, I, and no doubt Professor Stone, hoped that with time and training you would change your mind. None of which accounts for why you felt the need to call a sudden meeting in an off-site location. We could have just as easily handled this at Lander.”

Mary swallowed; this was the tough part. She’d have traded nearly anything to read Dean Blaine’s mind, but for once she was flying blind. It gave her a new respect for Alice and Nick, doing stuff like this all the time without the aid of telepathy. “My quitting could have been handled at Lander, yes. But not this next part.”

“Oh?” Dean Blaine asked. “And what is that?”

Now or never, and never wasn’t really an option. “I just assumed discussion of breaking HCP protocol was best handled in private. Because I’m going to keep my memories of Lander, Dean Blaine. All of them.”

144.

“Mary, let me put your mind at ease.” Dean Blaine’s voice was gentler than before. Now that he felt like he understood the situation, he was shifting gears from stern authority figure to reassuring teacher. “What happened to Nick Campbell was the case only for those who are expelled. Students who drop out or fail to advance in the HCP don’t lose everything. They keep their memories of some training, learning, etc. All Professor Stone fogs over are the pertinent details that could be dangerous for a non-Hero to have. Names and faces of fellow students, lift locations, things like that. And you can even retain details about your friends if they’re willing to trust you, a condition of your leaving the program I have no doubt they will insist upon. I understand the fear of losing memories, but for situations like this it really isn’t all that bad.”

The kindness made it harder. If he’d been annoyed, or angry, she could have dug in and come back at him with the same energy. Dean Blaine being so nice… it was somewhat disarming, hard to find the angle of approach. It struck Mary that that might be the exact reason he’d chosen such a response, but it wasn’t as though she could call him out for being overly understanding.

“I know how the process works,” Mary said. “I’ve heard the thoughts of enough people who went through it, and you’re right, it really isn’t so terrible. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s not happening to me. You see, that’s why I called this meeting early. Because we have another one in a couple of weeks, only you won’t be there for it. It will just be me, Alice, Nick… and Galina.”

The room’s silence was oppressive; Dean Blaine grew so still she wasn’t even sure he was breathing. Slowly, his motions causing the chair to rustle, he leaned forward and locked eyes with Mary. “To be clear, Miss Smith, are you threatening to withhold aid on our investigation of Shelby Adair if we don’t allow you to retain your memories?”

“What… no. Of course not,” Mary replied, becoming a touch flustered. This was all so much harder when she couldn’t see what people were thinking. “Why would I make that bluff? There’s no way I’d do that to Alice, and you all know it.”

“Thank goodness. For a moment, I feared you were trying to lie your way through a game of hardball.” Dean Blaine’s entire body relaxed as he leaned back. “Very well, then. Please continue.”

That was one potential pitfall avoided, thankfully. Now she just had to sell the dean and the professor on her proposal—an idea that was probably far easier said than done.

“I want to keep my memories, Dean Blaine, for several reasons. First off, it seems dangerous to wipe out any information at this point in the game, especially when we don’t know who the mole in Lander is.” If anyone was surprised that she was aware of the hunt for a traitor—and really, why would they be? —it didn’t show on their faces. “Right now, there’s no telling who might hold the key to figuring that out, and given how much action I’ve been at the center of, I’ve got as much chance of knowing the right detail as anyone else. Aside from that, though, there’s also the risk involved.”

“Risk?” Dean Blaine asked.

“Globe kidnapped me once. Even if we don’t know why he did it, the fact remains that he did. Granted, he hasn’t made any moves against me or the others since, but that doesn’t mean I won’t be approached once my official HCP ties are cut.”

“I see.” Dean Blaine exchanged a glance with Professor Stone, who said nothing, though she did grant him a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “If Globe did approach you—and that is a big ‘if,’ since he hasn’t approached anyone else who dropped out—”

“He didn’t kidnap them, either,” Mary reminded him.

“True, but the fact still remains that what you’re describing illustrates the need to wipe memories even more. If you turned against us, with all the secrets you’ve overheard and the myriad of things you know to be dwelling in the minds of students, you could be the greatest potential leak in HCP history.” Dean Blaine didn’t look particularly worried about the idea; it seemed more like he was tossing it out for the sake of form. No one there really thought she would turn on her friends; Mary didn’t need telepathy to know they weren’t that stupid.

“Mary, what you have been offering me are excuses, and somewhat poorly reasoned ones at that.” Dean Blaine paused, staring at her for several long seconds before continuing. “Let’s stop this charade. You know we’ve bent the rules with Nick Campbell, and given your participation in our… let’s call them extracurricular events, you have earned enough trust that I didn’t immediately reject the idea of you keeping your memories. In truth, it would make things simpler moving forward, especially in regards to the Galina project. However, if you want this notion to be earnestly considered, then you need to tell me the real reason you want to hang on to your memories. If you can’t do that, this discussion is over.”

Not the most encouraging sentence she’d ever heard, but at least the idea wasn’t sunk yet—though if she kept attacking from the angles of logic and excuses, it probably would be. While she’d hoped to build a real case for why she should keep her memories, Dean Blaine was right. These were all just second-thought excuses. Mary steeled her nerves and prepared to use the all-or-nothing technique for these sorts of encounters: telling the truth.

“No one knows—I mean, really knows—what it’s like to walk a mile in another person’s shoes. But thanks to my telepathy, I can come pretty close. I told you I was going to leave the HCP, and that’s true. I’m not leaving Lander, though. My plan is to finish out my degree and then apply to graduate school. Maybe even get a doctorate. What I want to undertake requires education, experience, and, above all else, insight. I want to do what Dr. Moran does. I want to be a psychiatrist who specializes in treating Heroes. I want…” Mary trailed off, her words all bunching up on her tongue, becoming too clustered to come out coherently. She paused and organized her thoughts before continuing.

“I know being a Hero takes a toll. I may never understand it without doing the job, but I’ve tasted it. I’ve peeked into the minds of those who wear the masks, and I’ve seen how drained they can become. My goal is to become someone who can help them, who can make their lives a little more bearable. It’s what I did in Melbrook, and I like to think I’m already pretty good at it. After a real education, I might be excellent. But part of that job requires understanding what it is these people go through. That’s why I want to keep my memories, all of them, from Lander. Because everything I’ve been through and heard in others’ thoughts—the fear, the determination, the anger, the loss, all of it—is part of the Hero process. I don’t want to lose even a single stray thought. I want to carry all of this with me, use it, build on it, and become someone who can make the world a better place. Not by being a Hero, but by helping to keep Heroes stable, sound, and in the field for as long as possible.”

No one said anything for a long moment. Then Mr. Numbers turned to Professor Stone. “Did she rehearse that with you? Because she didn’t with me.”

“Nope. I think it came off the top of her head,” Professor Stone said.

“Thank you, Mary. That was an insightful look into why you wish to keep your memories,” Dean Blaine said. “I’ll consider your request over Winter Break. However, since you told us about your intent to leave here rather than at Lander, you have yet to formally withdraw from the HCP, and therefore we have no grounds to wipe your mind yet. We can talk about it once you return. Now, if no one has any other pressing business, I need to call Mr. Transport. Some of us are just starting our day.”

Mary said nothing as he rose from his chair and punched in the teleporter’s phone number. She’d done her best; now it was out of her hands. If nothing else, she still had her full memories for the next few weeks.

It was what came after that she had to worry about.

145.

The eyes of a seasoned casino worker were hard to read. The most veteran employees were experts in the art of appearing friendly yet professional, worldly yet relatable, keen-eyed yet not unblinking. They created an artifice of someone who had seen and lived it all, but wanted to talk to a tourist about their cats while they lost another hand of blackjack. Still, as someone who had grown up in this industry, Nick had the training to look past such false smiles and hollow words. And he knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped into the casino.

Sadness throbbed under the surface, an unseen river carting away the happiness of nearly every employee he glanced at. Some hid it better than others, but the overall pall was unmistakable. Unless Nevada was about to outlaw gambling, there were very few things that could impact so many of their people at once. Suspicious already, the moment Nick rounded a corner that led to the elevators he finally understood how serious the situation was.

Ms. Pips was standing there, flanked by employees as she fired off directives at a ceaseless pace, waiting for him. As soon as her eyes fell upon Nick, she said something to the people around her. Nick was too far off to hear it, but they scattered like roaches caught in the light the moment her lips stopped moving. All he could do was keep walking, ignoring the loud beeps and clattering of coins that filled his ears, noises that had once conjured a sense of familiar homecoming. There was no room in his heart for such pleasantries, though. Not with the terror of what was to come choking out every other emotion.

“Ms. Pips,” Nick said as he arrived at the elevators.

“Nicholas.” She reached over, pressed a button, and seconds later a nearby set of doors slid open. Together, they stepped inside, and she waved a small card in front of the scanner before hitting a button for the upper floors. They stood near each other in silence as the doors slowly came back together and sealed themselves shut.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or is this something I’m supposed to puzzle out for myself?” Nick barely recognized his own voice; it was so tense it sounded strange in his ears.

“No. No tests, no hoops to jump through, none of that. It wouldn’t be proper. Not for this. But it sounds like you don’t need me to spell it out. I think you already know what’s happening.” Ms. Pips sounded different too, Nick realized: less detached than normal, and perhaps with the smallest hint of weariness in her voice. She must have been running herself ragged if exhaustion was managing to break through her usual stoicism.

Nick took a deep breath to brace himself. It would be okay. Information wasn’t something to be feared; it was an asset, always and forever. No matter how bad things might be, once he knew the score, he could start fixing them. “Tell me anyway. Like you know you should have told me before.”

“Hold on there; let’s get one thing straight at the outset. I wanted to tell you from the start. Gerry was the one who insisted on keeping you in the dark. He even managed to get a promise out of me. I know you’re going to want to lash out, but find a better target.” It was Ms. Pips’ turn to take a long breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. Nick hadn’t heard her use this tone since he was a child, and even then it had been a rare occasion.

“Nicholas, Gerry is sick. Cancer. Had it for a while now. We’ve been getting him the best treatment we can, but even most Supers with healing powers can only repair the damage, not cure the disease. In the last year, it’s been getting worse. You must have noticed how he was dropping weight the last few times you were here. A few months ago, Gerry came into my office and told me he was done with the treatments. Nothing was taking, and even the healing sessions weren’t making as much of a difference… he’ll tell you about it, I’m sure. The point is, he’s doing poorly.”

Though his right hand was clenched in a fist so tight his fingers were turning white, Nick kept his voice even. “Why am I just now hearing about this? Why wasn’t I told the minute he took a turn? Why has Eliza been moping around my apartment for months, obviously coping with this news, and I was kept in the dark?”

“Because Gerry knew you’d come running here to be with him, and he didn’t want that.” Ms. Pips lifted her arm slowly, reaching over, and for a second Nick genuinely had no idea what she was about to do. Then her hand fell lightly on his shoulder. He realized she was trying to comfort him, despite clearly being unfamiliar with the tactic. “I know this is a strange concept for people in our world, but Gerry has always wanted what’s best for you, Nicholas. Even when that meant we disagreed on what path to put you on, I’ve never for a moment doubted that man’s dedication to you. So when he saw you building a life for yourself out in California, away from us and the future you’d have here, the last thing he wanted was to yank you away from it. You’re obviously pissed off and distraught, not that I blame you for either, but I want you to keep in mind that he asked us to keep quiet because he thought it was best for you.”

A loud ding filled the air, and the door opened to reveal a carpeted hallway. Nick and Ms. Pips stepped out, letting the elevator begin its downward trek behind them. “Where is he?” Nick asked.

“In his room.” Ms. Pips pointed down the hall, even though they were both fully aware that Nick knew where Gerry lived. “He wanted to be at home, to be comfortable, so we had equipment brought in. I’ve had to threaten the other employees within an inch of their lives to keep them away from him; he keeps trying to pitch in and work despite… well, everything. He’s expecting you, though. Told him you were coming home for Winter Break. I think he held on… never mind. Just go see him.”

Nick started down the hallway without as much as a word of goodbye. There was no space for propriety in his mind, a brain that was already whirring with plans and schemes that grew more complex with every step he took along the dark carpet. Maybe Gerry and Ms. Pips were resigned to this fate, maybe they felt they’d exercised every option and come up empty, but Nick was not yet willing to lie down and accept the death of his mentor as inevitable. No, he’d seen too much in his time at Lander, gained too great an appreciation for how deep the well of power among Supers truly ran. Nothing was impossible. Somewhere, there was someone who had exactly what they needed.

And as soon as Nick made Gerry understand that, they could start the process of saving his life.

146.

The last time Vince had seen Michael Clark, it was when he was sprawled out on the ground after being summarily and unquestionably defeated by Vince. According to the gossip that went around Lander, Britney had reported Michael’s actions during the team event to Dean Blaine, who had removed Michael from the program as a result. In those early days, it had felt like people left the program regularly, so it hadn’t caused too much of a stir. If anything, all Vince had felt was relief that the then-bald ice-based Super would no longer be around to make trouble for him and his friends.

The storied history made it all the more shocking to be sitting in a sizable kitchen, being served hot chocolate by the man who’d ambushed him more than once and beaten Alex halfway to brain damage. Even weirder was the fact that Michael seemed unbothered by the reunion. He was smiling cheerfully as he made a mug of coffee for himself and took a seat next to Vince at the counter. Mr. Transport had excused himself after getting a phone call, presumably to pick up Dean Blaine, so for the moment it was just the two of them. In all the crazy things Vince had seen and experienced since Michael left, the two of them being in a room without punches getting thrown felt like it might eclipse them all.

“You knew me before, I assume?”

Vince nodded slowly, not entirely sure he trusted his tongue to avoid letting any key bits of information that might cause trouble slip.

“That’s about the reaction I would expect,” Michael said. “From what they told me, I made quite a bit of trouble. I’ve always had a temper, and being Super in a town without many others meant no one ever really called me on it. I was the special one, and so I could… sorry, it doesn’t matter. I’m working on taking responsibility for my actions, which means the circumstances of how I grew up are irrelevant. Whatever I did to you or your friends was my own fault, and I apologize for it. I know that rings hollow since I can’t actually remember any of it to regret, but it’s the most I can offer considering the circumstances.”

Sipping his drink carefully, Vince stared at the man who’d once been the terror of their class. He looked different, and not just because of the hair or two years of aging. Michael had always seemed weighed down, as though—even at his craziest—he was still aware of the need to impress and succeed. This version didn’t carry that burden. And why would he? Aside from a few staff members Vince had seen as they made their way to the kitchen, it didn’t appear as though there was anyone here to impress in the first place.

“So… you don’t remember any of it?” Vince asked, finally setting his mug down.

“Not a bit. Well, a little from my normal classes here and there—I don’t think they’re legally allowed to wipe that stuff out—but for the most part my time at Lander is all one foggy blur.” Michael pressed his right index finger to his temple. “All of it was wiped. My first clear memory is being in Dean Blaine’s office, getting handed an ultimatum. Come to Lander East and try to work through my shit, or be formally charged with assault for some of the stunts I apparently pulled. Should be an easy call, right? Yet the guy still had to sell me on it. Looking back, I really can’t believe what a shortsighted dick I was.”

It was hard to argue with the assessment, yet all the same Vince felt part of his mind try to pipe up and reassure Michael that he hadn’t been all that bad. That would have been a lie, though. The old Michael was pretty damn bad. This one… well, he didn’t act nearly as unhinged, but neither had the old Michael, at first. Vince was reserving judgment until there was more than a conversation over cocoa to judge from.

“You had some moments,” Vince told him. It seemed the best way to agree without being needlessly cruel. “But you seem to be a lot more balanced than you were back at Lander. What have you been doing up here, anyway?”

Michael shrugged. “Nothing too incredible. Training, for a good part of it. It helps keep me centered. Of course, I’m also doing regular therapy, meditation, yoga, and all that other mind-clearing stuff they make you learn when you’ve got an aggressive nature paired with a history of violence. Drying out may have been the biggest help, though. I’m not sure if Dean Blaine told anyone, but I had a drinking problem back then. I mean, I still technically have a drinking problem; I just don’t drink up here. Nothing like being on a mountain with no booze for miles to help a guy stay sober.”

That was a bit of a surprise. Vince had never known about the alcohol issue. Then again, it wasn’t as though he and Michael had ever been remotely social. Their interactions had been limited to threats, fighting, and ambushes.

“I’m glad to hear you’re getting better. If this isn’t prying too much, I am curious: what’s your goal with all this? Are you trying to reapply to the HCP, or—”

“Definitely not,” Michael interrupted, the barest touch of his old force creeping back into his voice. His cheeks flushed, and he looked down into the depths of his coffee. “I’m sorry, it’s just… those sorts of environments are bad for me. I’ve come to realize that now. They bring out the worst parts of who I am, and so I’ve learned to reject them just like the booze. It’s the only way for me to keep from regressing.”

Both sat in silence for a moment, save for the occasional sips from their mugs, before Michael looked back up and continued. “To answer your question, I don’t have much of a goal. Mostly, I’ve just been focusing on getting better, on being better. I don’t know when I’ll reach a point where I feel like it’s time to go back to the real world, but when I do I’m not going anywhere near Lander. I might head back to my home town and work as a boxing instructor or something. My childhood coach was getting on in years; he might want an apprentice to eventually take over for him. Or maybe I’ll travel, working odd jobs as needed. It’s all up in the air. My paths are wide open. I like that, for now.”

Footsteps came from outside the kitchen, explained moments later when Dean Blaine and Mr. Transport walked inside. They must have really been in a hurry; Dean Blaine hadn’t even bothered to put anything warm on over his usual suit. For a sliver of an instant, the Lander HCP’s highest authority looked surprised and uncertain as he walked in on two former enemies drinking hot chocolate and coffee, respectively. Then he recovered his composure, looking as though nothing in the world was out of place with this scene.

“Vince, I see you’ve met one of Lander East’s other residents: Michael Clark. While I’m sure you’re both interested in catching up, we should really get you settled in and up to speed on what you’ll be doing here before anything else.”

“Go on ahead. I’ll clean these up,” Michael offered, scooping up both mugs and heading to the sink.

Vince did as he was told, standing from the table and walking over to Dean Blaine. As they left the room, though, he cast one glance back at Michael, who was dutifully washing the mugs before setting them out to dry.

There was almost no way anything waiting for Vince was going to top the weirdness of his first encounter. In a way, he found that oddly reassuring.

147.

Often, people would describe the bedrooms of the terminally ill as smelling like death. That wasn’t true, however. Nick had smelled death on countless occasions. Sometimes from across a room, sometimes up close and personal. Death smelled like blood, and piss, and rot. Gerry’s room had a disinfected scent; it was too clean, too empty. To Nick, these sorts of rooms had always smelled like the absence of life more than actual death, and to him that was far, far worse.

Gerry stirred as the door shut quietly behind Nick, lifting his head carefully from the inclined bed. There were machines and IVs in him, although fewer than Nick had been expecting. Then again, perhaps that made sense. This was a mission to make the end comfortable, not continue the battle. One required less equipment than the other.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the college boy come home for the holidays. So much for my peace and quiet.” Despite his frail form, he still sounded like Gerry, a revelation that pulled an unexpected weight from Nick’s heart.

“Damn right,” Nick agreed. “If you think I’m going to just let you sleep away my time here then you’ve got another thing coming. There are heads to crack, burgers to eat, and marks to fleece. Nothing ever really stops in Vegas.”

Gerry reached out and pointed to one of the chairs near his bed. “How about we chat for a little while first, and then move on to the head busting?”

Nick made his way across the room, seating himself in the chair Gerry had indicated. He knew it wasn’t going to last for long, but still, he’d hoped to keep the banter alive for a bit. This close he could see how tired Gerry really was. The already bald man had shed too much weight, and the bags under his eyes betrayed how fruitless his sleep had been. It was hard to imagine the real Gerry when staring at this worn expression, but Nick never dared turn away, even for a moment.

“You know this is bullshit, right? That Ms. Pips, Eliza, even the damn workers downstairs, all of them got to know before me? Tell me how that’s okay, Gerry. You and me… we…” Nick trailed off, for once unable to find the right words awaiting him on his tongue.

“Yeah, Campbell, I know.” Gingerly, Gerry reached over and laid an emaciated hand on top of Nick’s own. “But none of them have futures riding on staying away from this place. And if you found out, you’d have come. We both know it. This Family teaches loyalty as a religion, and you’ve always been a devout disciple. Loyalty runs in two directions, though. I didn’t want you to throw your future away over me, so I made the call not to spend these last few months with you.”

“It was a shitty call,” Nick told him.

“Maybe, but I’m dying. I get to be a little selfish and make some shitty calls.”

Nick recoiled like Gerry had struck him, pulling away from the thin hand. “You’re not dying, Gerry. I’ve got people. I’ve got connections, markers I can call in, secrets I can leverage. We know there are healers who can cure even the toughest of diseases, and I’ll get one of them here, no matter what.”

“See, this is the other reason I didn’t tell you.” Gerry kept his hand outstretched, but shifted in bed, trying to get more comfortable. “Most people I teach, they eventually learn that winning isn’t everything. If the cost is too high, if the repercussions are too severe, then it’s best to take the loss and regroup. Not you, Campbell. For you, it’s always been victory or death. Maybe you had something to prove, maybe you just wanted to show that being Powered didn’t mean you were less than any of the rest of us, but whatever the reason, you’ve always been terrible at knowing when to take a loss. In a way, that might be why you fared so well at that Hero school. I’d place a bet that a lot of them look at life the same way.”

“I’m not stupid; I don’t hang on for every fight. I just don’t roll over on the ones I know I can win. And we can win this, Gerry. Trust me. There’s even a girl in my old class I could call. She might be able to—”

“To heal a criminal? One of the leaders in a major crime organization? A man with so much blood on his hands, he…” Gerry trailed off for a moment and cleared his throat. His voice was beginning to weaken. “Don’t do this, Campbell. Don’t drag others into this place. Don’t taint the bright and shiny Heroes-to-be with the kind of grime we deal in. Don’t sully your future trying to save your past.”

For a moment, neither said anything. Then Nick reached out and carefully grasped the man’s outstretched fingers. “Is that why you’ve stopped fighting? Do you think you don’t deserve to live, Gerry?”

“Hang on, there; I’m not just giving up. I’ve been fighting this for years, and thanks to Ms. Pips’ generosity with treatment and healers, I bought myself more time than most any other man could have gotten. But you can only fight a losing battle for so long before you accept that defeat is inevitable.” Gerry broke their grip to reach for a nearby glass of water on his table, but Nick was there first, lifting it up to Gerry’s lips until he signaled he was done.

“And yes, dying does make a man take stock of the way he spent his life. Mine was not spent in the service of good. I was a criminal, through and through; the fact that I worked my way up this high in the organization is proof of that. Still, at least there are a few bright spots I can look back on and know that I did the right thing.”

“You gave a lot of people second chances, sometimes even jobs, and helped them get their shit together,” Nick agreed.

“Sure, that too, but I was talking about you, dumbass,” Gerry corrected. “I got to have a hand in raising you, and I’m pretty sure that’s one bit of good that will endure long after all the others have faded away.”

Nick hesitated at those words, suddenly uncertain. Gerry was clearly ill; had his mind started to go along with his body? It was tempting to play along, just in case, but Nick pushed the idea aside. He and Gerry shot straight with one another, even if they couldn’t do that with anyone else in the world. Now was not the time to trample on that special part of their relationship.

“Gerry, I’m not in the HCP, you know. I got the boot. I’m not going to be a Hero or anything.”

“Christ kid, I’m sick, not dumb. I know you aren’t in the program anymore, just like I know you’re still taking care of those friends of yours. That’s what I was talking about. Those Heroes are going to be stronger and safer because you’re there watching their backs. Every life they save, every monster they stop will be in part because you’ve been in the shadows, keeping them aloft. And I know you; that’s only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to what you’ll accomplish. I have high expectations for you, Nick Campbell. Don’t go slacking off just because I won’t be around to keep you on task.”

Without meaning to, Nick lowered his head. How long had it been since he cried? Since he’d even felt the inclination? He wasn’t sure if the tears were coming yet, but he could feel all the emotion rising up in him, and he wasn’t sure how it would manifest if it reached the surface.

“I can’t… I don’t know how to do this without you, Gerry. You were the one who kept me decent, made me stay human. I need you. Please… don’t go. Not yet. Not like this.”

“As an older man, trust me when I say death never comes at the right time for any of us. There’s always more we have to do, people who still need our help. It comes when it comes, and personally, I’m thankful my reaper was kind enough to give me a chance to say my goodbyes. And you don’t need me, not anymore. You’ve got other people who love you, who’ll stand by you, who’ll hunt you across the Earth and drag your ass home if you try to run from them. You haven’t needed me for a couple of years now, and that makes me happy beyond words. I know I’m not your real parent, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want to see you leave the nest and fly on your own.”

Gerry reached out, but this time, rather than taking Nick’s hand, he flicked the younger man in the ear. “That said, I’m not dead yet, so how about we stop all the sad talk and you go get us a deck of cards. Bet I can still take you in poker.”

“I’ll run down to the front desk,” Nick said. He met Gerry’s eyes once more and was surprised to see a smile on the other man’s sallow face. It was fleeting, but for a brief instant, he could see the true Gerry still in there. “And you know you’re the closest thing to a real parent I ever had.”

“Don’t sell Ms. Pips short. She may not be as cuddly as me, but the woman has been tireless in her efforts to keep you safe since the accident. That’s a parent’s job, too.” Gerry’s smile grew a bit brighter. “But thanks for saying that, Campbell. I never had kids, but if I did, I couldn’t be prouder of them than I am of you. Now get a hustle on, and order us some burgers while you’re at it. One upside to all of this, cholesterol can kiss my ass.”

Nick did as he was told, leaving the room and pausing in a nearby bathroom to compose himself. No matter how shaken he felt, he needed to present an aura of control and competence for the employees. It was one of Gerry’s first lessons, and Nick certainly didn’t intend to cast aside such teachings. Especially not now.

148.

Vince lay on the rough stone, panting. Dimly, from far in the distance, he could make out the occasional boom echoing from elsewhere on the mountain. Another of the few people here, no doubt, pushing themselves to their absolute limits. He hoped they were making faster progress. Vince was accustomed to training, used to working his body hard and pushing through his limits. But even with all that experience, this regime was still quite draining. Literally, in fact.

Around him was nothing, save for a long path that led back to the main building and the small section of concrete where he was currently lying. Other than that, he had only open air, snow, and rocks to deal with. Barren as the landscape was, that was also what made it perfect. Here, with no concrete cells or nearby school, Vince could fire off shots he’d never have dared let loose within Lander. It wasn’t just about training his speed at building up energy, although that was certainly a large part of the process, but also creating attacks that hit with as much force as he could wield. There was a limit, it seemed; Vince was discovering that not even he could release an entire wildfire’s worth of flame in a single go. Like trying to funnel a lake through a hose, even with tremendous pressure built up, a nozzle was only so large. Electricity was a little easier; thankfully Mr. Transport was running Vince (along with a set of lightning rods) to and from various storms every night to recharge so he always had plenty on hand, but even then he was discovering that only so much could be channeled into a single strike.

Kinetic energy, on the other hand, was a different animal. Vince didn’t know if it was because his body was designed to deal out kinetic damage or if it was just the simplest to wrangle, but so far he’d been able to void his whole reserve with a single punch no matter how much he absorbed. They’d been using Lander East staff members with enhanced strength to refuel Vince, and the sessions were getting longer each day.

Picking himself up, Vince took a survey of the area around his small stone patch. The mountain was pockmarked with scars from his training—boulders turned to rubble, scorch marks all along the ground, entire sections of snow burned away. He started to build an electric shot then thought better of it. Along with working on his output, Vince was also trying to get better at rapid absorption. If he’d been a little quicker in the battle with Professor Cole, they might have been able to freeze her cloth and hold her in place. It would have been a less showy victory, but also a safer one from a practical standpoint. With it being so cold out here, this seemed as good a place to practice as any.

Taking a deep breath, Vince felt the heat on his skin. Minute as it seemed in the freezing landscape, he knew there was actually a tremendous amount. He could feel it pushing against him when he focused. Vince allowed the heat to flow in and dragged all of the warmth around it along for the ride. On the stone, ice began to form as water in the air froze solid. It worked its way out bit by bit, a steady progress but also a slow one. Dropping the temperature of an area was easy; achieving a true freeze was a whole other matter.

“Not too shabby.”

It took more of Vince’s self-control than he was proud of to resist the urge to whirl around. Even after being here for several days, seeing Michael around and chatting with him on occasion, the sound of that voice coming from behind put Vince on edge. The reaction was a just one, born of necessity during their feud, but it no longer served a purpose. That Michael had either been wiped out along with his memories or thoroughly purged in his time at Lander East. Or perhaps he was faking it to an incredible degree. Either way, he probably wouldn’t risk it all for a potshot at someone who was able to beat him two years and lots of training ago.

“Thanks,” Vince replied, halting the absorption. “I learned to do areas a while back, and while I’ve gotten better about focused absorbing, I can’t seem to join the speed and the wide coverage very well. Taking this long in battle makes it a pretty limited technique.”

Michael turned in place, looking over the scene of widespread destruction that Vince had left in his training’s wake. “Yeah, when I see all this, ‘limited’ is definitely the first word that comes to mind. If someone with your kind of power is stressing out this bad, competition in your class must be crazy damn stiff.”

“It is, but that’s not the point.” It was strange to talk to Michael this way, like they hadn’t traded blows and blood on the battlefield, like he didn’t remember how it felt to fight for progress in the HCP. This version didn’t, though, and somehow that made conversation flow a bit easier. “During my last trial, there was a fight where we might have won earlier if I’d been able to freeze our opponent. I couldn’t, though. I wasn’t able to drop the temperature far or fast enough.”

“But you still won,” Michael pointed out.

“That time. When I need the technique again, who knows if things will work out the same way. The next occasion I have to freeze someone, it might be life or death. Same goes for when I need electricity, or kinetic power, or fire. I have to be capable with every tool at my disposal, because there’s no telling when any one of them could be the thing that keeps a civilian or fellow Hero alive.”

“Seems to me you’re putting a whole lot on yourself,” Michael said. “I’ll admit I don’t get the full training experience being here, but even I know they constantly tell you that no one can do everything. Even Heroes have limits.”

Vince shook his head. “There’s a difference between lacking the ability to do something and failing to wield your skill to the best of your ability. While my power has its limits like everyone else’s, it comes with a lot of versatility. Mastering every aspect is how I’m going to be strong enough to make it in the Hero world.”

A gust of wind blew across the snow, stirring up the white powder and momentarily chilling both men. When it was done, Michael jerked a thumb back toward the main building. “They sent me down to let you know lunch was ready. We should probably start heading back that way.”

“Thanks,” Vince replied. “I’ll be up in a few minutes. If I have to head in, I may as well squeeze in a little more training and empty out some energy reserves.”

“Don’t overdo it,” Michael said. His feet crunched through the snow for a few seconds before halting. “Look, Vince, I’m not stupid. Well, okay—maybe I am kind of stupid, but even I can tell you’re tense around me. Whatever was between us, I’m sure you have good reason not to trust me. That said, if you ever want someone to talk to about trying to make things freeze…” He reached out a hand, and a flash of blue light rippled off of it. When it cleared, a large block of ice was resting only a few feet away from them.

“Well, I’m not the worst guy in the world to consult with. It’s only an offer, if you want to take me up on it. I won’t force the issue. It’s just that something tells me that might be the very least I owe you. Anyway, see you at lunch. Don’t stay here so long you freeze.”

He was off again, moving easily through the snow as Vince checked over the ice block. He could still see the snowflakes that had almost made it to the ground embedded inside. Whatever else he could say of Michael, the man had a point. No one knew the cold quite like he did.

149.

After the countless hours of digital training in the Blonk and even more time spent on Subtlety class and practical skills training, Alice was almost disappointed that she didn’t need to employ stealth or misdirection when entering her father’s office. The simple fact of the matter was that, when Charles Adair left town, so did the vast majority of his security personnel. Even if they had been there, it wasn’t as though any would have stopped her. Kings and CEOs might need to request entry into the home of Charles Adair, yet his daughter had always been allowed to pass freely wherever she wanted. In her youth, Alice had taken it as a sign of affection, like he was saying she was special and always welcome. Now, looking back, Alice suspected that the reason for such freedom was simple: he’d never felt like she had the potential for real trouble. And why would he? A life spent as the demure, well-behaved debutante with a floating problem certainly painted her in such a light.

Of course, another explanation was that he was too smart to leave anything truly sensitive in such an easily-accessed location in the first place. She’d walked in expecting that this might be the case, and after an hour of careful searching, Alice’s suspicions were confirmed. There were plenty of business-related documents stowed away in his desk, things that looked very impressive but yielded precious little information when examined. Aside from that, all she found were a few office supplies, a box of half-eaten protein bars, and a picture of her mother housed in a lovely silver frame.

That item, Alice lingered on. A year ago, she’d have found it odd that he kept such a treasure tucked away in a drawer rather than out on display, but her work with Abridail had shed new light on the matter. Charles Adair loved his wife, whatever remained of her; he was also almost certainly plagued with guilt over her condition. The situation was a complex one, and tempting as it was to cast her father as a villain outright, Alice’s mind often flitted back to the vision she’d been shown: Shelby, weeping on the floor, coping with the trauma of constantly seeing her own child dead. It would have been easy for Alice to say she would have found another way, would have never dared to take such a gamble with Shelby’s health. But if Subtlety had taught her nothing else, it had shown Alice that life, and the choices in it, were never so simple. Maybe she’d have done the same, if she were in Charles’s expensive shoes and one of her loved ones was slowly deteriorating before her very eyes. It was impossible to say, and much as she might have liked to talk it over with Charles and see things from his perspective, he’d never given her the chance. He’d never shared this burden; instead he’d buried it deep inside and shoved away anyone who even tried to get close.

Carefully, with a keen eye for detail, Alice tucked the photo back into the drawer. She was working to leave the desk almost, but not quite, as she’d found it. Trying to make things too perfect would draw suspicion if Charles caught a detail. Instead, she’d brought along a small vase of flowers from the garden and a simple Christmas card, one signed with a pen she’d taken from his desk and put back in the wrong drawer. Ostensibly, she’d come in to leave a “welcome home” gift for when he arrived and had rooted about looking for a pen. Whether he bought it or not was largely irrelevant; the idea was simply to create plausible deniability. She didn’t want to tip her hand just yet.

Whatever nuggets of information she hoped to glean from their impending discussion, Alice was honest enough with herself to know there was small chance of getting anything truly useful. No, that wasn’t what this meeting would be about, not at its core. What Alice really wanted to uncover was some glimmer of hope, some decent part of her father buried away under all the years of deceit. She owed it to him—not the man he was now, but the one who’d raced into her room with that ghastly look on his face when he thought she was hurt. The one who’d held her mother as the woman lay weeping. Once, there had been goodness in Charles Adair, and Alice dearly wanted to believe that some of it lingered.

But as a skilled Subtlety student, she was already preparing for disappointment. Given all she knew of her father, it was only practical.

*              *              *

“It seems… stable.” The soft-spoken woman lowered her hands from Hershel’s temple. Around them, the room was dark and thick with the scent of incense. While Madame Clandesta might masquerade as a medium in her free time, some still knew her as Ava, a Super with exceptionally potent telepathy. She could see beyond thoughts to the very structure of a mind itself. And for a pair of brothers sharing a body during a tumultuous childhood, she’d played the role of therapist and family friend.

“Stable is good, right?” Hershel asked. “Like, we’re not eroding the barrier between us. Or is it bad, because it means we’re back to having it firmly in place? I mean… I don’t hear Roy right now.”

Ava reached under her decorative crystal ball and pulled out a pack of nicotine gum, from which she promptly took a piece. She popped it in her mouth and began chewing. “Do you need to hear Roy right now?”

“Not especially,” Hershel said.

“Well, then that might be your answer.” Her face pinched, as it always did when she first bit into one of her cigarette substitutes. “No one is going to be able to explain exactly what your power is; it’s unique to the two of you, just like mine is to me or your father’s… sorry.”

“It’s okay. The subject isn’t as sore as it used to be.” While Hershel wasn’t quite ready to invite Titan over for Christmas dinner, his interaction with Roy had proven that there might be hope for some sort of relationship down the line. After all, Hershel couldn’t very well let Roy show him up and be the more mature one.

“Glad to hear that. As for your power, I can still feel a distinct difference between you and Roy. It hasn’t lessened since the last time I saw you as children, but it has grown… how to put this… let’s imagine that the barrier between you and Roy is a brick wall,” Ava told him. “Control of the body is a ball that you pass over that wall. You haven’t broken the wall in a meaningful way, as far as I can sense. It would be more accurate to say you’ve installed a window in it.”

Hershel mulled the analogy over for several moments. “So we can slide the window up and talk to one another, or leave it down when we want privacy.”

“Precisely. It might take some practice to figure out how to open and close it at will; however, with enough training, I’m confident you two can figure it out.”

“I’m fine with that, and I think Roy is, too,” Hershel said. “But the bigger issue is the fact that we changed the barrier at all. What if we… do something worse? Accidentally destroy it completely? What happens then? Do I become Roy? Does he turn into me? Do we just get our personalities blended together into a Frankenstein’s monster of the two of us?”

Ava leaned over and spat the gum into a trash can near her table. “I don’t know, Hershel. No one does. Understanding how a Super’s power works is already more art and guesswork than science, and you two are a unique case even on that spectrum. Here’s the thing to keep in mind, though: based on what we know of how your power works, it seems to respond to what you need and work toward. So do you plan on working toward destroying the separation between you and Roy? Do you need your brother gone?”

“No.” Hershel shook his head. “Even when I somewhat hated him, even when he made my life a chaotic mess, I never wanted Roy dead. I’ve got his memories; I know how he feels. I could never want to kill him. He’s my brother. I love him.”

“Then you’ll probably be all right.” Ava reached over and patted him gently on the forearm. “And if you’re ever scared, you know you can make an appointment and I’ll give you the once-over. Just try not to come at Christmas next time; this is my busy season. A lot of people want the comfort of saying a festive goodbye to their loved ones.”

“Thanks, Ava. I’ll keep that in mind.” Hershel rose from his chair, and she mirrored him. “By the way, if you’re not working on actual Christmas, Mom said you’re more than welcome to come join us for lunch.”

“I may take her up on that.” Ava walked around the table and gave Hershel a surprisingly strong hug for a person of her age. “Now, you take care of yourselves. I’m looking forward to watching the news next year and seeing you on the screen as a big shot Hero. I like the name, by the way.”

Hershel nearly jerked away in surprise then felt embarrassed. Of course she’d seen that; he’d been working hard to leave his mind as open as possible for her. “You don’t think it’s a little too… on the nose?”

“What’s wrong with being on the nose? I think there’s a certain power in owning what you are,” Ava said. “It’s a good name, for both of you. I look forward to buying it on a t-shirt.”

They broke apart, and Hershel smiled down at her. “When the first printing comes out, I’ll make sure to send one over to you.”

150.

“So, I didn’t know about the whole… illness… thing when I bought this. Sorry if it’s a little inappropriate.” Nick produced the cylindrical brown package from behind his back and set it in Gerry’s waiting hands. “Merry Christmas.”

Moving carefully, taking longer than he’d have normally needed, Gerry pulled away the brown paper to reveal a bottle of liquid the color of slightly burned honey. Twisting it around, he found the label, which was aged and simple. “Campbell, this is some high-end bourbon. I mean, even by our luxurious standards, it’s a fancy gift. You shouldn’t have spent so much on me.”

“Who else am I going to spend it on? Most of my friends lack the palates to appreciate such a fine product, and none of them care much for worldly goods. Well, except Alice, but she’s got tons of cash of her own.”

“Wealthy, beautiful, and charming enough to keep even you in line. This gal of yours must be something else,” Gerry said.

“Hang on, who said she was keeping me in any kind of line?” Nick protested.

Gerry clucked his tongue and set the bottle gently down on his bedside table. “I’m bedridden, not blind. You’ve spent every day home in here with me instead of wooing our new waitresses. And don’t you dare try and say it’s because you wanted to spend all your time with me; we both know I take enough naps for you to squeeze in some downtime.”

“Maybe I’ve just gotten bigger things on my mind,” Nick said.

“Uh huh. Sure. I think we both know I taught you to lie better than that. But it’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you’re soft on this girl. I’m glad you are, honestly. Ms. Pips and I spent a good few years there terrified we’d end up raising a baby if you got careless.”

“When have I ever been careless about anything I did?” Nick kept a dark expression off his face at the mention of Ms. Pips. He hadn’t seen her since his arrival, which would have been neither surprising nor bothersome if he wasn’t spending almost every waking hour with Gerry. The man had been her right-hand man for decades, and she hadn’t so much as popped in to see how he was doing.

“Oh, you want to go down that road? Fine, pour us both a glass from that bottle and I’ll tell you some stories from when you were a kid where you damn near got us both in deep trouble.”

“Are you sure you should? Drink? With the whole—”

“I’m dying, Campbell, not sick. Sick is where you have to follow the rules; dying means you get to enjoy the last bits of your life while you have them.” Gerry tapped the top of the bottle gently with his index finger. “Besides, booze like this is meant to be shared with loved ones. So get the glasses already. I don’t have time to waste.”

Nick did as he was told. It certainly wouldn’t be good for Gerry, but that didn’t appear to be a top priority. He’d been stopped from trying to save Gerry’s life, so at the very least, he could make sure his mentor and teacher got to spend the last of it living how he wanted.

No matter how much it tore Nick up inside.

*              *              *

“Victor, grab the damn potatoes!” Blaine leaned around the side of the vast kitchen, his arms moving tirelessly to keep the roux from settling, and hollered at the broad-shouldered man in the living room. “Can you not hear the timer?”

“Sorry!” Victor leapt up, nearly tripping over Sean in his hurry to avoid more of Blaine’s wrath. Behind him was a sizable indent in the couch, right next to Clarissa, who was sipping on a glass of chardonnay. She and Miriam giggled as Victor barreled around the corner, nearly banging into Blaine in the process.

When Blaine had first floated the idea of celebrating the holiday with as much of the old class as they could get together, Miriam Taylor had found the idea strange. For so long, it had just been her, Chad, and Blaine. And in truth, she wasn’t sure how she would fit in with the group with her original connection to them gone. As more of the others signed on, though, she found herself not quite able to resist the idea. Then Victor had volunteered his spacious abode for the occasion, and curiosity had gotten the better of her.

While he’d never been quite as renowned as some of his peers from the Class of Legends, there was no question that Victor had ended up among the more successful of the lot in his post-Hero career. The man lived on what could earnestly be called an estate, with a massive pool, tons of rooms, and a gym on par with everything but an HCP’s facilities. Chad was still exploring it, taking in the sights with awe and perhaps, for the first time—at least, Miriam hoped—thinking about what he’d do with his life when he was too old for Hero work. The Super Athletic Association was a good place to turn to; it made plenty of money and offered a safe, reliable income.

“Guess some things never change,” Sean remarked from the other side of the couch, nodding to the slowly fading impression Victor’s muscular bulk had left behind. “He’s still got it bad for you, Clarissa.”

“Oh, come now. Victor is a successful man with a moderately handsome face and ample resources. I’m sure he’s got far too many women chasing after him to hold on to a college crush,” Clarissa replied. “It’s just old habits. Sometimes we fall into preexisting dynamics without even meaning to.”

Personally, Miriam thought Sean had the better grasp of it, but she took a sip of her martini rather than say so. Victor was gracious enough to play host; the least they could do was give him the benefit of the doubt. Besides which, she could hardly blame him if he did still carry a torch for Clarissa. The woman was as lovely as ever; she and age seemed to be getting on better than anyone really had a right to. Yet she was also a little more distant than she’d been when they were younger, a condition that was understandable, given all that she’d seen and been through. Still, occasionally Miriam caught sight of a genuine smile on her face, and she knew the real Clarissa was in there, even if she did hide behind a more detached demeanor.

All in all, it was a nice way to spend a day, as long as she didn’t allow herself to look around the large living room at all the empty seats—chairs and couches that, had life gone the way they’d wanted it to, would have been filled to the brim with fellow college friends and probably their own families as well. But Miriam had spent a long time thinking about the empty spaces, letting them fill up too much of her life. It was a pleasant change to focus on the ones that were filled instead.

151.

“Skipping lunch?”

Charles looked up from his desk to find Alice standing in the doorway. His gaze fell to a nearby clock, which told him that while the customary time for Christmas lunch was drawing near, it hadn’t arrived quite yet.

“By my count, I still have half an hour,” he told her.

“I know. I just figured I’d get that out of the way now. Saves me the trouble of coming by when you’re eventually late. This way, we’ve checked all the boxes. I tried, you brushed me off, and I can have a hot meal on time.” Despite seeming to dismiss him, she stepped further into the office, shutting the door behind her. Her dress was festive, a holly green that matched the glitter she’d applied above her eyes. Though she occasionally applied the accessory, it wasn’t nearly with the regularity that her mother had, and Alice’s expert application somehow managed to make the twinkling eye-covering subdued. As subdued as was possible, given the garish nature of the product, anyway.

“Be fair. I’ve been making more of an effort in these past few years. Losing you to college made me realize that I took your presence for granted, and I think I’ve shown up more in recent holidays.” There was something… off about the way she approached his desk; he could feel it even as he tried to mollify her. Charles had built his business on the back of his power and being able to read people; Alice’s demeanor had shifted. What’s more, she wasn’t trying to conceal the alteration. She wanted him to know this meeting would be different.

Slowly, she took a seat across from him and met Charles’s eyes. A piece of his heart, one of the few bits not dried by loss and necessity, wanted to be moved by how much those eyes resembled Shelby’s, but he denied it. Sentimentality was a weakness, something an opponent could leverage if used properly, and he was realizing more and more with every passing second that, at least for the moment, Alice was indeed coming in here to do battle.

“You’ve been a little more present,” she admitted finally. “And hey, sometimes you’re even willing to open up a bit. Tell me about Mom’s garden, and the glitter, giving me small peeks into her past. Dad… you know, in spite of everything, I still love you.”

He raised an eyebrow and set his pen on the table. “In spite of everything? That’s an interesting declaration, coming from a woman in a designer outfit who walked in here on marble floors. Some might be grateful to have been raised in such luxury, not think of it as something to love me in spite of.”

A simple jab of guilt—one that failed to land as Alice’s face showed no signs of wavering. “Dad. Please. Don’t play this game. Not today. I didn’t come to fight with you. I came because I sincerely want to believe that, under it all, you’re a good man. That we’re a family. I know you have your reasons for keeping secrets, especially when I was a child. But I’m not a kid anymore. I’m asking you to be honest. Come clean. Not to the world, or to anyone outside this room. Just to me. Just to your daughter. Show me that we can still salvage some of this.”

It was a solid opening move. Appealing to his sense of paternal affection, letting him know that she was aware of deceit without tipping her hand about exactly what secret she’d uncovered, and framing the whole endeavor as an attempt at parental reconciliation. No wonder she was putting up such good marks in Subtlety. Playing dumb was out; whatever she knew, she was clearly sure of it. There was little to be gained by acting as though he had nothing to hide. Perhaps his best bet was to come at it from the other direction.

“Alice, I would be glad to discuss any matter with you, but I run a multi-billion dollar international corporation. If you want me to come clean on something, I’m going to need you to narrow it down. For the sake of time, if nothing else. Do you want to discuss the bribes to the Peruvian government, the loophole we’ve been using for waste disposal, or the lobbying groups I’m covertly funding in D.C.? That’s just what I’ve been looking over this morning, mind you.”

She waited for a moment; not a pause, he could see in her eyes she’d had a counter ready for this tactic. No, she was letting the moment sit, choosing the right time to speak. “It means a lot to me that you’re willing to chat, but none of that was on my mind. I actually wanted to talk about my uncle.”

There were only two options before Charles now: either Alice knew about all of her hidden family and had chosen the wording with surgical precision in an effort to make him tip his hand, or she’d only learned about Phil. If she’d uncovered Sean or Blake, then she would have certainly discovered the other. And he couldn’t very well ask which one she meant without playing into her hands. Phil seemed less likely to be uncovered; however, she had used the singular. That was his best bet, and even if he was wrong, perhaps unintended disclosure would be enough to ameliorate her concern.

“So… you discovered our family’s hidden shame.” Charles got up from his chair and went to a small bar in the back of his office. Filling a pair of glasses with brown liquid, he brought them back to the desk and retook his seat, setting one in front of Alice before helping himself to a sip from the other. “Can you really blame me, Alice? Globe was widely considered to be a monster. It took all the clout I had to keep from getting dragged along into the muck with him. So when I had the resources, I purged him from our history, severing all connections to the man. And I certainly wasn’t going to tell my daughter about her uncle, the Hero turned murderous traitor. I buried my brother, literally and metaphorically, and trusted that that would be the end of it.”

“And then he came back,” Alice added.

“Yes, and then he came back… though how he did it is a mystery to us all, albeit not a true surprise. He’s always been powerful and determined. But his return made it all the more vital that I kept us, and you especially, as unconnected to him as possible. A Hero-in-training being associated with that sort of person comes with all manner of complications.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen what Vince has had to deal with.” Alice picked up the glass and took a small drink, almost the exact same size that Charles had. “Who was Reynolds, by the way?”

“I beg your pardon?” It took everything he had for Charles not to show any emotion at the sound of that name, even though he should have been braced for it. He’d seen it often enough on reports about Alice and her fellow subjects; he just hadn’t expected her to know it carried significance.

“Reynolds. It’s Vince’s last name. Let’s not take a step backward and pretend you don’t know that all accounts say he was raised by Globe.” Alice had another nip from the glass, clearly giving him time to protest or dispute the claim, which he didn’t take. “Anyway, apparently Vince didn’t know his last name and Globe didn’t want to give him his. Said he’d thrown the name away in the first place. So he named Vince after someone important to him. I thought you might know who that was, being his brother and all.”

She was digging deep, dangerously so, but it remained to be seen if she had any idea the mines she was burrowing next to. It was an innocent enough question on the surface, and he had to treat it like one. For now.

“Detective Jack Reynolds,” Charles replied. “He’s long passed on now, but he was a good man. When we were children, our father passed away. Globe… Phil’s power had already developed by then, and as you can imagine, when a man with a long domestic abuse record and a Super son dies suddenly, there’s an investigation.”

Alice’s eyes widened just a hair. She hadn’t known about her grandfather’s temperament, which meant she almost certainly didn’t suspect the rest. Charles kept going, albeit with far less tension concealed. “Jack Reynolds led the investigation. He eventually cleared Phil, of course, because he was plainly innocent; however, he stayed involved with us even after the official business was over. When we took up sports, before we were eventually kicked out for the sin of having abilities, he would come cheer us on. Sundays, he would cook for the whole family, sometimes in his apartment, sometimes at our small house. I never thought about it much in my youth, but I suspect he lost one of his parents as a child as well, and when presented with two boys who had only a mother working double shifts and memories of a shitbag father, he chose to step in. He and Phil were closer than he and I, but the man was stalwart and decent to all of us. I send flowers to his grave every year, just like Shelby’s and my mothers.”

“How did he… pass?”

“Heart attack. Years as a beat cop and then a detective, all survived relatively unscathed, and then one day, while Phil and I were at college, we got word that he’d collapsed inside the station. Life often plays the cruelest of its jokes on the most hapless of victims.” Charles helped himself to a deeper drink from his glass. He still remembered getting that call, and Phil trying to keep a brave face on for the sake of Charles and their mother. It had been a true loss—for the world, and for their family.

“Sorry I brought it up,” Alice said. She looked repentant, but not satisfied. “I’m glad we cleared the air on that, though. Is there anything else you want to talk to me about? Anything else that you hid from me when I was small but are ready to discuss now?”

“Really, Alice. If you want to know something, just ask it already,” Charles told her. After divulging such a personal story, he imagined she had to be taking his sincerity at face value. Now she was fishing, using the opened door to see if he’d walk himself into revealing more than she knew.

“I just did.” Alice took one more gulp of the glass and set it down on his desk, empty. “And I guess you’ve given me your answer. Don’t stay here working for too long, or you’ll miss lunch again, Charles.”

She stood from her seat and walked briskly to the door, barely slowing down to push it open. In seconds, the holly green of her dress had faded from view and Charles Adair once again found himself alone in his office.

Only now, for no reason he could put his finger on, it felt just a touch emptier than it had before.

152.

Christmas in the Daniels household was a hectic affair, with all of the cousins and extended family cramming into the Chicago house for a festive celebration. The additions of recent years were there as well, with Mr. Transport scooping up Vince that morning to join in the day’s revelry. The plan was to bring him back to Lander East the next day, meaning the visit would be a short one. Truthfully, Vince might have skipped it altogether, but Sally Daniels had put her foot down that no one should be alone on Christmas, and neither the aspiring Heroes nor the professional problem-solver possessed enough nerve to dispute the matter with her.

Lunch was long finished and most of the extended family was watching television in the living room while Hershel, Vince, and Mr. Transport worked on kitchen cleanup. Conversation was light by necessity, as none of them wanted to discuss HCP matters with so many people in earshot, no matter how trustworthy they might be. In a world with telepaths, one didn’t have to speak to give away secrets, and after Lander’s attack, it was commonly agreed that the less HCP information floated around in people’s minds, the better. So even though Hershel was dying to press Vince for more information about Lander East, they instead had to make due with safer topics, like the upcoming fantasy movies Hershel was excited about.

Midway through drying the dishes, Mr. Transport’s phone rang. Setting down a cloth, he picked up and listened. Slowly, his face shifted, becoming less festive and more solemn. By the end, he looked downright serious as he put the phone away and turned to both of them.

“Hershel, if your mother asks, tell her I stepped out to grab another guest, please.”

In a blink, he was gone. Vince and Hershel exchanged confused glances, but with so many mundane people in the next room, they couldn’t very well openly speculate. So instead they got back to work, making significant headway on the dishes even as their eyes darted continuously to the microwave’s clock. They were nearly done when Mr. Transport reappeared, a familiar short figure standing a few feet away.

“Mary?” Hershel nearly dropped his plate then greeted his girlfriend with a big hug. “What’s going on? I love the surprise, don’t get me wrong, but won’t your family be mad you left on Christmas?”

“She wasn’t with her family,” Mr. Transport said. “She wasn’t even in her home state.”

“Wait, what?” Hershel took a step back, ending the embrace and looking at her in a new light. “Then where were you?”

“Las Vegas,” Mary replied. “There was a situation I needed to keep an eye on—or a mental ear on, really. I grabbed a bus, bought a cheap room near the Strip, and listened. All of which I’ll be happy to detail for you later on, but right now we need to find somewhere private to talk. The situation is… it’s nearing the end. And I think we need to be ready when it happens. Mr. Transport, can you get us to a place where we can chat a little more freely? I think this is only making things more confusing.”

“Sure.” He walked to the doorway and glanced into the living room, then went to the fridge and scrawled a quick note on the magnetic pad. “I’ll tell Sally we had to step out. One of you reach out to Alice and let her know I’d like to pick her up somewhere. Teleporting uninvited into her estate is a little too dangerous to undertake without good cause.”

“What about Nick?” Vince asked.

Mary looked at him for a moment before shaking her head. “I’ll explain in a second, Vince. But we don’t need to wait for Nick.”

Mr. Transport finished his note and walked over to the group. A second later they were gone, leaving behind only an empty kitchen and a pile of nearly-finished dishes.

*              *              *

Night had fallen, and most of the others were asleep. George was still tinkering—the man had a work ethic like few others—and Gerard paced the grounds on occasion. But in the main room, where they’d had their makeshift meal and celebration, only the man in the red coat remained. The hunted villain, the infamous traitor, the former Hero once known as Globe was sitting in an overstuffed chair, reading a battered old book. He alone was there to witness the crackle of light and the distinct scent of charred ozone as Clarissa stepped through the portal. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, before she walked over and took a seat on the threadbare couch next to him.

“How was everybody?” Globe asked.

“Cheerful,” she said. “Better than they’ve been in a while, I think.”

“Thank goodness. I’ve worried about that lot for a long time now.” Globe lowered his book, folding the page over to mark his spot. “And did you get to see Joshua’s son?”

“I did indeed. Chad is growing up well. He looks a lot like his father, although he got some of Miriam’s more gentle features. He seemed like a good boy... well, I guess he’s more man than child now.” Clarissa blinked to better adjust to the light, and to clear the visions of the past away so they wouldn’t hamper her ability to see the present. It was hard, sometimes, not to think of everyone as they had been, to remember Chad as the baby in the crib that Joshua had been so radiantly proud of. “I’m glad I went, even if part of me was scared it would be a trap.”

“You’re much too good at minding your thoughts to let anything slip to a telepath, and if they knew we were still in contact then the DVA would have kicked down your door long ago.” Globe leaned forward, inching closer to Clarissa. “That said, the risk of discovery is still very real, and it only grows the closer we get to the end. If you’re willing to reconsider, it’s not too late to get you out of this. Shims, I don’t want anyone else to get hurt by what we’re doing. Especially not you.”

She laughed, a delicate sound that echoed through the nearly empty room. “Never going to happen. I was a Hero, too, remember? I don’t turn away from what’s right just because the path isn’t easy. I’m in this with you, Phil. All the way, to the very end, you and me. If we have to march through the gates of Hell, then I’m going to open up a portal so we can get there faster.”

Slowly, Phil sank back into his chair. “Part of me dearly wishes you would listen to reason, but at the same time, I’m selfishly glad you don’t. I couldn’t have made it this far, lasted this long, without you.”

“You are pretty useless on your own.” Whether it was the season, the wine, or the glow of being around old friends, Clarissa found herself feeling more daring than usual. She rose from her couch and took a seat on the armrest of Globe’s chair, leaning over and wrapping her arms around him in a hug that was, while technically friendly, a little too close to be truly platonic. “Good thing you’ve got all of us around to keep you on the right track.”

“Friendship and love; truly the best gifts anyone can ever hope to receive.” He leaned slightly into the embrace, and Clarissa felt her heart speed up by several beats. “Merry Christmas, Clarissa.”

“Merry Christmas, Phil.”

153.

Gerry died two days after Christmas. No one knew the exact time. Nick had left to go take a shower, as Gerry was insisting the funk had grown intolerable, and he’d allowed himself a brief nap as well. When one of the nurses on retainer went to check on Gerry in the interim, he was already gone. It was fitting, in a way. He’d never been one to let others see him suffer, and he’d left without any witness to his final breaths. If Nick didn’t know better, and he wasn’t sure he didn’t, he would have believed Gerry sent him away on purpose, so that Nick’s final memory of the man would be living, breathing, and talking. Being Gerry, in other words.

The world became a blur of activity as people came to take him away. Seeing strangers enter Gerry’s room, Nick felt an instinct rise in his gut to fight them away. He even took a step forward, but a strong hand fell on his neck, guiding him carefully back to his own room. Ms. Pips led him there wordlessly, and, just before releasing him, pulled Nick in close for a brief yet powerful hug. It was a move that stunned him; he couldn’t remember the last time Ms. Pips had embraced him like that. Not for the sake of form or greeting, but with real emotion behind the gesture. By the time he came to his senses, she was already out the door. It had probably been a ploy to confuse him; that was the explanation he ultimately settled on.

Nick sat on the couch in his suite’s living room, staring out at the other casinos on the Strip and past them to the desert on the horizon. They looked wrong in the daylight, unlit by their fanciful neon glow. He’d always preferred Vegas at night, when the city came alive in its truest form, when there was money, sex, booze, and crime at every turn for those who knew how to look. That was the world he’d been raised in, that Gerry had taken him by the hand and led him through. At least that version of Vegas felt familiar. Now, with only the harsh daylight greeting him and no Gerry to turn to, Nick felt more lost than he had in a very long while.

He genuinely wasn’t sure what to do with himself. The casino was out; by now news would have spread, and while the staff would be keeping their game faces on for the sake of the tourists, Nick would still see the sorrow in their eyes. There were always other casinos, true, but the idea of gambling held no appeal. Sitting at a table, counting the cards or reading his opponents, all of it would be falling back to the very things Gerry had taught him, and Nick couldn’t handle those memories right now. There was always drinking, and for a moment that idea seemed like a solid choice, but Nick ultimately dismissed it. With Gerry gone, things could be chaotic, and someone might try to take advantage of the Family’s momentary disorganization. Being too drunk to handle his affairs would be a piss-poor testament to Gerry’s memory.

Nick was still sitting on the couch, gazing at the desert, sometime later when his phone rang. He made no move to answer it, letting it ring until it stopped. Anyone with real cause to contact him could come to the door, and those who couldn’t didn’t need him that badly anyway. The phone started to ring again, then again, and finally, on the fourth attempt, Nick gave in and answered it without so much as looking at the number.

“What?”

“You’ve got visitors,” Eliza told him. “I was trying to give you a heads up in case you wanted to get composed, but they are probably almost there by now.”

“Jesus, what sycophant is trying to kiss up to me today? Or is it someone from the Evers Family trying to rile me into doing something stupid? You know what, I don’t even give a shit, just send them away.”

“’Yeah, good luck with that,” Eliza replied. The phone disconnected, and moments later Nick heard a knock on the door.

Bolting up from his couch, he grabbed one of the many guns hidden throughout the suite and glanced through the peephole. Blinking in surprise, he stepped back, dumped the gun in a nearby vase, and then yanked open the door.

Standing before him were Alice, Vince, Mary, and Hershel. Before anyone else could speak or act, Alice rushed forward, wrapping her arms tightly around Nick and squeezing hard. “I’m so sorry. We heard what happened.”

“I… yeah, it’s sad… what are you all doing here, though?”

“Mary told us what was happening,” Vince explained, stepping inside with the others and shutting the door. It struck Nick that he was dressed for much colder weather than what Vegas had to offer. “She overheard Eliza’s thoughts, and we figured you might need your friends at a time like this. Once she knew it had happened, she sent out the call. Mr. Transport picked us all up and dropped us off here. We know how much Gerry meant to you.”

Nick’s eyes roved the room, taking in all the faces, lingering on Mary’s for a long moment. He took a deep breath, hugged Alice back, and then slowly extricated himself from her embrace. “Listen, everyone, I appreciate this. I honestly do. Just seeing you all here means a lot to me. But, that said, you all cannot be here. Being friends with me is one thing; this is a whole other level. You understand what kind of place this is, right? What kind of people you’re surrounded by? If the DVA finds out you went to a den of criminals—”

“I’m the son of the most wanted former Hero in the nation. What are they going to say about this that they haven’t already brought up a dozen times over Globe?” Vince grabbed Nick and pulled him in for a hug that nearly bruised his back.

“As for me, I’ll claim to be here on official Adair family business, checking out a potential casino investment. Let them try and come at me from that angle,” Alice added.

“Roy and I don’t really have an excuse in the chamber; we just don’t give a shit about what the DVA tries to say. We don’t walk out on family when they need us.” Hershel skipped the hug in favor of a firm handshake, the strength of which surprised Nick.

“I’m not worried, either,” Mary said, noticeably not elaborating on the topic. “But at the same time, we don’t want to cause trouble or make this process harder. If you’d rather handle this on your own, we won’t force ourselves on you. We just want to help in whatever way we can, be it at your side or not.”

Nick opened his mouth to tell them, politely, that they should all head back home, but the words wouldn’t come. Looking at his friends, the idea of going back to sitting on his couch alone seemed intolerable. The truth was, he did need them right now. And Gerry would have been happy about that.

“I’ll get you all some rooms on this floor. And Vince, you can borrow some clothes. If you try to walk around the Strip in that coat you’ll keel over before we make it half a mile.”

“That’s kind of you, but you don’t need to play tour guide,” Alice said. During all the hugs and talk, she’d never moved more than a few inches from Nick’s side, a fact which he both noted and dearly appreciated.

“Come on, you’re all in Vegas; how can I not show you around?” Nick’s voice faltered a touch on the last words, and he looked away from them, back out the window. When he spoke again, it was without his usual air of frivolity. “Besides, I’ve been up here for a while. I don’t want to be around when they deal with Gerry’s room and equipment. Going literally anywhere sounds good, and playing tour guide will help keep my mind off things.”

“Well then,” Alice said as she slipped her arm around his. “I guess you’re going to show us Vegas.”

154.

“So, those are his friends?” Ms. Pips rarely looked up from the work on her desk, even after having Eliza called up to her office.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“They stand out too much. Have Florence tail them and use that blending ability of hers on the whole group. Nicholas will notice, but he won’t complain. You keep close as well, in case they need anything. With Gerry’s... with what’s happened today, Nicholas might not be up to his usual caliber, so I’m counting on you to keep things going smoothly. Any issues?”

“No, ma’am.” Eliza stood stock still, not wavering until she was given permission to leave. One never quite knew when Ms. Pips was done doling out orders, and she did not enjoy being cut off.

“Good girl. You can go now. Fix your makeup on the way out. I know you miss him too, but we have an image to uphold,” Ms. Pips said. “And for what it’s worth, you should know he thought highly of you, and how far you’d come within the organization. Gerry was the one who wanted you and Jerome to get real degrees at Lander. He always saw potential in you.”

“Thank you.” Eliza didn’t hesitate this time; she turned and walked stiffly toward the door. It was a good thing her makeup already needed fixing, because she could feel a fresh wave of tears sliding down her face.

*              *              *

“Eat up, eat up. You look famished.” The bald man with the gentle smile—Gerry, he’d called himself—sat across the booth from her, sliding over another hamburger. The diner was innocuous, just one of a dozen roadside attractions one might pass on a long drive. But the moment this man had walked in, everything had changed. The few customers besides her were hustled out, some given to-go orders, and the sign on the glass front door was flipped to “Closed.” He’d strolled right over to her booth, where she was snacking on a meager serving of fries bought with stolen cash, and had proceeded to order like he was trying to feed a family of five before introducing himself.

Eliza accepted the food, though she kept a wary eye on him at all times. How he’d known who she was or where she’d be was a mystery, but this wasn’t the first time someone had found her. She chewed through the last bite of her first burger, accepted the second, and downed half a glass of cherry soda. “Did I take something from you, or are you here to try and make me work for you?”

His eyes twinkled as he motioned to the waitress for a refill. “Not your first time being approached I see. Good, that should make this go faster. To answer your question, you didn’t steal from us, Eliza, but you did rob some people we know. Don’t worry about that, though, the matter has already been settled. We keep eyes and ears out for people with your sort of potential, so once we heard what you could do, I was sent to make you a job offer. I’m not here to force you, though. I’m sure you’ve dealt with the rough-and-tumble type before who made all sorts of threats, maybe even captured you and made you work until you escaped. My people don’t do business that way. We prefer loyalty in our employees, and that’s not the sort of thing you can get through force.”

She swallowed her bite of food harder than she’d meant to. “You know my name?”

“Of course. It’s my job. I know that you’re a Super with a rare duplication ability, a fifteen-year-old who has been on her own for most of her life, a surprisingly fearless and skilled criminal in your own right, and, most importantly, that you’re squandering your potential.” Gerry scooped up a small fry from his own plate and dunked it into the dollop of ketchup he’d poured.

“I get by just fine.” Eliza liked the food, but wasn’t a fan of being talked down to. What the fuck did this guy really know, anyway? She’d been making it on her own, duplicating what she needed and stealing the rest.

“‘Getting by’ is exactly the way I would put it,” Gerry agreed. “You survive, you endure, you soldier on, all of which is very impressive and part of why I’m sitting here today. But tell me, Eliza, wouldn’t you rather flourish? Instead of worrying about where your next meal is coming from, you could dedicate yourself to honing your craft, to excelling at any area you chose to pursue.”

“And your gang is making me that offer?”

He laughed and took another bite of his fry. “My gang? I don’t represent a gang, Eliza. You don’t get these sorts of resources with a gang; you can’t track a homeless fugitive across the nation to a diner and then clear it out with a moment’s notice using only a poorly-assembled collection of petty criminals. What I am part of—and am offering you a place in—is something much bigger and grander than any mere gang. We have everything you could dream of. Lavish food for when you’re hungry, expensive beds when you’re tired, healing Supers when you’re injured, and most importantly of all: opportunity.”

Gerry leaned forward, meeting Eliza’s eyes over her hamburger. Curiously, she didn’t feel scared, even though he was getting close. Nothing about him seemed to indicate danger, even as she felt like he was staring right into her very soul.

“You are talented and determined, Eliza. That’s what put you on our radar. But more than that, you are hungry. Hungry in a way that has nothing to do with mere diner hamburgers. We’ve tracked your activities and your escalation; we’ve seen the ambition in your capers. I don’t come to every recruitment meeting, you know. They only trot me out for the special cases, the ones who can really go somewhere. Those with the hunger. We can help you with that. We can teach you, train you, bring you to a level it would take decades to reach on your own. It won’t be free. Nothing in this world truly is. But the price will be fair. Loyalty and service, those are what we’ll demand in return.”

The stare broke as Gerry leaned back, downing one more fry before reaching into his wallet and pulling out a simple white card. He laid it onto the table near her, close enough for Eliza to see it was nothing but a phone number.

“Memorize that; cards are too easily lost to be trusted. Say it to yourself every morning to make sure you never forget it. Because sooner or later, you’ll realize I’m right, that what I’m offering and what you need line up perfectly. And when that day comes, all you have to do is find a phone and make a call. I’ll answer, and we can get your new life started.”

“You aren’t going to demand an answer right now?” Eliza pulled in on herself a little. This was too easy; she didn’t trust it.

“Certainly not. We both know you wouldn’t give one without thinking it over.” Gerry closed his wallet and rose from the booth. “The bill is paid, and there are three more rounds coming. Save a little room for the chocolate pie; it’s lovely here. I’m taking one to go.”

“Thanks for the food,” Eliza said. “But you just told me nothing was free.”

“Neither was this. I bribed you so you would listen to my offer.” Gerry tapped the card once with his finger. “Remember, memorize this. I’d hate for you to need us and not remember the number.”

Carefully, she took the card and looked at it before stowing it in her pocket. “What makes you so sure I’ll call?”

“I’m good at reading people, and you won’t let a chance like this slip away,” Gerry told her. “Take your time; take a year or so, if you need. We’re patient, and we’ll be ready when you are. Until then, stay safe, Eliza.” With that, he walked out the diner’s front door, causing the dented old bell overhead to jingle softly.

155.

The loud clanging and dings from the machine blared over all the other, similar noises. Vince stood in front of it looking wildly uncomfortable. He glanced over to Nick, who merely pointed to his freely visible eyes and shook his head. This wasn’t his doing; swinging his power around in someone else’s casino would be tantamount to punching one of their people in the face. Luck had simply decided, of its own volition, that today Vince Reynolds would be blessed on the slots. This was the third time he’d hit a jackpot, although they were always the smaller ones, never the rare grand prize, and since Vince only played a nickel at a time he didn’t reap the full rewards. Still, the guy was up over $200 since they’d begun to explore the Strip, and he only played the slots when the others saw something else they wanted to try.

Hershel had fared all right at blackjack, coming away slightly up, while Alice lost quickly at a craps table. There had also been stops for food, shops, and tourist stuff that Nick hadn’t bothered with since childhood. Oddly, he found he was enjoying himself. It was easy to get numb to the spectacle of Vegas when one lived around it every day. Seeing the world through his friends’ eyes was like viewing it for the first time, and while that wasn’t enough to entirely take his mind off things, Nick no longer felt like he was suffocating in sorrow. That was an improvement.

From out of the crowd, holding a cup of tea from a nearby coffee shop, Mary appeared and walked over. Nick expected her to halt before him and make conversation. Instead, she merely paused for a brief moment. “You have company coming. His thoughts seem genuine, but I don’t know that I trust them. The man is clearly skilled at self-control.” Without waiting for a response, she continued forward, arriving at Hershel’s side where he and Alice were watching as Vince’s winnings climbed higher by the cent.

It would have been easy to miss him in the crowd, if not for Mary’s warning. Nick’s head wasn’t on straight, so much of his mind still trying to cope with the morning’s loss. Thanks to her, though, Nick was able to keep a knowing smirk in place as Wilson Evers stepped into view only a few feet away. They weren’t in one of the Evers’ properties—Nick had been sure to avoid anything they owned, so he probably wouldn’t start trouble here. Nothing was guaranteed, though.

“Nicholas,” Wilson greeted, stepping to his side. “It’s been a while.”

“That it has.” Nick couldn’t very well say that the last time they’d met had been when he asked for permission to kill Nathaniel. In these public places, it was a given that everything would be overheard by someone.

“Surprised to see you out and about, given what happened.” Wilson leaned against the railing next to Nick, staring out at the casino with him.

Although Nick had been annoyed when he first noticed Florence tailing them, he was thankful for Ms. Pips’ caution. Florence was helping his friends blend into the crowd, so it probably seemed like Nick was by himself, making small talk with the occasional stranger. That was good; the less Wilson Evers knew, the better. Although even he wouldn’t be so bold as to challenge the HCP, it was more than possible for him to go after Nick’s friends not knowing what he was biting off.

“I sat in my room for a while moping, and then I couldn’t stand it anymore. At least here, there are things to see and do, you know? Distractions.”

“You’re not the first to choose that strategy, nor will you be the last. When my wife passed, I spent a full week too drunk to think. Distractions are useful, in moderation, but eventually you’ll have to face the truth of the matter,” Wilson told him.

“Sadly, I’m all too aware. I’ve known I was going to have to face it for the past few weeks at Gerry’s side.” Nick wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this conversation. The obvious conclusion was that Wilson was trying to lure him into a sense of familiarity in hopes that he’d let something important slip, but that had never been the way of Wilson Evers. Certainly, some of his lackeys employed such methods; however, he tended to be renowned for his direct demeanor.

Wilson scanned the room, his eyes sliding right over the four people by the slot machine who really should have caused a momentary glance to linger. “Perhaps this isn’t my place to say, and you might not want to hear it, but in a way, what you had was a blessing. Few of us ever get to say our goodbyes. At least you could treat his final moments with the gravity they deserved.”

“I know you’re right, intellectually, but I think it’s going to be a long while before I can honestly look at this experience that way,” Nick admitted.

“What we know and what we feel are often disjointed things; such is the complexity of this creature called man.” Slowly, Wilson pulled himself up from the railing and straightened his tie. “I won’t intrude upon your grieving anymore; I know I’m probably among the last people you want to see today. But when I heard you were out, I felt compelled to come and tell you that I’m sorry for your loss. Our organizations have never been friends and have often been enemies, but that doesn’t mean I can’t respect people who deserve it. Gerry was a good man, and the world is lesser without him.”

“Thank you, Wilson. I admit, when you came over I thought you might be opting to try and stab me right here in the middle of all these tourists.”

“While the idea crossed my mind, propriety and respect are what separates us from common criminals. Besides, you never left yourself open for a single moment in our entire conversation.” Wilson smiled and stuck out his hand, which Nick accepted and shook.

Once the handshake ended, he stepped back into the crowd, almost vanishing into it even without the aid of a Super like Florence. Nick was glad things had ended smoothly; if Wilson had tried to mount an attack, there was no chance the others wouldn’t have stepped in. And while it would have been wonderful to see the looks on the faces of whatever goons Wilson employed when they faced off against four HCP-trained Supers, exposing his friends wasn’t worth it. Better to hold on to peace while it was viable. Sooner or later, it wouldn’t be, and then these peaceful moments would be nothing more than a thing of the past. Such was the nature of the world he lived in.

But the longer he thought about it, about all the time wasted on pissing matches and minor feuds, the more Nick wondered if this really was the only way. If someone took hold of the situation, someone with the vision to see a better method and the strength to make it a reality, perhaps they could put an end to these petty distractions. It was an idea, certainly, though not one he really had time to dwell on now. Perhaps later, when he needed a private distraction.

His friends walked over not long after Wilson left, Vince sheepishly clutching the printed out voucher that detailed his winnings. Nick took a quick peek at the paper and discovered that his friend was now up by over $350. The guy was on fire, and he looked more embarrassed than excited.

“You swear this is all natural?” Vince asked, brandishing the slip.

“Truthfully, I’m as surprised as you are,” Nick told him. “But hot streaks do happen, you know. I say we ride this one out. Let’s go watch the fountain show outside, then take Vince to another casino’s slots. If he hits a big one, I know the perfect steak place where we can celebrate.”

156.

Casinos in Las Vegas never closed. It was a truth that endured for years upon years. Whenever the urge to gamble, drink, or otherwise participate in sins that would part one from their cash struck, the casinos were there with open doors to welcome them in. It was a sound, necessary business model that everyone, from the largest of chains to the smaller off-Strip establishments, followed.

Which was why so many people were confused to see the early morning light break over a casino with locked doors. Granted, the sign on the door said the situation would only last for two hours, and the timeframe was such that most of the tourists and gamblers would be sleeping off the night’s activities, yet none of that changed the fact that this flew in the very face of tradition and expectation. When the doors parted once more, it would be to admit a surge of customers as rumors spread and people came to try and discern what had caused such an unusual event.

But while those doors were locked, the employees were gathered inside a massive theater, usually meant to host a magician renowned for tricks so good that many suspected she was actually a Super. It wasn’t the perfect venue; however, it was one of the few places large enough to hold a crowd of this size, and practicality won out over ambiance. In the front row, surrounded by people his age most of the staff had never seen, sat Nicholas Campbell. Some of the staff, the ones who would have time to go home and change afterward, had come in black, while those expected to be on the floor afterward were wearing their usual attire. No one begrudged them that; they were just doing their jobs to the best of their ability. Gerry would have encouraged such dedication.

The minimal whispering that filled the theater died out as a figure stepped onto the stage. For nearly all, it was familiar; Ms. Pips was one to frequently check in on her casino and workers, always making sure they knew the boss was around and wouldn’t tolerate mistakes. Some of the attendees, the ones off in their own section, those not wearing service-personnel attire but instead fine suits and dresses along with hardened stares, had even spoken with Ms. Pips on occasion. They were the few and the rare, though. She tended to leave most of the employee interaction to Gerry and other subordinates, both for the casino work and the other side of their business.

Her walk was slow, but not frail or unsteady. She was simply a woman who went at whatever pace suited her, and who would not be hurried unless she deemed it necessary. Eventually, she reached the center of the stage, where a microphone and a small table were set up. On the table rested very little: only a picture and an urn. Ms. Pips halted when she reached the microphone, looking out at the small sea of faces and lightly clearing her throat.

“I’ve never been one for speeches, and our time is brief, so I’ll try to keep this concise.” While it fell somewhat short in terms of grand opening lines, there wasn’t so much as a whisper in the theater. She commanded the full attention of every person in the audience, and she knew it.

“When we were planning this service, putting together the list of who should be given a shift off so they could attend, it was suggested that we make a point of prioritizing the people whom Gerry had personally impacted. The ones he’d hired, or trained, or coached, or helped get their life straight—the sorts of things he somehow found more time than anyone else to do. Within an hour, the list was so large that we realized there wouldn’t be enough staff left to cover the floor, and we hadn’t come close to completing our list. That fact alone says more about the kind of man, boss, and friend Gerry was than anything I’ll be able to tell you about him.”

Sniffles had already started running through the theater, mostly from the casino staff, though a few came from the section of hard-eyed people in fine apparel. A man whose massive muscular build could be seen through his suit handed a hanky to a woman whose hunter-green hair matched the color of her dress.

“Gerry was a good man, despite what he might have thought. Too good for this business, honestly. He had a gentle heart, which made the hard aspects of his job all the more difficult, but he did them anyway. Because Gerry was loyal to a fault. Whatever he said he’d do, it would be done, and if he gave you his word, you could always trust it. That’s a rare thing these days, especially in a city and business like this one. I’ve got countless stories I could tell to illustrate the point, but I’m not going to do that. I like to keep my private matters private, and frankly it’s unnecessary. I know that nearly all of you already have your own stories about him that encompass what kind of man he was. So together, let’s take a moment of silence to reflect on those memories.”

Silence fell, broken only by the occasional sound of muffled crying, which was forgivable in context. After several minutes, Ms. Pips cleared her throat once more and the attention leapt back onto the stage. “I hope you all picked a good one to remember. That’s probably enough out of me; I don’t want to use up all the time we’ve got. Once I leave the stage, please feel free to come up and say your own goodbyes to the urn, if you’d like. We’ve got the buffet opened up for you all once you’re done, serving mostly breakfast and, at Nicholas’s insistence, burgers from some shack halfway out of town. Apparently they were Gerry’s favorite. Anyway, feel free to eat, talk, and share your memories with one another. Because when someone leaves this world, that’s how they live on: in the memories and lessons they left us with. And I think we all know there’s no shortage of those where Gerry is concerned.”

Ms. Pips turned away from the microphone, taking a step over to the part of the table where the urn rested and gently laying her hand down on top of it. Her eyes closed, and for a few seconds she looked genuinely human, instead of so distant and imposing that she may as well have been a creature from mythology. Then the moment passed, and she walked off the stage.

Nicholas Campbell was the first one to follow her, and no one made any attempt to move until he was up there. Even those who’d never met Nicholas—new hires brought on while he was away at college—knew how much Gerry had cared for the boy. He’d often talked at length about him, pride shining in Gerry’s eyes at nearly every mention of his name.

For once, Nicholas said nothing. He merely stood on the stage, staring at the urn and picture quietly, before nodding once and heading down the stairs. His friends, motley assortment that they were, stood at the bottom waiting for him. When Nicholas left, so did they. Probably bodyguards, from the looks of them, although the way they reached out to comfort him was a bit more familiar than what was considered proper in that line of work.

With Nicholas done, others made their way up: criminals and card dealers, bad guys and bartenders, all shoulder to shoulder, saying their goodbyes to a man who had crossed between both worlds and made each one a little better.

When the last person was finally finished, Ms. Pips reemerged, this time flanked by a pair of men in crisp suits, and picked up the urn. She cradled it carefully, brushing off one of her flunky’s attempts to carry it for her. It wouldn’t leave her grasp until they were back in her office, and she set it down on the part of her mantle she’d already selected.

It seemed only fitting that her right-hand man stay nearby. She liked to think Gerry would have preferred it that way.

157.

Nick’s friends hung around for a day or so after the funeral, but eventually Vince had to head back to his training. After that, the others slowly peeled off, one by one, each asking Nick if he was sure he was okay several times before finally heading back home. Alice was the last to leave, and Nick knew if he’d asked she’d have happily stayed by him for the rest of Winter Break. But he didn’t make that request. Much as he loved them all for their support, Wilson Evers had been right. Distractions were only good in doses, and with Gerry gone there were things Nick needed to face. Things that had to be handled without them around.

The summons came two hours after Alice left. Eliza arrived at his door to find Nick waiting for her. He knew this was coming. It was inevitable, and he wanted to face it head-on. She led him through the halls, up the elevator, and to the wide door of Ms. Pips’ office. The guards checked him over, and then one pulled the heavy entrance open so Nick could pass. He stepped through silently, waiting until it had been shut once more to proceed.

Her office had a lovely view, a grand look at Las Vegas and the desert beyond. Even though she was only a few floors higher, the vantage point made it seem like an entirely different world. When Nick was a child, he’d loved staring out those windows, seeing the city laid out before him. As he’d gotten older, he’d grown to covet that view, to imagine himself in this office. Standing here as someone more adult, it seemed... smaller. More confined. He loved this city, but he’d seen more of the world now. Nick knew how much lay beyond that desert.

“How are you doing?” The words seemed to come out of nowhere, as Ms. Pips looked up from her desk and met his eyes. “Holding up okay?”

“I’m as good as I can be.” Nick finished the trek forward and took a seat in one of the open chairs in front of her desk. “It’s been rough, but I’m coming to terms with everything. Thank you for letting my friends stay here.”

“We all need our support from time to time.” She stared at him, waiting patiently. While she’d been the one to summon him to the room, this was really his meeting to lead.

Despite being lost in the swell of emotion and loss, both of them knew what Gerry’s departure meant for Nick. There was a reason he’d gotten the most training, the best education, and endless support. Gerry may have thought of Nick like a son, but that had never been their formal relationship. Gerry hadn’t been ordered to raise a child; he’d been tasked with creating a successor. It was Nick’s turn to serve as Ms. Pips’ right hand—and one day, if he proved himself capable, take over this office when she was no longer able to hold it. There had never been any pretense otherwise; this had been his path for as long as he could remember.

So it was that the next words Nick spoke were difficult, and dangerous.

“I’m going back to Lander.”

Her gaze didn’t waver, nor did she seem surprised. “Do you remember, about a year ago, when you sat in that same chair, telling me the same thing? When you, you demanded to leave this town and go back to playing games with your friends? I told you before you left to remember which of us had made that demand.”

“Because you wanted me to feel like it was my fault I missed Gerry’s last year, when you could have told me at any time.”

“I wanted to, Nicholas. I really did.” She blinked, leaning back a little in her chair, and Nick caught a glimpse of how tired Ms. Pips really was. This job, this life, it was a constant drain. There were never any vacations or time off. She was the job, through and through. That would be him one day, if he followed her footsteps.

“I had a folder with his medical results in my drawer, and I knew I could have made you beg me to stay if I’d played that card. I could have ordered you to slit your friends’ throats and you would have thanked me for the opportunity if it meant staying by his side. But I didn’t do that, because I promised Gerry that I’d keep his secret, and he truly believed that going to Lander was better for you. Personally, I’m not so sure about that. However, seeing as we’re near the end of your education anyway, I’m willing to give you your way one last time. You can go finish out your degree, Nicholas. Those are useful to have, and with only a semester left, it’d be silly not to complete yours. But when it’s done, that’s enough. I’ve been a good sport about all of this; I’ve let you have your way and spend your recent years as you see fit, even knowing how much you’d resent me for it. After graduation, it’s time to start doing the job you were trained for.”

She was right; this was what he’d spent his life preparing to do. Nick could see his whole future spread out before him, almost like the golden roads the night he’d had his power enhanced. It wouldn’t be long, maybe a decade at most, before he’d be the one in charge. Running the Family—his aspiration since childhood, when he’d wondered if a mere Powered could ever command enough respect to pull it off. Now, it was in his grasp; all he had to do was take the first step down that path.

“With respect, I must humbly decline the offer,” Nick said. “I know this is what I’m supposed to do, the role I’m supposed to take over, but I’m not the right fit for it. Not anymore. If I take the job, thirty years from now it will just be more of the same. We’ll be in pissing contests with the other Families. Maybe I’ll win a few more skirmishes here and there, but ultimately nothing will really change. I can do more than that, and I will. I just can’t do it from here.”

“You feel like you’re too good for the job now?” Ms. Pips didn’t seem particularly angry; however, that wasn’t as comforting as it should have been. She was known for her ability to hide fury, often slipping a blade between someone’s ribs without so much as a twitch in that placid expression.

“No, I’m not good enough.” Nick smiled despite the very real stakes of the situation he was in. He didn’t even want to; it came unbidden, which only served to prove his point. “Those friends—and, let’s be honest here, Gerry—have made me too soft to fill this office.”

“You’d be surprised how quickly it can harden you back up,” Ms. Pips replied.

“I don’t think I would be surprised at all. And that’s part of why I’m turning it down. Last year, I got to see who I was before Lander, and I didn’t care much for him. If I came back, I’d slowly turn back into the man I was, instead of growing into someone new. That’s not what I want, that’s not what Gerry wanted, and that certainly doesn’t align with my new career goals.”

“Oh? And tell me, dear nephew, what exactly are these new goals? I don’t think I have to tell you that what you’re saying means you’re turning your back on the Family, which isn’t something that’s done lightly.” Her tone was still neutral, but Nick hadn’t missed the fact that she’d called him “dear nephew.” Whenever she said that, it meant he was on the thinnest of ice, one wrong word away from going under.

Carefully, being sure she didn’t think he’d opted to pull a weapon out of his pocket, Nick took out a piece of paper and laid it on the desk. Ms. Pips picked it up and scanned it, her brow furrowing. “You want to apply for an internship helping on some local governor’s campaign? If this whole thing is a bit, you are not going to find me laughing at the end.”

“Not in the slightest,” Nick assured her. “But what has long been the proverbial peanut butter to organized crime’s jelly?”

She kept reading, although the barest hint of a smile seemed to tug on one of her lips. “Politics.”

“Exactly. And doing dumb shit like that is a stepping stone: making the right friends, shaking the right hands, and learning how the business is done. A few volunteer jobs, a little funding in the right places, and then I start out small with something easy to win and local. With my people skills, after that it’s just a matter of climbing the ladder. So it’s less like I’m abandoning the Family than it is transferring to another department.”

“If you can win,” Ms. Pips pointed out.

Nick scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Come on now, whose nephew do you think I am? Of course I’ll win. Every election, every time. And with each rank I climb, your influence in government grows. Think of the power we’ll have when you’ve got favors to cash in on the national level.”

“Plus, you’ll be able to protect those friends of yours, too. Every year or so, someone tries to pass new regulations on Supers and Heroes. Having a charismatic Super to push back against the bad stuff would keep things in line.”

“That, too,” Nick agreed. “And are you really going to argue with having Heroes in my—our—debt?”

Slowly, she slid the paper back over. “I’ll think about it. We’ve got until you’ve graduated, anyway. Though I’ll admit, Senator Campbell has a nice ring to it.”

Nick took the paper and tucked it carefully away. “Only Senator? I personally preferred President Campbell. If we’re going to do this, we may as well think big.”

158.

Ice swept across the stone, crystalizing and joining in small sections that drew together to connect and form solid sheets.

Vince let out a breath and lowered his hand. He was getting better, but still was not as fast as he’d have liked. This was different than the other types of training he’d done. Learning to take in kinetic energy or shoot electricity had been about understanding the sensations and habits of both types of energy. Once he learned what they were like, once he recognized them as they tried to push against him, Vince could open the door and simply draw them inside. But he knew how to absorb heat. Heat was just like fire, and that had always been the easiest energy for him to work with. It pressed against the skin, drawing out moisture, demanding to be let inside. This wasn’t just grabbing the excess, the spike in temperature that deviated from the norm. What Vince was trying to do was to wring every last bit of it from the nearby world around him, and that was proving to be a far more difficult task.

Vince settled down on top of a nearby rock, listening to the loud booms and occasional bouts of yelling from other spots on the mountain. Lander East was a strange place—that much had been clear from the first day of arrival—yet Vince found that he rather enjoyed his time here. While it lacked the bustle of Lander’s true campus, things here also felt less fractured. There were no tests looming, or classes to fight through, or DVA agents looking over his shoulder. All that mattered here was self-betterment. It was a place of pure, simple training. That made it somewhat peaceful, in its own way. True, if it weren’t for Lander’s competitive program and all the others pushing to make him better, Vince knew he never would have taken his power this far, but it was still nice to simplify for a bit, even if it would only last for another week or so.

Footsteps crunching through the snow drew his attention, and Vince looked up to find Michael making his way down from the main building. He said nothing as he approached, quietly trudging through the ice before settling down on a rock near Vince’s. Once seated, he reached into his jacket and produced a large thermos, along with a pair of thick plastic cups. He poured steaming brown liquid into one and passed it over to Vince before making another for himself. Vince took a careful sip, fearing the bitter bite of coffee, but was relieved to discover it was hot chocolate instead.

“Thanks,” Vince said. The cocoa was warm all the way down, making him realize how long he’d been out here trying to make the already near-frozen world even colder.

“No problem. You’ve been at it for a while today. Make sure to come in and warm up soon. The staff here are pretty good about letting you do things at your own pace, but there are safety issues to consider.” Michael didn’t seem to mind taking a swig of the sweeter drink, despite the preference for coffee he’d shown on the first day.

They sat in silence for a while, save for the sounds of slurping. Vince had nearly reached the bottom of his mug when something bubbled up inside. It was a question he’d begun nurturing on his first day of arrival, one that had only grown stronger each time he encountered Michael. For a reason he couldn’t put his finger on, this seemed like the right time to finally ask it, and he wasn’t sure another would ever come along. If the time away with Nick had reminded Vince of nothing else, it was that all of life and its interactions were finite. An opportunity passed by just might be an opportunity lost.

“Michael, why are you really still here?” Vince asked. “It’s plain to see you’ve gotten yourself under control. The man you are now is nothing like the guy who got kicked out of the HCP. I think you know that, too. Whatever Dean Blaine sent you here for, you seem like you found it. Maybe it’s not my business, and if you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. You don’t owe me an answer; I just couldn’t stop myself from asking.”

“I’d say answers are the least I owe you, given the degree of crap I’m told I put our—your class through.” Michael took a long drink from his cup, wiping the excess chocolate from his lip with the back of his mitten. “Fear. A lot of other things, too. There are some practical hurdles I need to overcome that make things harder, but more than anything else I think it’s fear. This place has been a haven for me. The structure, the teachings, the general isolation, it’s helped turn me into a version of myself that, for the first time in my life, I genuinely like. But we both know the world isn’t like Lander East. I’m afraid that if I go back out there, even if I never get near the HCP, I’ll turn back into the old me.”

“I thought you didn’t remember much from Lander,” Vince said.

“I was an asshole long before I ever set foot on that campus,” Michael replied. His voice was curiously absent of shame or embarrassment, as though he’d accepted this truth so thoroughly that it no longer had the power to wound him. “And there are still memory bits and pieces from my non-HCP time, enough to know the kind of man I was before coming here. The kind of man I don’t want to be again.”

A loud explosion came from the other side of the mountain, momentarily interrupting them, and from their vantage point a far-off section of snow seemed to slide out of position. Laughter could be heard ringing out, so it was probably intentional; though with the sorts of powers being tossed around up here, it was hard to ever say for sure.

“Believe it or not, I know how you feel.” Vince finished off his cocoa, the liquid burning on its way down. When he dwelled on this memory, every bit of him felt raw, and even the barest of touches was painful. “I have anger issues. Not the same as yours, but issues all the same. I try so hard to be good and gentle, the kind of man my father taught me to be. And then something happens to someone I care about, and I just... lose myself. All the loss and the fury and the pain come bursting up, and in those moments all I can see is my enemy. All I can feel is the desire to stop them, no matter what. Last May, I almost killed someone. Not because I had to, in the heat of battle; I’d stopped him already. But he’d just killed one of my friends, and I wanted to make him pay for that. There was nothing in me screaming to stop; I’d have done it without batting an eye. The only thing that stayed my hand was someone I trusted talking me back from the edge. I’m scared too, Michael. I’m terrified of losing control like that, of turning into the very sort of bastard I’ve trained so hard to fight.”

“But you’re still training,” Michael pointed out.

Vince set the cup down on the rock and hefted himself up. “I am. Because learning to control myself and my actions is how I’m coping with that fear. Therapy, too. My power is strong. I don’t say that out of ego, but because I know it’s true. I need to be the kind of man who can use it well, who can live up to the term ‘Hero.’ And maybe the fear is a good thing. We know who we don’t want to be, so when we start taking steps in those directions, we can stop ourselves.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Michael collected the cups and put them over the thermos, which he tucked back into his pocket. “But all the same, I think I’ll keep going slowly. That’s the thing about the cold: it’s really just perfect stillness. Everything in the world slowing to a near stop. I spent a lot of my life running around and going too fast. Since I started acting like someone with cold powers, I’ve been a lot happier. Sooner or later I’ll move on—even glaciers shift—but not until I know what my next step should be.”

“That sounds like a good plan.” Vince watched as Michael re-zipped his jacket. Two years. In two years, the madman who’d beaten Alex half to death and tried to jump Vince multiple times had cooled to this surprisingly unassuming fellow. It was a good reminder that people could change. That was reassuring but also dangerous. Vince had looked down the path of fury too many times; a few missteps and he could change, too. He had to be in control. He had to be the sort of person who deserved to be called a Hero. And in that moment, for an amazingly crystal clear instant, he knew what the right thing to do was.

“Hey, Michael,” Vince called. Michael was already several steps away, but he turned around to face his former classmate. “I forgive you. For everything you did to me when we were in the HCP. I don’t know if that matters or not; I just wanted you to know.”

“It matters.” Michael stared at him for several long seconds of silence. “It matters a lot. Thank you, Vince.” He turned and continued his trek up to the main building, leaving Vince alone once more.

159.

It was easier this time. No other students around, no pretense to establish; all they each needed was some momentary solitude to slip away. For Alice and Mary, it was easy, as one lived in a heavily guarded mansion and the other knew her woods well enough to vanish from even the most talented observer. Nick had to jump through a few more hoops; however, he rather enjoyed the process. It felt good to do something again, aside from sitting in the casino and scheming. Moving, stretching his brain and his legs and tasting action, it helped him finally take his mind off the empty room at the end of the hallway.

No one knew where Mr. Transport had dropped them, and he didn’t offer the information. It was a cabin set in a forest that could have been in any wooded area across the nation. Perhaps they’d even stepped onto foreign soil where the DVA’s reach was weakened. There was no way to tell, no signs or trail guides using an identifiable language. Just a cabin, inside of which was a stalwart woman standing over three beds and a cooler of water. This time, thankfully, they had proper mattresses to lay down on—a vast improvement over the thin cots of their last adventure.

Little was said as they lined up and waited for Galina to use her stolen power. There was no point in any discussion; whatever they wanted to say could wait until they were in the far more secure space of their shared unconsciousness.

Mary’s hands were bound to her friends’, one to Nick and the other to Alice, and then all the prep work was done. A brief glance into a pair of familiar, stolen eyes, and she was knocked out. Seconds later, the others were as well. Galina took a seat in a nearby chair, keeping watch to make sure things were going smoothly. She couldn’t see what was happening in their minds, of course, but should something go wrong, she was here for security. It was the least she could do, given what Dean Blaine was paying for her services.

*              *              *

There was little delay between their arrival and Abridail’s appearance; Nick barely had time to get a smoothie from the juice bar of Alice’s mind. The dream-walker stepped into their existence easily; no one was trying to keep him out. They wanted this meeting, needed it. They were standing on the precipice of answers, and Abridail was the final step they needed to take. At least, that was the hope.

“You all seem well,” Abridail greeted.

“We’re as good as we can be with life going the way it has.” Alice’s eyes didn’t dart over to Nick, but that was only thanks to her constant Subtlety training. “And I don’t mean to be curt, but as you saw last time we are working with a finite amount of time. Let’s not waste too much of it on pleasantries.”

“I suppose I can’t blame you for that. What I showed you last time was bound to have raised some questions, and I can only imagine that you’re more than ready for answers. Although, before we begin, I do have one question of my own.” Abridail pointed a finger over at Nick, who was halfway through his green smoothie. “Why is he here?”

“And hello to you too, dickhead,” Nick replied.

“I don’t object; I assume what I tell you all will be shared with your friends. But last time Nick was brought in as a negotiator. Seeing as the terms of our arrangement are set, there’s no need for more dealing. I’m making sure his presence doesn’t signify the desire to change our arrangement.”

Alice hadn’t really considered that. The idea of doing something that involved extracting information in a covert setting just seemed to naturally pair with Nick. But Abridail was right; Alice was the only one who really had to be here. She was the emotional hook that was pulling the truth from the dream-walker. Even Mary’s presence wasn’t required, since she was only needed to bring Nick into the dream-world. Before she could voice any of that, however, Mary and Nick were at her side.

“Maybe you’ve seen Shelby’s memories enough times to become numb to them, but Alice hasn’t,” Mary declared. “That look into what she’d seen in the bathroom alone... I understand that to get our answers, we need to see the past as it was. But that doesn’t mean Nick or I want to make Alice go through that sort of experience by herself.”

“Also, I’ve got a serious issue with curiosity. Suffice it to say that if I were a feline, it might be a terminal condition.” Nick dropped the smoothie glass, which vanished midway to the ground, and gently took Alice’s hand in his own. “But yeah, the support stuff too.”

Abridail looked at them all, sweeping his head back and forth before reaffixing his gaze on Alice. “Perhaps that is for the best. While none of what I have to share this time will be as visually jarring, I can’t imagine you will walk away from this emotionally unscathed. You may look at your father—”

“Charles Adair,” Alice corrected. “I had a chat with Charles over Christmas. I gave him the chance to open up to me, to come even a little bit clean. I really wanted to believe that he’d kept so many secrets out of necessity at first, and then habit. That pushing him, showing him I was willing to listen and be there no matter what, would be enough for him to let me in. Last time, I saw what he was like when all this started. I wanted to know if anything of the man who was once so happy and loving is left inside. But that man is gone. Gone, or buried too deep to be brought back. I readied myself for this, Abridail. I made my peace with it. Whatever you have to show and say, I’m going to be able to hear.”

“For your sake, Alice, I truly hope so. Shelby never wanted you to hate him, though.” Abridail looked worried, and Alice spoke up before he could have any second thoughts.

“My mother knew who he was a long time ago. If she was around right now, to see what he’s become, I doubt she’d have the same opinion. But you don’t need to worry. I don’t hate Charles Adair. I’ve just given myself permission to stop loving him.”

The sadness and uncertainty in Abridail’s eyes lingered, but he still nodded. “In many ways, that might be worse. However, you have not yet seen the rest of the story. By the end, you may very well hate Charles Adair for what he did. As I told you when we started this, though—try to remember that it all began from a place of love.”

Abridail lowered his head, raised his arms, and around them the world began to change.

160.

“Chuck, you need to eat something.” Globe—no, Phil Adair, as he was out of costume, stood in the kitchen. It was the small house where Abridail had first shown them Shelby sobbing on the floor. Bad a time as that had been, somehow this iteration was worse. Loss hung in the air, palpable at every turn and corner, most blatant of all on the face of Charles Adair, sitting motionless as his brother set a bowl of soup down in front of him.

“I know it seems hopeless right now. Things went badly, yes. But Shelby isn’t dead yet. She’s a tough one, and she knows her family is pulling for her. She’s going to make it through this, and one day, she’ll get better. You’ll find a way.” Phil leaned down and gave his brother a brief but fierce hug. “We’ll find a way.”

“He really does sound a lot like Vince.” Mary seemed surprised by the sound of her own words as the trio and Abridail stood off to the side, watching the scene before them unfold. “Not his physical voice, just the tone and way he speaks. It’s so weird to hear that kind of optimism coming out of someone else’s mouth.”

“I imagine the people who knew Globe first have the same reaction when they meet Vince,” Nick said.

No one needed to ask where they were; they all had the necessary intelligence to put it together. When their last dream-journey ended, they’d watched as Charles was backed further and further into a corner: try and change the nature of his wife’s abilities to save her, or allow Shelby’s endless visions of Alice’s death to continue haunting her. In the end, they all knew what he’d chosen, and in their hearts none were sure that they wouldn’t have done the same. What they were seeing now was the fallout, a man who had broken the mind of the woman he loved and perhaps destroyed himself in the process.

Charles made no motion to eat; he simply sat in place, staring down at the table. Even from this distance, Alice could see his red eyes. Whether the culprit was sobbing or lack of sleep was hard to determine; both were likely suspects and may very well have been working together. Regardless, it was a strange moment. Last time, she’d found it odd to see her father so happy, but this was even more off the mark. Charles looked broken, powerless, a distant shadow of the unflappable businessman he’d been for all her life. Part of her wanted to pity him; however, she steeled her heart against such sentiment. Whatever he had been once, she knew the man he became. And there was no point in wasting such feelings on the current Charles Adair.

“Look, I know things are dark right now.” Phil pulled out a chair and took a seat next to Charles, staying close while still giving the man his space. “I won’t insult you with lies to the contrary. This moment in life is a bad one. But there will be others that follow, ones that are brighter, better, and worth seeing. We’ve lived through the darkness before, Chuck. You might have been too young to remember, but before Dad died, things were rough. It seemed like we were trapped, with no way out in sight, until one day everything changed. One toxic batch of whiskey, one lucky break altered our whole world. Sometimes, that’s all it takes. A single shift, a bit of chance, to make the clouds break away.”

Phil paused, clearly waiting for some reaction.

“Why are we watching this?” Alice asked. “I’d assumed Charles would be depressed after the experiment failed. If you want me to feel bad for him, it’s a waste of effort.”

Abridail shook his head. “This is a large story, with many players. If you want understanding, then you need to know all of the key moments, not just the ones that involve Shelby directly. I’m showing you this because it is another point where history was changed. So listen well.”

“Chuck, what do you need me to tell you?” Phil had started talking once more, realizing that the first attempt hadn’t gotten through. “That there’s hope? There is, I promise you. Right now Blake is meeting with half a dozen tech-based Supers with a firm understanding of biology, as well as a few human specialists. Clarissa is hopping all over the world, speaking discreetly to people studying the same field, scouring the Earth to see if someone else has pertinent information. Joshua has even consented to have his brain scanned and tissue samples taken in hopes of providing some aid.”

“Joshua?” It was the first word Charles had spoken, and Alice noticed Mary tense up at the sound of the voice. Phil, on the other hand, was visibly elated to have drawn out some reaction.

“Yeah, Joshua. His power is complete bodily control, you know. If they can find out a way to synthesize even a hundredth of what he can do, it might play a role in helping Powereds get control, even ones as far gone as Shelby. Yes, it’s a long shot, as are the other things, but we’re Heroes, Chuck. We’ve seen longer shots than any of these hit their mark. And if they all fail, then we’ll try new ones. Nobody is giving up on her, or you. We won’t stop until we find a way to fix Shelby. Heroes do the impossible every day; this is just one more hurdle that we’re going to overcome.”

For a few seconds, it seemed like Phil’s reassurance had fallen on deaf ears. Then, with incredible slowness, Charles reached out and lifted up the spoon resting beside the bowl. He dunked it into the soup and brought it to his lips, where the liquid quickly vanished. The barest trace of a smile flickered on the edge of his mouth. “You used Mom’s recipe.”

“I tinkered a bit here and there, but I stayed true to the soul of it.” Phil looked as though he might burst into tears, but he barely twitched as the spoon descended once more, no doubt afraid that any sudden movements would undo the progress he’d just made.

Charles took several more bites before turning to his older brother. “Thank you, Phil. For reminding me that this is a setback, not a defeat. You’re right. As long as Shelby is still alive, there’s hope. I’m going to fix this. I’m going to set it right. No matter what it takes.”

“Oh god. Oh my god.” Mary had paled, which was rather impressive given that she didn’t have blood flowing through her mental form. She took a shaky step back away from what seemed to be a rather heartwarming scene. “This is what he meant.”

“No one else is a telepath. Can you elaborate on that cryptic vagueness a little?” Nick was trying to keep things light, but Alice noticed a bit of an edge in his eyes as they darted between the Adair brothers and Mary.

“When I met Globe, he told me it was his fault Intra died—that the blame for all of it, and so much of what was still coming, was on him. This is what he meant. This exact moment.” Mary stopped her retreat and composed herself, looking Alice and Nick squarely in the eyes. “This is where he put the idea of using Joshua Taylor, Intra, as a specimen in Powered research into Charles Adair’s head. This… this is why Chad’s father died, isn’t it?”

“But Globe is the one who killed Intra,” Alice pointed out.

“We’ve not yet reached that point,” Abridail told them. “However, we are very near. I think, after our next stop, it will all make sense.”

The world warped once more, and as it did Alice threw one last glance to the Adair brothers: Phil, watching over Charles as he slowly downed the soup that had been so lovingly prepared. It was a bizarre scene, knowing all that would come later, yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

161.

The new room was bare, save for two plastic folding chairs. Concrete walls paired with a matching floor and ceiling made it feel almost like they were back in the HCP, which, for all Alice knew, might be the case. Generally, their classrooms and gym weren’t quite so barren as this, though. The current room was minimal in every capacity, and the Subtlety student in Alice immediately noted that it would be ideal for blocking remote signals and ensuring no monitoring devices were hidden nearby. An optimal room to have a private conversation in, or as private as one could get with Supers in the world. Seconds after the room came into focus, the two figures sitting in the chairs did as well. One was so similar to Chad it would have been easy to mistake them, but she already knew this man was Joshua Taylor, the Hero called Intra.

In the other chair was Charles Adair. Not the love-struck man from the wedding, not the concerned husband from Shelby’s breakdown, not even the broken soul Phil had been comforting moments prior. No, this was the real Charles Adair, the hard-eyed man Alice had always known. However much time had passed, whatever had occurred in the interim, the last of that decent man had been purged from this new Charles. Words became audible, and for the first time she noticed that Joshua was holding a picture.

“You can’t do this. I’ll alert Dispatch. I’ll call the company workers.”

“The thing about a company is that, even in its most noble of incarnations, it is still staffed by people. People who can be swayed by the promise of riches. If you try to make that call, my people will intercept it. You’ll have accomplished nothing, save for dooming your family. Now, if you try Dispatch, that’s a different matter. She is beyond my reach, and if you tell her what’s happening then she will undoubtedly bring me down. But it will be too late to stop my people from pulling their triggers. You will have successfully stopped my plans, but it will cost you the lives of your wife and son.”

“Holy shit. That’s how he did it.” Nick stepped forward, drawing closer to the pair and looking over Joshua’s shoulder. “This is a picture of a baby with a date and time stamp. From context, I’m guessing it’s Chad, and taken recently. Probably through the scope of a sniper rifle.”

The picture in question was shaking as Joshua stared down at it. He looked anxious, near-frantic, as his eyes darted between the photo and Charles. “You’re bluffing. Or this is a sick joke. You wouldn’t destroy your whole career, your whole life, just to make me play along. And that’s what would happen if I called Dispatch.”

Charles Adair reached forward and gripped the top of the photo, steadying it. Unlike Joshua, there was no tremor in his hands whatsoever. He’d committed to this course and had no doubts or nerves to disturb him.

“Let me be very clear, Joshua. Let me make sure you understand the score perfectly. This is no joke or bluff. If you don’t leave this room and publicly turn villain, forcing Globe to put you down, then I’m going to kill Chad and Miriam. Make a detour, talk to a single soul for reasons that don’t sell your story, and they die. All communicators will be blocked from Dispatch once you’re on the scene, but I’ll still be listening in case you try to slip Globe any message. I don’t think I need to repeat myself and tell you what happens then. Yes, you’re right: if this goes awry my life is done. But ask yourself what I really have left to lose. A wife living in constant comatose torture, a daughter who will rightfully spend her life hating me for denying her a mother, and a job spent saving people when the person I love most in the world remains beyond aid. It’s nothing but the paltry scraps of a true life, and I will gamble it without hesitation on a chance to bring Shelby back. Because I don’t think you’re willing to trade your loved ones just to see me stopped.”

“He’s not bluffing at all, is he?” Mary asked. Alice shook her head. She knew Charles Adair well, and she’d seen him go all in before. That’s what was happening now. He was laying everything out in the open because subterfuge held no value. If Joshua had tried to buck the deal, then that would have been the end of things. And it probably would have also been the end of Chad and Miriam Taylor.

Joshua yanked the picture back, away from Charles’s steady fingers, and looked down at it once more. “Why? Why are you doing this? I was willing to give you blood, tissue, bone marrow, whatever you needed to help Shelby.”

“But we both know none of that offers what I really need.” Charles moved his hand upward and carefully pressed his index finger against Joshua’s temple. “It’s the brain. It’s always the brain. That’s where we see the differences, the additional nerves and glands and structure that give us actual data to be used. I need—Shelby needs—your brain, Joshua. In there lies the potential to change the world. Think of all the Powereds you’ll be helping if my research succeeds. Think of all the lives changed for the better thanks to your sacrifice.”

“Don’t you fucking dare try to twist this.” Joshua knocked the hand away, and for a moment Alice saw his features narrow in fury. If he was as strong as Chad, there was no question he’d be able to beat Charles in a fight, which made her certain there were protocols in place should Joshua make things physical. He clearly knew it too, because Joshua lowered his hand rather than using it to strike Charles. “Don’t you try to make this anything other than the horrible, murderous plot that it is. You should at least be man enough to do it yourself, Charles. Don’t drag your brother into this.”

“I wish I didn’t have to, but we can’t risk you dying in normal field work. Your brain might be damaged, and then it’s all a waste. No, you need to turn traitor and be brought down by a fellow Hero. If your best friend is the one to do it, with no idea what’s really going on, then the whole thing will be nothing more than a blip on the DVA’s radar. One more Super gone bad. And when I suggest using your corpse to turn this tragedy into something good, I’ll have the backing to take custody of your body. The bribes are already paid; it’s just a matter of setting it all in motion.” Charles was remarkably calm as he detailed everything, meeting Joshua’s objections with patience at every turn.

“This conversation is really making me wish I hadn’t cursed out your dad back in freshman year,” Nick said, slowly backing away from the two Heroes.

No one said anything else for several moments, as Joshua stared down at the picture of his sleeping son. “You’re a monster.”

“I know,” Charles said, still perfectly calm.

“You’re going to hell for this.”

“Without question,” Charles agreed.

“How do you know Phil won’t go for the brain when he kills me? It’s the smartest target, given my power.” Joshua was crumpling the picture slowly. It became a ball of scrap before he let it hit the ground.

“Because he loves you like family. The head, the face, that’s a target for the emotionally detached or hateful. Phil won’t be able to bring himself to make the killing blow there. And as long as you don’t heal the spot he does pick, he’ll have no need to. Don’t get any cute ideas about tricking him into bashing your brains in just to spite me, either. All you’ll be doing is condemning someone else with a similar power to die. Maybe even Chad, if he manifests an ability and takes after his dad.”

Joshua was out of his seat in a flash, hands wrapped around Charles’s neck as he lifted the smaller man from his chair and pressed him against a wall. “Don’t you threaten my son! If I do this, you don’t touch him or Miriam. No matter how it goes, even if my head doesn’t give you what you want. Promise me that much, Charles. Let me die at least knowing my family is safe.”

“You have my word. They will never be touched—by me, by outsiders, or by life’s tribulations. They will never want or lack for anything. I will watch over them from the shadows as best I can without ever making myself known. I promise.”

Joshua lowered Charles back down slowly, his hands shaking once more. “I wish your word counted for something. You’re a Hero, and a friend. I’m supposed to be able to trust you.”

“If it’s worth anything, I never wanted it to come to this either,” Charles replied. “But you’re a Hero too, and I’m only asking that you do for your family what you’ve been prepared to do for countless strangers since you took up that title.” He smoothed out the wrinkled front of his suit, undoing Joshua’s damage.

“Die for them.”

162.

The room was fading, a new scene taking its place but still far too blurry to make out, when Alice felt a squeeze on her hand. She looked down to see Mary gripping her fingers tightly. “You okay? That can’t have been easy to watch. I’m sure Abridail can give us a few minutes if we need them.”

“No. We’ve only got so long; there’s no time for breaks.” Alice noted that her voice sounded a touch strained, so she forced herself to take a deep breath and relax. “Besides, I always knew Charles was a bastard. I just didn’t know the lengths he was willing to sink to.”

“Be that as it may, he’s still your dad, even if you’re trying to break that connection. Watching him do that to Chad’s father…” Mary trailed off, squeezing Alice’s hand again rather than finding the right words to close her sentence with.

Nick walked over, pausing briefly to stare at Abridail, who was standing still with his eyes closed, conjuring the next scene for them to view. “You know, people give things like greed and wrath a bad rap. Sure, they’ll cause plenty of folks to make some poor, shortsighted decisions, but in the end they lack staying power. Now love, on the other hand, love is in a whole different category. Love is what can truly turn people into demons.”

Turning from Mary, Alice narrowed her eyes at Nick. “Are you trying to say that what he did was okay because it was motivated by love?”

“Whoa now, I’m not even close to saying that.” Nick threw up his hands in mock surrender, even going so far as to take a half-step back. “Let’s be very clear here: Abridail was right. What we just watched your dad do was unforgivable. He backed a good man into an impossible corner by threatening a child—a baby, really. I worked with some twisted, ruthless fucks in Vegas, and even we had the rule that kids were off-limits. In no way do I think you should forgive or justify what Charles Adair did. But I do believe there’s merit in recognizing the fact that we’re not as far away from becoming him as you might want us to be.”

“You really think any of us could do something like that?” Alice asked.

“Today? No. Life is long, though, and we haven’t been through the same trial that Charles has. Speaking as someone who just said goodbye to one of the only constants in his life, there were some dark times over the past few weeks. If the right person had made me the right offer to turn Gerry healthy or bring him back, I might have made a bad call. All I’m saying is that, as much condemnation as Charles deserves, let’s not act like we could never end up there. Recognizing that potential for weakness in ourselves is how we keep it from sneaking up on us.”

As much as Alice wanted to disagree with Nick, to say that she would never be capable of such a thing, she knew better. Subtlety had done more than taught Alice to sneak around and read faces; it had educated her in the fluid, often murky concept of morality. Sometimes, situations demanded a bad action to reach a good outcome. She’d made those calls herself in her Blonk training and had found success through them. If the person she loved most in the world was in the balance, if she felt she was the only one who could help, if the guilt of the situation were sitting atop her shoulders... no, she still couldn’t see herself doing what Charles had done. But that was Nick’s point, in a way. No one ever could see themselves going over to the side of the wicked, until it happened.

“His actions are impossible to forgive, but not impossible to understand,” Alice said, echoing Abridail’s words from their last session. “What I don’t understand is how things went wrong. With the plan as we heard it, Joshua should have died, Globe would never know what happened, and that’s it. Instead, Globe was labeled a traitor and supposedly killed, while Intra died with his reputation more or less still intact.”

“I’ve got a few guesses on how things went down, but something tells me we won’t need to wait for very long to find out.” Nick pointed to a nearby bit of the slowly building world, where two forms, still blurry, were beginning to grow more distinct.

As the image sharpened, it became easier to see the costumes of Globe and Intra on the men standing in an evacuated street. Several feet away, there was a strange ripple through reality, and then, somehow, came the image of a rooftop with Black Hole and Charles Adair, now clad in his Alchemist costume, looking down on the show below.

A sheen of sweat covered Abridail’s forehead when he finally opened his eyes. “Rather than show you the same event twice, I felt it was more practical to condense both viewpoints so you could watch them happen simultaneously. As much as the world has always wanted to hear the conversation between these two in Intra’s final moments, what occurs as most of their team looks on carries importance as well.”

Alice intended to tell him to start, but her eyes were caught by the team of Black Hole and Alchemist. It was strange to see her father and an HCP professor decked out in costume. They looked so grand, so… well, heroic. Like the sort of people who could be trusted. They were supposed to be Heroes, the ones people turned to when all hope was lost, beacons of power and dedication to keeping the world safe. Yet at least one of them, possibly both, was orchestrating a plan to murder an innocent man and harvest his brain. In that moment, for possibly the first time, Alice understood why the HCP was so grueling and tested so much of who they were, both in character and skill. For a Hero to turn bad, the entire system would be called into question, and people’s faith could get shaken. The HCP had a duty to make sure only the most deserving wore that title, a duty they’d failed to fulfill in the case of Charles Adair.

“Okay, Abridail. When you’re ready, start it up. Let’s see what happened with Vince’s dad all those years ago.” Alice turned her back on her own father, though she did stay close enough to hear if he spoke. Any information could prove useful down the line, especially if Abridail thought Alchemist and Black Hole’s discussion was important enough to recreate. Whatever Charles said next, whatever he did, she would face the truth of it head-on.

The world around them flickered slowly into motion, and Globe and Intra began to speak.

163.

“I don’t believe you.” Globe was planted in front of Intra, the ground around his feet no more than rubble as he stared at his fellow Hero unwaveringly.

“What more do you need? You caught me on the way to a bank I’m holding blueprints for, and I just told you I came to rob it. Accept the facts as they are, Globe. Face the truth, and let’s get on with it.” Intra wasn’t giving an inch either. It was impressive how angry and determined he looked. There wasn’t a trace of fear or sadness in his expression. Clearly, he was using his bodily control more freely than he had in the meeting with Charles.

“And I’m saying I don’t believe that you would suddenly turn to crime like this. If money is tight, you can always come to me or Alchemist, and I think you know that. What’s really going on here?”

As Globe spoke, Alice’s eyes darted to Nick briefly. She wondered if he was having the same déjà vu she was. Back during freshman year, when Mary and Hershel were missing, Nick had been the one proclaiming his own wickedness and Vince had refused to accept it. Apparently, aggressive optimism was one of the many things Globe had taught Vince in their time together.

“What’s going on? Maybe I’ve just come around; did you ever think of that? Maybe I don’t want to keep living on a government paycheck, hoping sales of my stupid merch pick up so I can buy a big enough house for my family. Maybe I’ve realized that we are the strongest of this nation, that rather than serving the weak we should be ruling over them. If the Heroes band together, we can take whatever we want, do whatever we want, and no one will be able to stop us.”

Alice had to give credit where it was due; Intra was really trying to sell this load of bullshit, no matter how little he actually believed it.

Globe shook his head. “You’re wrong about that. I’d stop you, and so would every other Hero who remembers why we fought so hard for this title in the first place. But you don’t believe any of that. I know you, Intra. I know you understand that we protect the weak because we’re strong. You helped me to see that in the first place. Now please, end this farce already. Tell me what’s really going on and let me help you.”

Despite the fact that this was a memory, and Alice knew perfectly well how things would play out, for the briefest of instants she thought Globe would break through to his friend. Intra took a half-step back, seeming to just shift position but in actuality putting himself in a spot that let him see Alchemist. Up on the rooftop, Alchemist stared down at the duo. Briefly, Intra and Alchemist’s eyes met, and Charles Adair tilted his head in the barest shadow of a nod. If one were watching without context, it would have seemed like nothing more than a human’s natural fidgeting, but Alice understood the gesture all too well. He was commanding Intra to stay the course, to get himself killed no matter what it took.

“End this farce?” Intra was looking at Globe again, his right hand behind his back. Alice caught a flash of red and instantly knew what was about to happen. “You’re right. I thought maybe I could talk you into understanding, make you see things my way. But you’ve always been too stubborn. I’ve known from the start it would come to this; I was fooling myself to pretend otherwise.”

Intra whipped his right arm forward, along with the blood-saw that had formed from it. It was a blur of motion that snapped through the air, the blood making an unnatural noise as it moved at inhuman speeds. That was nothing, however, compared to the unsettling thump of something hitting the rubble. No, not just something—Globe’s left arm had been severed only a few inches below the shoulder. It lay between them, fingers still twitching, before the pain finally registered and Globe let out a horrific scream.

“What the hell!” Globe was gripping the stump where his arm used to be, the fabric of his costume already tightening into a makeshift tourniquet. It was fast thinking, minimizing the blood loss while keeping the wound still viable for reattachment. “What are you doing, Intra?”

“How much do I need to spell it out for you, Phil?” With that final word, the very air around the duo seemed to grow heavy. Intra had just used Globe’s civilian name out in public, and it was obviously no accident. The implication wasn’t lost on Globe either, who glared up at his friend. There was fury in those eyes now, yet he was still holding himself back. Even an arm down, he didn’t want to believe his best friend had fallen from grace.

“I told you I was going evil; I offered to bring you along, but you didn’t want to listen.” Intra was looming over Globe now, that blood-saw arcing and dancing through the air. “You just wanted to see the world through the same rose-colored glasses as always. Well, you can’t ignore this! I’m done with being a Hero, Phil, but that doesn’t mean I’m done with you all entirely. Hell, I’ve got the skill and the knowledge. I bet I can take out a lot of you heavy hitters before you even see me coming. Or at least put pressure on your weak spots.”

Another step closer, exposing his torso to Globe completely. If he wanted to fight, it was a rookie mistake, but if he wanted to die it was a great way to leave himself open. Alice saw Intra’s face slip for a moment, his determination wavering; however, Globe was looking at his severed arm during that instant. How different would the world be if he’d glanced up right then?

“Don’t say that.” Globe almost sounded like he was begging now, begging to be told that there was some—any—explanation for what was happening other than the obvious. “I can’t let even you threaten the people I love.”

“Why? Will you finally do something about it? Your parents are both gone, sure, but you’ve got plenty I can still go after. Clarissa has family alive; I know how you hate seeing her sad. And Blake’s got one parent left. Then there’s Charles. He’s already lost a wife; I can’t imagine how he’d cope if that baby daughter of his—”

And there, Intra found Phillip Adair’s breaking point. In Globe’s right hand, his only hand now, a vibrant spike of glowing energy, like a dagger of plasma, suddenly manifested. He stabbed upward without hesitation, driving the energy directly into Intra’s chest, expanding the shape as soon as it made contact. The whole thing took less than three seconds, and when it was over Intra had a massive, gaping hole where his heart and several internal organs should have been.

“I can’t let you hurt them. I’m sorry,” Globe whispered. He reached out to try and catch Intra’s falling form, but Intra took another step back. Injured as he was, Intra wasn’t dead quite yet. To Alice’s surprise, the Hero flashed Globe a brief, but sincere, smile.

“Thank… you…” Intra fell to his knees, raising his eyes upward as he did. This time, there was nothing subtle about it. He was staring at Alchemist, and as Globe followed his dying friend’s gaze, he quickly reached the same conclusion. Alice could almost see the wheels in Globe’s head turning. He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but as his eyes hardened it became clear that Globe had realized something was awry, and that Alchemist had a role in it.

Unfortunately, Alice wasn’t the only one who noticed Globe’s hard stare. “He knows,” Black Hole declared from their spot on the rooftop. “Intra’s thanks was a tip-off; it gave him a clue.”

“He doesn’t know.” Alchemist sounded worried, almost fearful. Alice was taken off guard; she’d been braced for more of the dead-hearted Charles. Apparently, that journey hadn’t happened overnight though. There was still a bit of the old one left inside. “He can’t know.”

“Maybe not all of it, but he suspects, and with your brother that’s more than enough.” Black Hole stepped closer, to the edge of the building. “We’ve got a few seconds to decide how to play this. He’s injured, and even suspicious I doubt he’d expect an attack from his own team. If I hit him right now, I can handle this and we can adjust the story. Once Globe’s got his bearings, we’ll probably never stop him. That means Joshua died for nothing, and no one will be left to help Shelby.”

Alchemist looked on for several more seconds before slowly, painfully, giving another nod. “I’m so sorry, Phil. You were never supposed to be caught up in all of this. But I’ve gone too far to back away now. I have to fix what I destroyed, no matter what it costs me. Blake, do it. Just make sure you don’t hurt Joshua’s corpse.”

The step back that Intra had taken saved his body as a sudden orb of darkness manifested directly on top of Globe. It grew rapidly, seeming to engulf the injured Hero completely. When it faded, there was nothing left, just a smooth hole in the rubble where part of the orb had struck.

“Got him,” Black Hole announced.

A soft snort came from under Alchemist’s breath. “Maybe. I’m going to put some search parties out, regardless. I’ve never seen anyone underestimate my brother and not learn to regret it.”

164.

“They changed the story after the fact.” Nick was looking at the fading forms of Alchemist and Black Hole, who themselves were staring down at the corpse of Intra. “No witnesses to dispute them, no recordings save for what Charles was apparently already controlling. Rebuilding the narrative would be easy. Fudge a few facts, pay a couple of bribes to people with no idea what they’re a part of, and poof: Globe has turned traitor, killing Intra in the process. Then Charles proposes turning this tragedy into something positive, and that’s all it takes to give him everything he wanted.”

“Not everything,” Mary pointed out. “He sure didn’t seem keen on the idea of killing Globe.”

“Didn’t stop him from giving the order, though,” Nick said.

He had a point, Alice had to give Nick that, but it wasn’t as though Charles had been given ample time to consider the full implications of what he was doing. It was a snap decision in the heat of battle, the kind they were training to make—only he’d chosen poorly. What had shocked her more was how detached Black Hole had been about the entire process. She’d trained directly under Professor Hill for years, she’d nearly taken Control as her main specialty, and she’d never seen such ruthlessness lurking in his eyes. Then again, if he’d managed to fool the entire HCP staff and the DVA enough to give him such a job, it was no shock that he’d be good at hiding his dark inclinations.

“So… I guess this means Globe really is innocent.” Alice felt strange saying that after everything they’d read and heard about the villain; however, the conclusion was inevitable given what they’d witnessed. Some part of her Subtlety training prickled with annoyance; she was taking too much as a given. “Assuming all of this is accurate, I mean.”

“Charles Adair is a controlled, measured man, but even he cannot escape his guilt in the realm of nightmares,” Abridail told her. “I have watched these scenes play out more times than I can count, and while I won’t swear to the position of every rock and brick in the scenery, the more important bits are just as I’ve seen them in dreams.”

As the world faded, Nick was pacing, his eyes darting quickly around to scoop up what few details remained. “Let’s see here. Charles got the brain, but it’s not like that was automatic victory. He still had to pay a lot of smart people to analyze it, try and figure out what made Intra special, develop a method for replicating that in Powereds, and then go through incremental testing before rolling it out on actual Powereds.” Nick ticked the fingers off on his hand slowly. “Chad was a baby when this went down, and we were all eighteen when they did the procedure. So, we’re looking at about seventeen years and change for all of that. It’s a tight timeframe, unless you’re someone with nearly unlimited funds and the ability to attract the brightest minds, both Super and human, to the project.”

“There is one thing that bothers me about this, now that we know everything that happened to Alice’s mom: why isn’t Shelby Adair one of us?” Mary asked. “This whole thing was for her, and Charles got what he wanted. He found a cure. Why wouldn’t he have used it on his wife?”

In that moment, Alice instantly knew the answer to Mary’s question, and it made her stomach flip. She looked over to Nick, who’d clearly figured it out as well. A piece of her wanted to lie, to protect Mary from the inescapable truth of their situation. But she’d literally just seen where keeping secrets from the people she loved might lead, and besides, Mary had a right to know.

“Because Charles doesn’t know he’s found it.” Alice’s voice was gentle, partly for Mary, partly for herself. “Remember, we’re a test group. We always were. That was why we were put in Melbrook in the first place: to keep watch over us in case anything went wrong or long-term side effects developed.”

“But the doctors told us it was permanent, that we couldn’t change back, and they really believed that. I could hear it in their thoughts,” Mary protested.

“And based on whatever information they’d been given, I’m sure they thought it was true. Just like they probably believed it when they told the same things to any guinea pigs who came before us.” Nick paused his pacing, looking over at Abridail, who was preparing another scene, and then back at Mary. “However, I will say the odds are on our side. Think about it: in both of the timelines Shelby saw, the procedure was eventually successful and publicly available. That means there will be a successful test case, and based on the timing, it’s a fair bet that we’re it.”

Alice nodded, the next pieces already falling into place. “But Charles hasn’t seen Shelby’s visions. He doesn’t know for sure that our procedure worked long-term, and given how things went the first time, there’s no way he’d take any chances with Mom’s brain again. He’s making sure we’re stable, putting us through HCP training to see what happens when we push our limits, watching us run around like trapped rats to be sure that this time, he’ll be able to bring Shelby back.”

“That’s reassuring. Though I do wish we weren’t all agreeing with the idea that our abilities could fail.” Something darted through Mary’s eyes, something dark and fearful. “I don’t know if I can go back to my old life. I’d sort of gotten used to always hearing the voices, but after this many years of peace…”

“In none of Shelby’s visions has she ever seen your procedure’s effects falter.” Abridail had his eyes open, although they were only halfway so, and his posture was slumped. All of this was apparently taking a toll on him; last time, there hadn’t been so many different scenes to conjure, nor had they come as fast. “That is not a guarantee—as you know, she only sees the likely potentials for futures—but it does mean chances are strong that you truly have been cured.”

He raised his arms, and around them the concrete cube where Intra and Charles had stood came back into view. Only now, Intra was nowhere to be seen. It was Charles and Black Hole—or Professor Hill, as the students knew him—sitting at a table.

“There are many pieces I have had to leave out for expediency, small chunks I’m trustful you’ll be able to piece together on your own. However, there is one more bit that I feel you need: proof of what I’ve shown you today, in case your teachers begin second-guessing these events, not wanting to accept the truth about a former friend. There is little evidence to be found; Charles was quite careful in that regard. However, not even he was able to destroy everything.”

165.

“I don’t see why I have to quit.” With the Black Hole costume gone, he was just Blake once more, a man having a sizable drink with his brother-in-law. There was no air of celebration to the scene; both men looked weary and worn, as though it had been days since they last saw sleep. Charles was bearing it better than Blake, yet even he had red eyes and was in need of a shave.

“If you’d like to switch roles, that’s fine. That does assume, of course, that you’re capable of raising the tremendous funds needed to covertly pay for our research, managing all of the assets now on our payroll, and let us not forget organizing the hunt for my brother.”

Blake snorted into his glass. “We can leave that last part off. I got him, Charles. We both saw it connect.”

“Did we? Or did we see him warp the light to create a mirage? Perhaps he neutralized the gravitational force as it descended on him and then blended in with the ground. Maybe he used some other method we haven’t devised yet. Globe, Phil, is powerful beyond our sense of the word. He literally warps the reality of everything in his sphere of influence. Now, you’ve seen that as a teammate, and occasionally caught glimpses of it in the HCP. I grew up seeing that power in action, Blake, and trust me when I say it is not one to underestimate—an issue compounded by it being in the hands of someone as determined as Phil.”

“He’s not unbeatable,” Blake replied. “He still has to be paying attention, and he can’t change anything he doesn’t know how to manipulate. Do you think he spent hours, or more likely days, researching gravity and working out how to nullify my attack just in case I turned on you?”

At first, Charles said nothing, turning his still full glass in his hands several times. “The mere fact that you need to ask me that, rather than already assuming it to be true, is why I’m the one who’ll be organizing the hunt for Globe. You must not underestimate him. Ever.”

“I think you overestimate him.” Blake didn’t bother turning his glass; he just downed a deep gulp from it.

Something like laughter—a painful and twisted cousin to the sound—came from Charles’s mouth. “Impossible. To say such a thing implies that I’m believing him capable of something that he can’t do, and I’ve met precious few things in this world that my big brother couldn’t accomplish. No, he’s out there, Blake, and I’ll believe that until I find concrete proof that he’s passed. Because that’s the prudent way to proceed.”

“If you want to waste your time, that’s fine. I just don’t see why I have to become an HCP teacher,” Blake protested.

Alice, Mary, and Nick all exchanged a brief glance. Professor Hill might not be their favorite educator, but he’d always been competent and seemed at home in his role. Had he never even wanted to be there in the first place?

“You’ll have some time. We need to get you, and me, through more intensive telepathy-resistance training as soon as possible. We won’t even float the idea of you moving into education until then. But it has to happen, Blake. Our Hero careers are done, anyway. We just watched two of our teammates fight, saw Intra murdered by Globe before we killed Globe ourselves. That’s the official story, so it’s going to seem strange if we’re back on the streets next week acting fine. We have to take an extended leave, during which time I’m going to focus on my business and you’ll discover that your true passion lies in educating the Heroes of tomorrow.”

Tilting his glass back, Blake finished off his drink. “That still feels like a lot of hoops to jump through just for computer access.”

“Blake, we just murdered one Hero, possibly two, in order to get a brain which will fuel highly illegal human experimentation.” Charles’s tone was heavy, and for a moment Alice wondered if he was about to kill Blake. Even knowing it didn’t turn out that way, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling of looming danger. “From here on, we are in the sea of extreme peril. Discovery means our undoing, and if we go then so too goes all hope for Shelby. Our best asset is compartmentalization. We keep everything disconnected, making sure nothing ties together, and keep ourselves as distant from the actual work as possible. After all, we can’t accidentally let slip information we don’t possess. But there will still need to be a full log of all the data if we’re going to see progress, and until we can create our own system there is literally nowhere more secure than an HCP’s digital storage. Professors can put information in freely, but several layers of approval are required to take anything out. It’s like tossing the evidence into a bottomless pit, one that we can get our files back from with a little networking and bribery. Even if the files were somehow raided, without clearance they’d be too encoded for anyone to crack. It’s the safest storage option available, and it comes with the added benefit of making you seem more trustworthy. Who would question the integrity of an HCP professor?”

Blake replied to that, or at least his mouth started moving, but the sound seemed to cut out like on a busted TV. Not long after, the image flickered and began to fade.

“It seems our time is done once more,” Abridail said, his voice echoing despite the lack of nearby vast spaces. “Today, however, you have seen all I intended to show. There are many smaller moments that contributed to your current situation, but they are only pieces that helped shaped the larger scenes. You know now what truly happened to Shelby Adair, as well as the truth about Globe and Intra. Alice… I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, nearly losing sight of Abridail as the world steadily faded. “I’m not. This wasn’t exactly easy, but I’m glad I know the truth. Even if it means realizing that the Adair legacy is one of betrayal and murder.”

Abridail smiled at her, a smile that lingered as the rest of him continued to fade. “There have been good Adairs as well. Your grandmother worked hard for her family, and Phil was, by all accounts, a true Hero. And you, Alice, are part of that lineage as well. The Adair legacy is in your hands to shape now. Perhaps you’ll bring something good back to the name. If it helps, know that your mother has always believed you will do just that.”

Then he was gone, as was the dream-world as a whole. Slowly, Alice lifted herself up from the mattress, groping around until her hand closed on a glass of water. She downed it swiftly then refilled a few more times while Nick and Mary did the same. The cottonmouth side effect of Rich’s power really was annoying.

It was Nick who spoke first, to the surprise of no one, as he polished off his third round of water. “Well, that’s at least one more mystery solved.”

“Way more than one, by my count,” Alice pointed out.

“I’m not talking about what Abridail showed us.” Nick put his glass under the cooler, refilling it one more time. “I meant our little mystery from freshman year, when someone, presumably Globe-related, used Mary’s kidnapping as a distraction to steal files out of the HCP system. Or do you think there was some other batch of data Globe wanted as badly as proof of what Charles did with Intra’s corpse?”

166.

The room was silent as Alice finished recounting what she, Nick, and Mary had borne witness to. Mary sat to her left, filling in the occasional detail, while Nick was on her right. Normally, he handled the covert communication himself, but this time… well, there was too much at stake, too many details they had to make sure were recalled precisely correct. Because if one was going to accuse an HCP professor of murder, it was important to have all the evidence prepared perfectly.

“Somehow, in my truest of hearts, I always suspected that Shelby’s misfortune was at the core of things, even if I didn’t have proof.” Dean Blaine was staring at the table, wavering somewhere between the urge to vomit or scream out his raw, unmitigated fury. “And Charles has always been… determined, I suppose is what we called it back then. Just like his brother. Only where Phil’s refusal to budge was born of the desire to protect everyone he cared for, Charles’s came with a more ruthless, pragmatic edge. But to think Blake would be party to such crimes—”

“That part I would have guessed.” Professor Pendleton leaned back in his chair, looking for all the world like he hadn’t just heard about his half-brother helping to murder Intra. But Alice knew him better; she could see the grief and anger lingering at the edges of his expression. “I loved Shelby, and Blake too for that matter, but they were twins. The bond between them was deeper than anything I could have matched. When Shelby got sick, Blake took it as hard as Charles. He was there all the time, caring for her, doing what he could to make things better. And then, when the procedure went wrong… to be honest with you, I lived on his couch for a few weeks. I told him it was because we needed each other as family during a tough time, though the truth was I thought he might try to kill himself with no one around.”

“Instead, he conspired to kill Intra.” Of all the teachers, Professor Stone seemed to be taking the news better than anyone else. Then again, as a telepath she was probably more accustomed to finding out dirty secrets than the rest of the staff.

Those three were the only ones in attendance today. Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport, dedicated though they had proven themselves to be, were still outsiders in the Hero world. Until Dean Blaine gave permission, it didn’t seem right to bring them in on something like this, especially given Charles’s comments about bribing people in a certain company.

“This is a lot to take in,” Dean Blaine said. “Sadly, I fear we lack the time for a proper period of mourning and adjustment. If what you’re saying is true, then we have the very proof we need sitting in the HCP right now.”

“But the minute you make a request to withdraw it, someone out there is going to tip off Charles. We should assume that’s a given at this point,” Professor Pendleton pointed out.

“Not to mention, we’re working off very old intel.” It was the first time Nick had spoken since they’d settled in to recount the story, and heads turned toward him automatically as he did. “Assuming everything Abridail showed us was accurate and true—which is a huge leap to make in the first place—that meeting still happened around seventeen years ago. Do we really think, in all that time, they didn’t add more safeguards, or change things up in the slightest? I’m sure something is on that HCP computer; Globe doesn’t strike me as the type to put in so much effort for no return. But we need to brace for it not being the silver bullet we might want.”

Dean Blaine considered Nick’s words, tilting his head just a hair to the side as he mulled over the idea. “True as that is, it doesn’t change the fact that getting the data is our obvious next step.”

“Obvious is the right word there. Obvious, predictable, and exactly what Charles would be on watch for.” Professor Pendleton rose from his chair, the nervous energy he was hiding too great to contain while seated. “He might not know we’re pulling these threads, but he’s been prepared for somebody to do so at some point. While we can say a lot of things about Charles, everyone who has worked with him knows he’s methodical and cautious. He pulled off this trick with Intra and Globe after all, fooling the whole nation. If we move on that data, we need to do so with the assumption that Charles will activate countermeasures of his own. That’s not entirely a bad thing, mind you, it just means we might want to explore other options first.”

“Such as?” Dean Blaine asked.

It was Alice who spoke this time. She could see a next step forward, one that might let them progress without tipping off Charles Adair. Maybe the professors couldn’t see it yet because they were too ingrained in their way of thinking. Maybe she was the only one who could say it, because she had blood on both sides of the game. Regardless, once she had the thought, there was no way to ignore it.

“We reach out to allies. People we know we can trust. People we know are working against Charles. And people we know have a copy of the data we need.” Alice paused for a heartbeat, watching as the realization hit everyone seconds before her next words. “We make contact with Globe and his cohorts.”

Silence crashed through the room as all of the HCP educators exchanged slow, thoughtful glances. Mary’s eyes widened as well, although Nick merely nodded in agreement with Alice. It was nice to have some backing, and she gave his hand a brief squeeze under the table as thanks.

“Even if the murder of Intra was orchestrated by Charles, Globe has still committed serious crimes. He kidnapped Mary, broke George out of prison, and has been evading arrest for years now.” Dean Blaine didn’t sound terribly sure of his words; they seemed forced and detached. When he spoke again, a measure of his usual certainty had returned to his voice. “But if all of that was done in an effort to covertly bring Charles down, it does explain most of the actions quite well. And we do need some allies in this fight. Learning that the company has been compromised is a heavy blow, I must tell you.”

“Not for me; I’d always assumed they were dirty,” Professor Pendleton said. “But that comes part and parcel with working in Subtlety. You don’t see that much work in the shadows and assume there aren’t a few things done in true darkness. I agree with Alice, though. Now that we know Globe isn’t a bad guy—something I don’t think we ever fully swallowed in the first place—it makes sense to work with him rather than against him. Plus, you know, easy access to the data.”

“Not that easy,” Dean Blaine replied. “For one thing, the entire Hero world is hunting Globe and coming up empty, so it’s not as though we can easily contact him. As for the data, since what they pulled wasn’t authorized, it’s still encrypted. Breaking through DVA system security is no small feat.”

“Unless one happens to have access to a shifter who turns into a full-blown robot.” Mary’s voice was gentle, yet it carried through the room regardless.

“Something tells me if they had what they wanted out of the data, we’d know about it by now. I doubt Globe is going to all this trouble to bring his brother down quietly,” Nick said.

Dean Blaine let out a heavy sigh and rested his hands on the table in front of him. “You’re all right, in different ways. We know enough to be dangerous now, but that means we also know enough to put ourselves at risk. For the moment, none of this information leaves the room. Not even your fellow Melbrook residents, including Vince and especially Chad, are to be brought in until we’ve decided how to proceed. Reaching out to Globe may be our best move, assuming we can find a way to do it that doesn’t alert Charles or the DVA. However, there are still too many unknowns to be sure of anything right now. We have to move carefully from here, gleaning every bit of intel we can get. This means I have good news for you, Mary; it looks like you’re getting your wish. Since you’re a piece of the puzzle still unaccounted for, we can’t risk wiping your memories when you quit the HCP.”

Alice looked at Nick from the side of her eyes, checking for any expression of surprise. She found none there, although that didn’t really tell her if he’d known Mary was quitting or not; he was good at hiding such things.

“So, what’s our next step?” Alice asked.

“For you kids, the next step is to go home, rest up, and come to Lander prepared. Your last semester is a tough one, and I imagine that’s going to be true even for those of you no longer in the HCP.” Dean Blaine glanced to Nick and Mary briefly as he spoke. “As for you, Alice, come ready to bring your all. After everything that’s happened, I want to see you make it to graduation. If I’ve learned nothing else today, it’s that the world could use more Heroes with integrity.”

Nick leaned over and let out a stage-whisper for the room to hear. “Bet this is the first time a dean has ever said that to a Subtlety student.”

167.

Winter Break, as all things do, eventually came to an end. As the students made their way back to campus, a little softer from the relaxation and home-cooking, there was an air of finality among those who were part of the HCP. Three and a half years of constant training, fighting, and effort to get here, and now, at last, they were in the home stretch. One semester left. One semester to determine if they were living a grand tale of effort and success or were simply waiting to be told they were not quite good enough. There was always re-applying to be a senior next year, of course; however, none of them could entertain such a notion. To do what was necessary in this program, to put in the time and work needed to triumph, they knew by now that they had to fight like there were no second chances. Only by putting it all on the line, every time, would they have a prayer of making it to graduation. Except, of course, for those who were no longer trying.

The news had gone over… well, not great, but nothing was broken or on fire, so it wasn’t the worst bombshell they’d ever experienced. Mary stood in the center of Melbrook, surrounded by Hershel, Vince, Alice, Chad, Camille, and Alex. Neither Alice, Hershel, nor, unsurprisingly, Alex, looked too shocked, although Mary realized she should have expected her fellow quasi-telepath to have picked up on how she was feeling throughout the year.

“So, that’s just it. After all these years, you’re quitting?” Vince asked, breaking the silence at last. He looked leaner than he had when they left for Winter Break, and a little more tanned on his face. Apparently all that time in the snow came with lots of sunshine.

“Yes, Vince. After last May, and the training we’ve been doing, I took a long, hard look at what this job would demand from me, and I knew I couldn’t bear it. I’d break, sooner rather than later, and then I’d still be out of the Hero world, only I’d have taken a spot from someone else in this year’s class in the process. I’m not walking away entirely, though. I’m finishing my education and then going for a psychology Masters. One day, I might be able to do for Heroes what Dr. Moran does for you.”

Vince nodded, solemn but accepting. He didn’t like it. Mary could have figured that out even if she didn’t have telepathy; however, he did respect her decision. “When they do the wipe, you get to keep memories of people who give permission, right?”

It took more control than she was expecting not to let thoughts of the truth about her “memory wipe” bubble to the surface. Much as she trusted Alex, the fewer who knew what was really happening, the better. “That’s right, Vince.”

“Then I want you to know you can keep the ones of me,” Vince said. He smiled at her, and she felt unexpectedly reassured. “And know that I’m always here if you need me, HCP or not.”

Sometimes, Mary wished they were all like Vince, able to blurt out their thoughts as words with little to no pause in between. How much happier would humanity be if they could cut through the obfuscation and simply be honest with one another?

“I said it when you told me this last night, but I’ll repeat myself: you’d dang well better keep your memories of me.” Hershel smiled at her too, though there was a touch of melancholy in his grin. She’d given him this news the night before, when they arrived on campus. It had only felt right to break it to him privately. Since Alice had figured it out on her own, Hershel was the first person outside of the staff that Mary had told, and she knew it had to be that way. He still hadn’t shaken the surprise from his face or the sadness from his eyes, but she hoped that would come in time. This was going to be a transition, and a difficult one at that. All they could do was work hard to show each other that they had more than the HCP connecting them.

“Please add me to that list, as well.” Chad didn’t look shocked by the news, which might have been due to either his deductive abilities or his stoic nature. A few faces did light up with surprise as he consented to be remembered, though, and he visibly took notice of them. “I trust Mary. On the battlefield and in my life as a friend. That trust doesn’t diminish because she looked inside herself and found a lack of willingness to kill. If anything, I trust her more now. Facing that sort of honesty is no small task. I must say, I am disappointed, though. Part of me always hoped for a true rematch of our freshman year bout.”

Mary laughed in spite of the tense situation. It was funny to think back to being a freshman, when she’d only defended by tossing up some crude telekinetic wall and Chad hadn’t adopted his bone armor yet. Calling it a rematch was hardly accurate; they’d both changed so much it would be an entirely different bout. “I’d say maybe one day, but with me dropping out, I think you’ll be past my league in a span of months.”

“Your league is bigger than you might expect. The world is losing a valuable Hero today,” Chad told her. “But I support your decision. The toll you imagined is very real; I have seen it on the faces of many Heroes. Better to turn away than to break, or worse, be twisted to evil by such a burden.”

“You can remember me, too,” Alex volunteered, mercifully taking them off the topic of secretly evil Heroes before Mary had to work too hard at marshaling her thoughts. “And, by the way, you know this news is going to throw a big upset into Intramurals. I think you and Chad were the only people we all knew would be going in.”

“We’re the Class of Nightmares; I’m sure there will be no shortage of worthy contenders.” Mary noted the confused looks on many of her friends’ faces. Right… that was a nickname the Heroes used for them, not one they tossed about among themselves. “Sorry, just something the observing Heroes have called us. Apparently, seeing real combat last year has made us a little more… aggressive than the standard senior class. Add in that we’re unusually powerful and you get a silly nickname.”

A dark grin cut Camille’s face, betraying the stalwart warrior beneath her innocent exterior. “I kind of like it. If the Heroes think we’re scary, just imagine how the criminals will feel.” She paused, her face resuming its usual gentle appearance. “Count me in for being remembered. I need someone else to drag along when Alice has her shopping binges; otherwise she’ll put me through trying on a dozen outfits.”

“If it gets me out of the shopping trips, I may turn you down on that one,” Mary countered. Her eyes, along with those of everyone else, turned to Alice, who was the only person yet to declare a position on being remembered.

The shift didn’t escape Alice’s notice either. “What are you all looking at? She’s my best fucking friend; of course I want her to remember me. Did I really need to say that?”

“Wait, what about Nick?” Vince asked.

“Nick is not a part of the HCP, and he never will be again,” Mary said. “He got expelled; he didn’t quit. So memories of him are fair game.”

Chad raised his hand to get the group’s attention before asking his own question. “Forgive me if this is rude, but as it concerns us I feel compelled to ask: what about the living situation? Will you be forced to vacate?”

“Thankfully, no. Since you all gave permission for me to keep memories of you, there’s no real reason for me to move. At least, not midway through the year. I probably wouldn’t be able to come back once a new year started, but since we’re all seniors it’s a moot point.” Mary looked around the common room, wondering what she’d have done if she did have to move. It was strange to think of living anywhere around Lander that wasn’t Melbrook, but she would have been okay. The walls and doors didn’t make this place a home, the people in it did, and they’d all just professed a desire to stay in her life.

It made her feel deeply loved and incredibly guilty—at least where Vince and Chad were concerned. They deserved to know the truth about their fathers, but that wasn’t her call to make. Dean Blaine was right; they had to be careful with every move they made.

However, there was one thing still left that she needed to pull off: a parting gift of sorts, before she was officially out of the program. “Vince, do you want to take a walk with me down to the HCP? There’s someone you and I need to talk to.”

168.

“You going to be okay?” Dean Blaine pulled on his suit jacket and cleaned his glasses, preparing to depart the underground bunker. It was almost time to start getting things ready, and as the dean of the HCP, he could hardly afford to miss a single meeting, even if it meant sharing space with a traitor.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve known something was up with Blake since the day he and Charles told us Shelby ‘died’ from complications with the experiment. I never bought it. There was always something off about them, the story, the way it all hung. Even if I didn’t have proof, I was too good of a Subtlety Hero not to trust my gut.” Professor Pendleton paused, looking up from his pile of printed documents. “The question is, are you going to be okay? My half-brother and I have had a frosty relationship since I got here, but you two are amiable colleagues, even if you didn’t trust him enough to bring him in on this. Can you keep that up, knowing what he did?”

It was a fair question, one that Dean Blaine had been asking himself quite a bit in the last few days of Winter Break. He wasn’t trained in Subtlety like Sean; would he be able to smile at the man, to laugh at his jokes, to pretend he didn’t know he was working alongside a Hero who’d abused his position to kill an innocent man? Ultimately, Dean Blaine wasn’t sure he could, which was why he’d found a mental cavern to take shelter in.

“Technically, we don’t know if he is a killer,” Dean Blaine said. “We have the testimony of one source, and while so far everything we can check is lining up with the story we got, that’s still not enough to condemn him just yet. If what happened to Globe teaches us nothing else, it’s that we need to be thorough and not take the word of someone just because we want to trust them.”

Professor Pendleton said nothing for several seconds, merely putting his papers neatly together and getting up from the table. “If that’s what you need to think to get through this, then more power to you.”

“You disagree with my assessment?”

“No, the lesson was good; you’re right there. But Blake did it. I know him; I know how close he and Shelby were.” Professor Pendleton sighed softly, just under his breath. “I used to envy them, you know. We were all family, but those two were real siblings, twins at that. Much as I loved them both, I was always an outsider looking in. There’s nothing Blake wouldn’t have done if it meant saving Shelby, and that includes killing Intra.”

Dean Blaine finished cleaning his glasses, then reached onto the table and pulled off a small briefcase. His day in their hidden bunker was nearly over; it was time to get moving once more. After all, HCP classes resumed tomorrow, and there really was a lot of work to be done. But this was important too, and he didn’t want to leave the task half finished. “Sean, if we decide to trust Abridail, if we feel like moving forward on looking for Globe, you know who we’ll need to talk to.”

“She’s been around for years now and not given a single indication she was in contact with him,” Professor Pendleton pointed out. “Hell, she just spent Christmas with us. You really think Clarissa can play something that huge so close to the vest? Why would she have accepted all of our invitations?” There was a brief moment of silence as Professor Pendleton actually considered the question before answering it himself. “Because if you want us to think you’ve got nothing to hide, then you pal around with us like nothing is wrong. Shit... you might be right.”

“None of us were initially accepting of the idea that Globe could turn into a ruthless killer who slayed his best friend, and she denied it from the outset.” Part of Dean Blaine now wished he’d been a little more stubborn in his convictions, had held fast to what he knew to be true about Globe’s character. But Globe was far from the first Hero to fall; it was something Dean Blaine had been conditioned to accept. Not that any of those facts lessened the guilt of turning his back on a friend. “If Globe was innocent, then Clarissa would have believed him. And if she even suspected he was alive before George’s jailbreak, she’d have searched for him. She’s our best bet, if we decide to reach out.”

“Pretty big ‘if’ you’ve got there,” Professor Pendleton replied. “I can make an appointment with her, if you like. Invent some pretense about another Lander event, the sort of thing she’d be inclined to say yes to if she wanted to keep her cover.”

Dean Blaine shook his head. “No. No lies, no guile, no tricks. If we use Clarissa as a go-between, then we do it the right way: with trust and friendship. She, Globe, you, and me, we were all Heroes once. And friends. It’s time we started to act like it.”

*              *              *

Ralph Chapman had never been the trusting sort. Even before he changed his career path to the DVA and began calling out the Heroes who would have skated free from their mistakes thanks to clout and popularity, Ralph had always been one to shake someone’s right hand while watching for a knife in their left. It was an attitude that had served him well in politics, but had proven more troublesome when dealing with Heroes. Respect and trust were large elements to their world, which was somewhat expected given the bonds they forged on the battlefield. Meeting Heroes with suspicion put him at a disadvantage in every interaction he had with them. Perhaps that was why, when Mary had come to him, he’d been willing to show a bit of faith. Not a huge amount, but enough to formally requisition the services of a DVA teleporter for the afternoon. It was a small show of trust, in the grand scheme of things, but he hoped it would bear some manner of fruit.

His faith turned out to be well-placed, as the door to his meager office swung open to reveal Mary, along with the unmistakable Vince Reynolds. The men locked eyes for a long moment before Ralph gestured to the two small folding chairs stuffed into the room.

“Vince, why don’t you come in and have a seat? I think it’s time you and I had a long overdue chat.”

169.

Vince looked wary as he glanced over to Mary, which was not only forgivable but downright prudent. She gave a brief nod, and that was all it took for him to sit down in the chair offered by Chapman. Bless him and his trusting heart; she was going to miss spending time with him, and the others, down in these concrete walls. It was a true loss to her and she felt it dearly, but even now she knew the cost of staying would be higher than she could handle. Moments like these were the toll she paid to get out while she still could.

“Mr. Chapman,” Vince greeted as he settled into his chair. Mary followed his lead, shutting the door firmly behind them. The two were looking at each other, both thinking a myriad of different questions but unsure of how to best proceed. Well, that was why she’d come along in the first place.

“Vince, you should know something upfront: Ralph didn’t call this meeting. I did. We’re all aware that there’s a lot of DVA interest in you, and Ralph is sort of the face of that. But as the only person to have seen inside both of your heads, trust me when I say there’s more common ground here than you might think. I put this together because I want you two to stop seeing yourselves as being at odds with one another.”

“We’ve had meetings before,” Vince told her.

“Not with me in them.” Mary reached over, easily able to slap a hand on Ralph’s desk in the tiny room. “Here’s the deal: Ralph has some stuff he wants to talk to you about and show you, Vince. You’re free to ask questions on those topics or whatever else you want. The one rule that I’m here to enforce is a simple one: no lying. Whatever you say to each other, make sure it’s the truth, or I will call you out on it. Both of you. Ralph is pretty good at managing his thoughts in general, but I’m betting that in the spontaneity of real conversation I’ll be able to catch a few red flags if he fibs. It’s been over a year of this weird stalemate of not trusting either side, so today we’re trying something different.”

Vince and Ralph stared at one another, not with hate but with caution. She knew what they were seeing. Ralph looked at Vince and saw living destruction personified, while Vince saw in Ralph a man who judged him for the actions of his father rather than his own. They were both right, in a way, yet also wrong in so many others. A myriad of misunderstandings, all from people’s desire to keep their true thoughts private.

“What do you have against me?” Vince was the one who spoke, of course. Only he could be so unapologetically bold in a moment like this. “I know you all think my father is bad, but I’m not the only child of a criminal to come through the HCP. I read up on it last year. There have been plenty of Heroes who talked about having Super parents who broke the law. Why do you put so much attention on me, specifically?”

Mary could feel the lies and half-truths flitting through Ralph’s mind, but as he turned his eyes to her, they quieted. For now, at least, he seemed willing to play along with the honesty game.

“There is a big difference between someone having a parent who was a criminal Super and having a parent who is a Hero that turned traitor,” Ralph said. “But in the spirit of this meeting, I’ll tell you something, Vince: Globe is why you came to my attention, not why you stayed there. I believe that you haven’t had any contact with him, I really do. Globe isn’t the issue here. You are. Or, to be more precise, how dangerous your power is.”

Vince blinked in surprise. “My power? It’s strong, sure, but I’m not really all that special. I’m not even at the top of my class.”

“Sometimes you are. Have you ever watched the tape of yourself from sophomore year? When Nicholas Campbell used Rich Weaver to tweak your brain and convince you that you were fighting monsters? It was quite incredible, you know. The brutality, the efficiency: you cycled through different energies so fast they nearly seemed concurrent, and you absorbed energies that we’ve still yet to see you replicate. It’s hard to say that version of Vince wasn’t near the top of his class, at the very least, and you’ve only gotten stronger since then.”

Slowly, with his gaze darting to Mary, Vince nodded. “I’ve seen the tapes, more times than I can count. I didn’t know they were students, though. I’d never have attacked fellow human beings like that.”

“Never? That’s a strong word, Vince.” Ralph had his hands on the edge of the desk, gripping it tightly. “Especially coming from a man who had to be talked out of killing someone not even a year ago.”

Silence fell, and Mary wondered if things had already spun out of control beyond saving in the first few minutes. But she underestimated Vince, as he nodded once more, this time with conviction.

“I’ll own that. The man you’re talking about killed my friend, someone I cared about, and in the heat of that moment I wanted to take his life away as payback. I’m not proud of that temptation, Mr. Chapman, but I don’t look back and wish I’d killed him either. It was a hard situation, and I nearly fell short of who I want to be. That’s something I have to live with for the rest of my life, a memory I keep with me at all times. Because next time the temptation comes, I want to be ready for it, to use my shame over what I nearly did to keep myself from failing the same way again.”

“This is the problem with you, Vince.” Ralph’s hands had loosened their grip on the desk, and his posture eased. The fiery spirit had plainly gone out of him in the face of Vince’s brutal honesty. “The normal you is like this: considerate, measured, and willing to take responsibility for his mistakes. It endears you to people, makes them want to root for you. Allows them to turn a blind eye when you send up warning flags that should be noticed. I want to make one thing clear here, above all others: I don’t dislike you on a personal level. You’re a good kid who is clearly trying his best. But the issue here is not a personal one, it’s a pragmatic one. An issue of safety. If you’re willing to come with me somewhere, I think a visual example will be a little more helpful for our discussion.”

Mary could already see where Ralph planned to bring them, so when Vince turned to her she signaled her approval. This was a good idea, because the truth was, as much as she loved Vince dearly, Ralph had some valid points. And if Vince did make it to Hero status, Ralph would certainly not be the first DVA agent to voice them. Better he saw it plainly now, so he could decide how to proceed.

Ralph hit a buzzer on his intercom, and seconds later a tall woman in a dark suit opened the door. Together, the three of them got up from their seats, walked over to her, and vanished.

170.

The wind coming off the bay was chilly, making Vince and Mary glad they hadn’t shed their coats on the trip down to Ralph Chapman’s office. He didn’t wear one as he stood in front of them. Occasionally a rogue shiver would run down his otherwise stiff spine—the only betrayal of his discomfort. Then again, as Vince looked past the DVA agent to the ruined remains of a large bridge set some ways off from a newer one packed with cars, he wondered if perhaps those shivers had nothing to do with the cold at all.

“They never rebuilt it.” Ralph sounded different than normal—less detached and authoritative, more human. “Said it was old by that point, anyway; made more sense fiscally to just build something new, something safer. That might have been true, but I think deep down they just knew no one would want to commute over a graveyard. So they made the leftovers a memorial, put up a nice plaque, and moved on. It wasn’t that easy for some of us, though.”

From their vantage point atop the hill, overlooking the bay, the city, and both of its bridges, Vince could see the entire layout. That was probably why they were here instead of up close: so that he could take note of how many cars were on the active bridge, could imagine the amount of life lost if it were suddenly destroyed.

“What happened here?”

“A fight between some criminal Supers and Heroes, like what goes on all over this country every day. Relentless Steel and Raze were hunting down a gang that had been quickly accruing a lot of weapons and Supers. Things came to a head, and the fight spilled onto the bridge. Things went wrong. According to the reports and the debriefings, what few there were, it was a lot of little mistakes that piled together and then one big fuck-up. Raze had the power of disintegration, you see. He was going after some Super who’d proven extra tough, built a lot of juice in his attack, and then... missed. Don’t ask me how; I wasn’t with the DVA then and this predates everyone having a camera in their pocket. But he did, and that was the last straw. The bridge’s supports gave, and suddenly everyone—Heroes, crooks, and innocent commuters—went plunging into the drink. Raze and Relentless Steel survived, of course. They were trained Heroes. The civilians were another matter.”

Vince could see Ralph’s body tightening as he spoke, his spine growing rigid and his jaw trying to lock. This wasn’t some hypothetical situation he was using as an illustration; this was real to Ralph. Personal. “You knew someone who died, didn’t you?”

It took visible effort, but Ralph slowly tilted his head forward. “My daughters. A friend had picked them up because I was stuck at work. They all died. As did hundreds of others, lives that never needed to be lost, never should have been in danger in the first place. Because a Hero made mistakes, forgot his duty was to protect, not to punish. And before you ask: no crook on that Bridge was over Standard Class. There was never a need or authorization for that much loss of life. It was just a stupid moment where things got out of hand. And it’s why I’m worried about you, Vince.”

Ralph turned back, motioning for Vince to step forward. He did, leaving Mary and the teleporting DVA agent to their rear. Once he reached Ralph’s side, the older man extended a finger, pointing out to the wreckage where so many people lost their lives. “Raze needed a lot of mistakes to do that kind of damage. A lot of things that had to go wrong at the same time. But you, Vince, are on a whole other level than he was. If you lost control, if you got angry and vengeful, or just decided to dig in and defend someone you loved, you could easily accomplish that level of destruction in, what… maybe two to three blows? I’ve seen you training to use bigger amounts of power; I know you spent the winter at Lander East. Maybe someday all you’ll need is one sloppy punch, one burst of anger, and suddenly there’s a different city putting up a new plaque.”

“I wouldn’t—” Vince cut himself off. What was he going to say? That he’d never lose control like that? There was a tape proving exactly otherwise and a super-speed crook who’d nearly been murdered by Vince’s own hand. Denying his potential for anger was pointless. They both knew it was there, and no matter how hard Vince worked to master self-control, he wasn’t sure he could ever say without question that it wouldn’t come out again. But because of that doubt, he was watchful with himself, more so than when he’d tried to deny the potential for such fury existed.

After a deep breath of the chilly air, Vince started again. “I’m not perfect. You’re right, Mr. Chapman. I might make a mistake one day. I don’t want to. I’m training so hard, both my body in the gym and my mind in therapy to avoid that, but there are no guarantees. If you don’t trust me because you think one day I might slip up and cost people their lives, then there is nothing I can say to change your mind. It’s a terrifying thought, because no one is immune to making a mistake. The idea scares me too. But if you don’t trust me because you think I’m not aware of the destruction I could cause, the people I could hurt, or that I’d ever intend to use my power recklessly, then let me assure you that’s not the case. No one knows how dangerous I am better than I do. No one takes the threat I present more seriously than I do. One day, something like this might be my handiwork. I can’t promise you it won’t be. All I can say is that I’m doing everything I can to make sure it never comes to that.”

“Not everything,” Ralph replied. “You could walk away from the Hero game; take that power of yours out of play. Knowing your history of losing control, one could argue that it’s the right thing to do.”

Vince stared out at the bridge, burning the image into his mind. It was something he needed to remember, to carry with him as ammunition for the next time he felt his anger overwhelming his common sense. “Except it isn’t the right thing to do. I can’t sit on the sidelines, knowing I have the strength to help people. It’s not how my father raised me, and it’s not the kind of man I’d ever want to be. If I saw people in need, I would help. I’d just be doing it with less training and self-control, which makes me more of a threat. I will make you a promise though, Mr. Chapman.”

Finally, Vince looked away from the bridge, turning to meet the curious eyes of the DVA agent who had been such a pain for the past year and a half. “If I ever do make a mistake like this, if I ever lose control and needlessly cost someone else their family, I’ll turn myself over to you and make a full confession. No one can promise they won’t make mistakes, but I swear to you I’ll always own mine. That’s the best I can do.”

“That’s better than most, if you mean it,” Ralph said.

“He does.” Mary’s voice carried from several feet away, causing a confused look to ripple across the teleporter’s face. They were too far out to overhear the conversation, but that was no hindrance to a telepath.

Ralph considered Vince carefully, searching his face for signs of falsehood in spite of Mary’s assurance. “By virtue of my job, I doubt we’ll ever see one another as allies, Vince. But if you hold true to that promise, I don’t think we need to be enemies.”

“I will.” Vince paused, eyes darting back to the bridge. “What happened to Raze? Did he stand trial for this?”

The earnest expression on Ralph’s face darkened for a flicker of a moment. “No. His Hero Certification was revoked, but he managed to slip out of criminal charges thanks to having been in the Class of Legends. Kept right on claiming he was innocent, too. Eventually, he showed his true colors; they caught him red-handed using his power to dissolve a gold depository’s walls and he went on the run. That’s the trouble with Supers, you see. They spend so much time above the laws of nature, they start to think they’re beyond the laws of man, too.”

“One day, if I make it past graduation and you manage to run Raze down, I’ll help you bring him to justice,” Vince said. “I owe you that much, for helping us last May.”

A gust of wind blew past them, ruffling Vince’s silver hair. When it faded, Ralph motioned for Mary and the DVA teleporter to come join them. “You’re a good guy, Vince. Just never forget that good intentions don’t excuse bad outcomes. Be better than the Heroes who came before you. Be accountable.”

171.

The first day back in the HCP was bustling with activity as the underground halls filled with black, gray, and white uniforms. There were fewer of the black ones, as the first semester’s traditional weeding out of the freshmen had severely chopped down the crop of potential Heroes, but they seemed to take up just as much space with their enthusiasm. It was hard for any of the older students to blame them; they remembered how exciting it was to come back after making it through the first major cut. In the chaos of the halls, Roy was pleased to see Ashley’s face—oddly tan for coming back from Winter Break—still present among the black uniforms. She’d gotten past her first major hurdle, and he felt a small swell of pride at the idea that his training may have helped get her there.

He worked to hold on to that feeling as he made his way into the gym, where Roy was unsurprised to find Dean Blaine awaiting them. After a test as intricate and carefully constructed as the end-of-semester trial, there was no way there wouldn’t be some sort of review. If they were lucky, maybe the rankings had even shifted, although there was no chalkboard present so Roy kept his hopes for such a thing constrained. Instead, he fell into the usual half-circle the students always formed when Dean Blaine was present and waited patiently.

“Students,” Dean Blaine said, bringing the entire class’s attention to him with a single word. “I’m sure you’re all curious as to why I’m here, and I won’t keep you in suspense. Today marks a significant moment in your Hero Certification training. This is, as you know, the home stretch. You have all done the incredible—the nigh-impossible, really—by making it this far in a program designed to test every facet of your being. Each and every one of you should feel beyond proud to be standing here today; yet even as I say these words, I know this isn’t enough for any of you. If it were, you would never have made it this far to begin with. All of you want to reach the final goal, the White Cape Ceremony, graduation, and Hero careers beyond these halls. Or at least, most of you do. Before we continue, there is an elephant in the room to address, something I assume you’ve all taken note of already: Mary Smith is not here today. She has elected to leave the Hero Certification Program.”

The room didn’t exactly fill with gasps, but Roy did note more than a few shocked looks, many of which were directed his way. Hershel was still figuring out how he felt about Mary quitting, though Roy personally agreed with her on that call. This wasn’t easy work, and if she didn’t think she could handle the strain, better she walk away before it tore her up inside. Being connected to the Hero world through Titan, Roy and Hershel had both seen the sleepless eyes and twitching reactions of Heroes who’d spent a long time in the field.

“Ms. Smith’s decision, while I’m sure puzzling to many of you, is the right one for her. And I want to take this moment to remind all of you that it is not cowardice to turn from a path you know in your heart is wrong for you; it is rather a sign of great bravery. I love the Hero world, and I value my time spent in it, but under no circumstances would I say it is an easy life, nor one meant for every Super. If you’re ever having doubts or questions about what it entails, then feel free to talk to your professors, or Dr. Moran, or me. We will always speak truthfully with you about what lies ahead. However, since I suspect none of you plan to drop out here and now, perhaps it’s best to move on to what the remainder of the year entails.”

Surprise was replaced by curiosity as the others quickly accepted Mary’s departure and moved on to the next topic. If there was one thing that could be said about HCP training, it did a stellar job of teaching the students not to dwell too long on things outside their scope of control. They focused on what they could affect, things they could impact, and took the rest as it came.

“Little will change in your day-to-day routine for these final months,” Dean Blaine continued. “There will still be the monthly trials, and your training is still largely meant to be self-directed. Some of you have flourished when allowed to control your progress; others have fallen behind the crowd. If you are in the latter group, I urge you to take a hard look at what you’re doing and see if perhaps there aren’t better ways to improve. Outside of the day-to-day, however, there will be some other events you’ll need to be ready for. First and foremost: it is time to begin applying for internships.”

A soft murmur rippled through the students, one Dean Blaine silenced with a stern expression. “I’m aware that none of you know for certain who will graduate, but it hardly makes sense to scramble at the last moment, so existing Heroes begin offering and accepting conditional internships as of this point. If you graduate, you’ll learn under them, and if you fail to make the cut then they’ll look again next year. For those of you with specific Heroes you’ve met from whom you would like to learn, now is the time to reach out to them. There is a formal request system, though you’ll probably want to talk with them before going that route to confirm they are indeed interested. Some of you will receive offers within the next week, as Heroes can now formally present them. If you haven’t found a Hero yet who you think will make a good mentor, have no fear. The post-trial mixers will continue, and as I’ve said, there are Heroes who will take any applicants if you can’t find one you connect with. Everyone who graduates will have a mentor, but if you want someone specific, now is the time to be proactive.”

Dean Blaine paused here, allowing the students a few minutes to mull over the task he’d set before them. Roy wasn’t sure who he’d be reaching out to; there had been a lot of fine Heroes at the mixers, but none who seemed like a perfect match. Hell, it had taken him half the year just to think of a name, now he had to decide who to learn under? Maybe someone would make him an offer and take the issue off his plate. So long as it was someone decent, there was probably no reason to overthink it. He just hoped Hershel was on the same page.

“Aside from that, most of the other events are less immediate.” Dean Blaine had started once more, apparently deciding that had been enough time for everyone to sort themselves out. “You’ll be meeting with agents toward the end of the year—there is, of course, a final examination you’ll need to pass as we narrow down the candidates for graduation—and you’ll be talking to DVA representatives occasionally to better understand the relationship between their department and Heroes. But there is one issue that is more pressing, and it’s one I warned you about at the start of the year—a competition that comes near the end of this semester. Obviously contestants must be locked in place well before then. The time has come, senior class, to decide who will represent Lander in the grand battle we know as Intramurals.”

172.

A hand shot up before Dean Blaine’s voice had finished echoing through the gym. He nodded to its owner, Rich Weaver, to proceed.

“Aren’t we going to get the new rankings first?”

“Do you need them?” It was immediately clear that not only had Dean Blaine been ready for this question, he’d been expecting it. A hint of a smirk appeared on his lips as he looked from Rich to the rest of the students one by one. “As I just told you, your time in the HCP is nearing its end. When that final day arrives, assuming you make the cut, you’re going to need to adjust to a new world—one where a group of teachers won’t be carefully analyzing the skill level of you, your teammates, and your opponents in advance. Sometimes the DVA will have intel, but keep in mind that you are the first line of defense. That often means evaluating the potential danger of a new Super on the fly, as well as keeping a constant understanding of your own skills and abilities. If you’d like to see the new rankings before you make your call, I’ll have them brought out right now. But if you’d like to use this opportunity to test and hone your own collective evaluation skills, I certainly won’t stop you.”

The smirk vanished into a placid smile as Dean Blaine grew silent. Nobody needed to be a telepath—not that it would have worked on him, anyway—to know which of the options they were supposed to choose. An HCP education was more or less built on taking the hardest path possible at all times. However, another hand did go up, this one smaller and reaching a lower height than Rich’s had.

“Yes, Ms. Belden?”

“Can we get the results later? I mean, if we don’t take them now, but hit an impasse in making a decision, can we bring them in as new data to help break up disagreements? Or is this a one-time only chance?” Camille asked.

Dean Blaine’s smile grew a little less placid and a touch more impressed for a moment. “The results are yours; you may call for them whenever you like.”

“Okay, so we should at least talk it over and see what we come up with on our own first, right?” Alex broke the ice among the class, speaking to his fellow students rather than Dean Blaine. “I mean, I think we all know at least one pick right off the bat. We’ve got to send Chad.”

Eyes darted over to the blond student, who opened his mouth quickly. “My performance in the last trial was subpar, and I suspect it has devalued my overall ranking. You may wish to recon—”

“Nope, fuck that.” Shane cut his friend off, holding up his hand in the air. “I think we’ve all lost enough matches to you not to make a production out of this. All in favor of Chad representing Lander, and showing what our class is made of, raise a hand.”

Every student hand in the gym rose—even Dean Blaine had to resist the urge to lift his arm. Shane had hit the point perfectly; they’d been fighting Chad for their entire HCP careers and each of his classmates knew how powerful he was. More than that, though, they understood the depths of his resolve. If someone was going to fight for the pride of Lander, there was no doubt that Chad would be the top choice.

“So, that’s one of… three, wasn’t it?” Alice said.

“Four,” Dean Blaine corrected. “Lander has been selected to host again this year, due to various security circumstances. As such, we will be afforded a fourth slot.”

“I would have said Mary was a shoe-in too, but with her gone this gets a little more difficult.” Violet looked around the half-circle, eyeing her friends, acquaintances, and adversaries with an appraising eye. It didn’t matter who she liked; it didn’t matter who might prefer the visibility of being on such a grand stage. The only question she had to determine was who could win. “Given that Alice not only scored the most points but also lasted the longest in our trial, I think she should be put up for consideration.”

“But she’s a Subtlety major,” Amber protested.

“A Subtlety major with a phenomenal power, expert control, and a sharp mind.” Thomas locked eyes with Alice as he spoke, not an ounce of malice in them for his loss. All that shone on his face was respect for his opponent and fellow Lander student. “Violet is right. Regardless of major, the power to wield gravity is not something to be underestimated.”

There was a ripple of murmurs that ran through the crowd as they pondered Thomas and Violet’s suggestion. Will Murray was the one who turned it into action, however. Silently, he lifted his hand into the air, a clear vote for Alice to join the ranks of the Intramural team. The other students soon followed suit, lifting their arms into the air to signal approval. Rich and Amber were the last two hold-outs, though eventually seeing a sea of lifted hands spurred them to raise their own.

“Two out of four slots filled,” Dean Blaine noted.

“Before we cram those full, I’d like to nominate myself.” No one was particularly surprised to hear Amber put herself into consideration; from the way her eyes were darting about it was plain she’d been hoping someone else would toss her name into the hat.

“Amber makes a good point,” Alice said. Now that she was no longer in contention, she stepped forward to assume a judicial role in the process. “I’m fine with going, and I think we all know Chad never says no to a fight, but instead of picking from the whole class, we should narrow it down to the people who actually want to take on this kind of task. Dean Blaine, am I right that Intramurals are pretty taxing?”

“Extremely so. You’ll be fighting against the very best the other HCP schools have to offer, in front of other teachers, existing Heroes, and people with enough clout to garner invitations. It is something I would encourage every participant to treat with the utmost—forgive the word choice—gravity.” Dean Blaine didn’t really look too apologetic about the pun, but he kept a mostly straight face anyway.

Alice nodded then looked at the class. “Let’s narrow this down and make it easier on ourselves then. Everyone who wants to go to Intramurals, line up next to Amber. Everyone else, come over to me. Once we know the volunteers, it should be easier to pick our other two competitors.”

173.

Vince was on his way toward Alice when he felt a strong hand grab his shoulder. He turned to find Roy looking at him, a stern expression on his normally cheerful face.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Over to the side.” Vince tilted his head in the direction of Alice, in case Roy hadn’t taken the meaning.

“Oh hell no. You think you can beat the shit out of me like that and then just walk away from the big show? Vince, if nothing else you proved during that trial that you’re one of our top fighters, someone not to be fucked with lightly. You belong in that line, next to me, up for consideration.”

Vince glanced over to where Shane, Amber, and Thomas were already grouped up. “My power is dangerous, Roy. Probably not the best for sparring.”

“Ain’t that why you spent all winter working on control?” Roy released his grip on Vince’s shoulder and put his hand down. “Listen, whatever is waiting for us out there, it’s not going to be easier than anything we face in here. You want to wait until the stakes are real, or do you want to use every last training and practice opportunity the HCP provides? You were careful in our fight; I think you can handle this. But it ain’t my place to force you if you don’t believe that.”

Roy headed over to the line of volunteers, falling in next to Thomas. A few seconds later, Vince came over and stood next to him, leaning in to whisper a brief “Thanks” before everyone had settled into place. It was only after Vince arrived that Roy noticed Violet was on the other side instead of in the line. That was unexpected; she tended to throw herself into any fight she could. Then again, she was also more pragmatic than people gave her credit for. Perhaps she was too aware of her own rank and record when weighed against the people already in line.

“Anyone else?” Alice asked, stepping out again. With virtually no effort, she’d slipped into the leadership role; the woman had a talent for dealing with people, a talent that her Subtlety training was clearly improving upon. “Selena, your songs are powerful. You sure you want to be here? Adam, no one you want to mimic? Violet?”

All of them shook their heads, though Violet spoke up to add, “I’m proud of what I can do, but that doesn’t mean I’m blinded by pride. This is about putting forth our best, and I’m not one of those. Yet.”

“A fair, if perhaps debatable—as someone who’s fought you—point.” Alice smiled briefly at Violet before turning her attention to everyone else clustered nearby. “That means we have Amber, Shane, Thomas, Roy, and Vince up for Intramurals. It’s been over three years fighting each other, so I doubt we need to rehash what everyone is capable of. Let’s make this a discussion instead. Who has a person they really think should be in Intramurals, and why?”

“Amber’s got power and versatility,” Britney said. “She can handle herself against nearly any opponent, be they ranged or melee, with or without enhanced endurance. Since we’re sending our class against unknown opponents, I say it makes sense to pick the people who can deal with the greatest number of threats, and Amber definitely falls into that category.”

It was a strong argument, tempered somewhat by everyone’s knowledge that the two women were best friends. Amber was strong, no one could deny that, but she hadn’t always shown the sharpest judgment during trials. She’d racked up more accidental Sim-kills than anyone else among them, and while that was somewhat expected due to the destructive nature of her power, it was still a factor that sat heavily on their minds when they thought about sending her against another person.

“I don’t know if it is proper for me to speak, having already been nominated; however, if we are discussing Lander’s representation, then I feel it pertinent to voice myself on Shane’s behalf.” All eyes turned to Chad; his tone remained even and balanced as always. “While you all spoke of your constant experiences losing to me, very few of you have ever scored a victory over Shane. His ability is not one with a lot of flash, nor one that draws attention to itself, but he is one of the soundest, most dedicated fighters I have ever known. Were I not in this class, I believe he would have occupied the top position instead. Now, he and I are also good friends, so you may feel free to take that into consideration with my argument, but hear me well on this: friendship or not, I would never recommend someone I felt would bring embarrassment upon this school.”

Little was said in response to that, just a few whispers here and there. Still, as the eyes turned back to the Intramural candidates, it was plain to all of them that the number of slots open had just shrunk by one. When Chad spoke, especially on the subjects of fighting and Lander, people tended to listen.

“Thomas is a tough son of a bitch himself,” Violet tossed out. “And if you haven’t fought him lately, trust me, that energy of his is pretty damn dangerous.” It was a noble effort, clearly motivated by friendship, but the resigned look on Thomas’s face made it plain that he’d known his chances from the beginning. The odds of victory were slim, yet he’d pressed on regardless, because that was the sort of man he was. It might make him a great Hero one day, but it didn’t change his position in terms of combat-ranking in the class.

“And that leaves us with Vince and Roy,” Alice said. With Mary and Nick out of the program, she was the only one of the original core five who could speak on their behalf. “We’ve all seen the kind of damage Roy can take, to say nothing of what he can dish out. I pity the poor bastard put in a combat cell against him; they’d have an easier time knocking out a mountain. As for Vince… what do I even say? He’s got a great power that’s only increased over the years, his martial skills are top-notch, and, above all the rest, he’s determined. I think we’ll see the sun burn out before we see the day when Vince Reynolds gives up on a fight.”

She paused, looking back at the crowd, waiting to see who else would speak. No one took the opportunity. There wasn’t much to say, in the end. They knew these five well; they’d traded blows with them, trusted them, fought alongside and against them. The words were just that: words. In their bones, the class knew who they feared and respected, who they believed would show the best Lander could offer on the stage of Intramurals. After several moments of silence, Alice resumed.

“Unless I’m reading the room wrong, I think we have one we can knock out early. Everyone in favor of Shane DeSoto taking one of the spots?”

As with Chad before him, every student hand went up to approve of Shane, save of course for those standing next to him in the line. Alice took a brief scan then looked to Shane. “You can come over here; that’s more than enough to get you in.”

“And now you are down to your final spot.” Dean Blaine had been silent through the discussion, allowing his students to reach their own conclusions. He fell silent after the announcement, content to wait on the sidelines and watch as it all unfolded.

“Last spot,” Alice echoed. “This is our bonus position, the one nobody else is going to have. I’ll go through the names; put your hand up for the person you think should get it. The Super who you believe in your heart that, when the chips are down, could show up and turn everything around. Vote for the one who can give us a win in the clutch, because that’s what they may have to do.”

One by one, Alice cycled through the names. Amber got a couple of votes, though from her sour expression, it was clear she’d expected more. Thomas got only one, and he looked at Violet with plain gratitude for it. Roy and Vince turned out to be the split. It was close, very close, really, but in the end, one of them triumphed by a single vote’s margin.

“And our last competitor for Intramurals will be... Vince Reynolds.”

174.

“Congratulations to all of our Intramurals competitors.” Dean Blaine clapped his hands, retaking control and attention from Alice, who demurely stepped back. “There will be some additional meetings as we draw closer to the event, but for now you just need to keep the impending competition in mind as you train. Your classmates have trusted you to represent them, as well as our institution as a whole. Don’t take that trust lightly.”

One of the gym doors opened, and Professor Pendleton appeared alongside Professor Fletcher. The two of them wheeled in a chalkboard, trying not to bang it against the doorway and failing multiple times. No one looked directly at them, keeping their vision on Dean Blaine; however, more than a few students were scanning for details using their peripheral vision.

“Now then, while I am impressed by the deductive assessments and choices you all made without knowing the new ranks, the unveiling is a necessary part of your education,” Dean Blaine said. “Remember, those of you with low combat rankings are not necessarily out for graduation; we take into account far more than brute force. However, if combat is the primary Hero skill you bring to the table, this is an important factor to take into account. Those of you who are placed highly should prepare to defend your spots, because the others will try to rise to the challenge. Those of you with low ranks, you have one semester left. Whether you try to raise your combat skill or pursue other avenues to round out your Hero arsenal is up to you, but now is the time to pick a plan and push with all you’ve got.”

Professor Pendleton and Professor Fletcher arrived, the chalkboard’s blank side facing the students. They looked to Dean Blaine, who gave a brief nod. At his signal they flipped the board over, revealing the new rankings on the other side as the dean continued his speech. “Everyone, please take five minutes to note your rank, as well as the ranks of your classmates. You can speak to your teachers if you need help understanding any changes, but until then we still have your gym session.”

There was no pushing or shoving to see the chalkboard; such tactics weren’t necessary. There were so few of them left now, it was easy for everyone to gather up around the rank listings. So many who’d been there were gone, whittled down to these few, who would be even fewer when the end came. And here, written in chalk, was their best hint as to whether or not they would be among the final count. While most were hunting for their own rank above all else, there was one major shift in the overall rankings that everyone noted nearly immediately.

“Congratulations,” Chad said, clapping Shane on the back. “You pulled ahead. Don’t expect me to give up on taking that spot back, but you definitely deserve it more after that last trial.”

Sure enough, Shane DeSoto had overtaken Chad Taylor for the number one combat rank in the class. Chad, meanwhile, had fallen into the number two position. It was still a close race, but for the first time since this class began, someone other than Chad was standing at the top of the heap. It was a stark reminder that no one, not even the seemingly unbeatable Chad, was safe in their position.

For his part, Shane just stared at the board for a long while. His hands flexed, clenching into fists, and then relaxing slowly. Several times, it looked like he might speak, but when he finally did it wasn’t a boisterous yelp of celebration like most were expecting. Instead, he sounded subdued, perhaps even a little sad. “Last year, Angela beat me at something we’d spent our lives competing for, and then turned down the prize. I couldn’t understand it at the time—why put in so much work if she didn’t even want it? She told me that it was because winning, getting what she wanted, it was all hollow if she didn’t earn that victory. It took me a while, but I finally get it. This is what she didn’t want to feel.”

“You put on an excellent showing,” Chad told him. “You and Alex beat a professor.”

“Maybe so, but only because you sacrificed yourself to give us the chance, not to mention helped out even while unconscious.” Shane turned from the board to look Chad in the eye. “I don’t count this as a victory. It’s not the way I want to surpass you. End of year rankings: that’s where we settle things. Bring everything you’ve got to Intramurals, because when the dust settles, I’ll be in the number one spot. And that time, I’ll deserve it.”

“As I see things, you deserve it now. But I welcome your challenge, as I always have.” Chad smiled, and Shane mirrored the expression. It had taken some time for them to balance their competitiveness alongside their friendship; however, once they found stability, it had only served to make their bond stronger.

Roy stepped over, looking past their heads. “At least you moved, Shane. More than three years I’ve been doing this shit, and I’m still at number five. Getting passed up now, too. Though I can’t say I’ve got much ground to protest either of those rankings.”

The students Roy was talking about, numbers three and four on the chalkboard, were standing next to each other, looking at the rankings with a bit of shock. More than a few whispers surrounded them as Alice leaned over to Vince. “Is that really right? Did I go from number eleven to number four? I thought they took past performance into account with these.”

“The performances you’re talking about are well in the past. If you hadn’t been starting from so low, you may well have overtaken the top spots. Given how well you did, I’m amazed I stayed above you,” Vince replied. He hadn’t been sure where he’d end up in the grand scheme of things, but not only had he held his position, he’d risen by a rank into the class’s number three spot. There was no question in his mind that the shift was largely due to Mary’s departure, since she’d opened up a new position near the top. Still, progress was progress, and he was glad to see it. Like Roy, combat was all Vince had. If he wanted to graduate, he needed to be among the best.

“Huh.” Alex was noting his own rank, which had him in spot number eight; the first time he’d ever cracked the top ten. “Has anyone else noticed that, without knowing we were doing it, we picked the top four ranks for Intramurals?”

“Oh shit, you’re right,” Violet said. “Chad, Shane, Vince, and Alice. What does that mean?”

“It means that you have demonstrated exceptional skill in assessing one another, and yourselves,” Dean Blaine answered, despite the question not being directed toward him. “I’ve presided over many of these selection discussions, and very rarely do the students show such wisdom in their choices. Usually, this is a moment of reckoning where they realize their alliances and rivalries caused them to vote against the class’s overall interest, but you all have proven yourselves exemplary yet again.”

Dean Blaine walked to the chalkboard and flipped it back over, showing them the blank side once more. “But all of that is in the past as of now. You know where you stand, now turn your attention to where you want to go. There’re only a few months left, and you have lots of training to do. So everyone take a five-minute stretch and then be ready to run. It’s time to get started.”

175.

Code-breaking, technology-hacking, anything to do with the digital- or puzzle-based, all of it was in Will Murray’s ballpark. There was little he couldn’t do with tech, given enough parts and prep time. But he’d learned long ago that the human side of the equation was not his strongest point. Even after booking as many training sessions in the Blonk as he could, Will had only succeeded in becoming marginally better at catching facial tics and discerning which fake assets were trustworthy. The failing didn’t surprise him; he’d never been especially good with people. If not for Jill constantly dragging him out into proper society, he probably would have spent his whole life in a basement surrounded by electronics. Through discipline and study, Will had learned enough to get through basic social interactions; he’d managed to make his own friends by the end of high school. But what he needed now wasn’t someone half-competent. For this plan, he needed an expert.

Staring at his computer screen, Will looked at the roster he’d compiled of his classmates, even though he knew most of it by heart. No real names were used, of course, and the whole thing was written in a code just in case his computer was ever hacked by someone with tech-skill equal to his own. Still, all the pertinent information he needed was at his fingertips. Mary’s departure from the program, while sad, had also opened up whole new avenues of attack. Dealing with Kennedy Dawson and her movement was treacherous territory; he couldn’t risk involving anyone else in the program. Only he and Camille were known to them, and that was how it would stay. People who’d left the HCP, however, were a whole other matter. They didn’t have secrets to betray, though they were threads that a smart and resourceful enemy could pull on to unravel the secrets of their friends. He needed to use them carefully, and at just the right times.

“Yo, I finished the job.” Jill appeared at his doorway, earlier than expected. It was easy to forget how much free time she had to work now that the HCP wasn’t eating so much of her days. Will felt a pang of sadness at the thought, followed by one of relief. It was still strange to picture entering the Hero world without Jill, but part of him was glad she wouldn’t be putting herself in danger.

Jill walked over and set a piece of paper down in front of Will. On it were a few numbers and usernames hurriedly scribbled down. “I connected every bit of tech those people had to the backdoors you wanted. Some needed password and username crap, so I made things up on the fly. With this, you should be able to remotely access everything they have: cell phones, laptops, I even made a path to one of those digital step counter things that connect to the Internet. Part of me feels like I should tell you how incredibly illegal this shit is, though.”

Smoothing out the paper, Will read carefully, making sure he could discern every digit and letter before Jill left. “It’s not illegal. It’s Subtlety.” He paused, considering his own words. “Okay, fine, it’s illegal. That an issue?”

“Not for me. I’m more than happy to do my part to take these fuckers down. But you’re still in the running to be a Hero. Shouldn’t you be careful with stuff like this?” Jill asked.

She wasn’t wrong. Gathering information, pretending to be one of Kennedy’s group, all of that had been on the right side of the law. What he was doing now, to say nothing of what he was planning, crossed the line. Will had been over that line before—not often, but enough. He knew the ground there was perilous, even more so now that he had so much to lose. Yet, all the same, whenever he considered backing off, Will’s mind wandered back to the night in May when Lander was attacked. Not the chaos, or the bloodshed, or even seeing Sasha’s body. No, what rose to the forefront of his memory was Vince, standing across from Dean Blaine, willing to sacrifice his future to do the right thing in the moment. Will knew he was never going to be a moral bastion, and he understood that many would look upon his methods with rightful disgust. But if he didn’t do what he could, when he could, to protect people who needed help, that was when he would fail to be a Hero.

“I’m in the Subtlety program,” Will told his sister. “If they didn’t want me working around a few systems, they shouldn’t have made a major out of it. And don’t worry. I’m being careful. The only ones I’m working with are people I can trust.”

“Be more careful, for me. I’m loving the free time, but I don’t think you’d take leaving the HCP as well as I did.” Jill patted Will on the back then headed toward the door. “Let me know if you need any more help. Just because I’m not in the program doesn’t mean I don’t have my friends’ backs.”

Will sat staring at the screen and mulling over her words after she left. There was something there, something he could use, and as he distilled it further down a curved grin appeared on his face, lit by the white glow of his monitor. Now that was an angle he could get some mileage out of. But, like every other idea he’d considered so far, it had the same failing: Will was going to need a face. Someone to represent the opposition to the Take Back Lander campaign. Someone dangerous, and skillful, and trustworthy. Someone who excelled at the other side of Subtlety, someone who could do with people what Will could do to electronics.

Although Alice did technically have the skillset required, Will couldn’t bring himself to drag her into this. She would help if he told her the situation, but she shouldn’t. Those five already seemed to have enough on their plate with all the sneaking around, and besides, he’d already decided that no more active students should get involved. Gambling his own secret was one thing, and Camille had come into this on her own. Bringing in someone else was a different matter. But there was still a candidate out there. One who checked off every box, with the exception of the criteria that was probably most important: trustworthiness. Given his few options, Will was going to have to take what he had and make peace with a higher level of risk. Besides, for all the faults this man had, he was generally loyal to his friends. Since they were the ones in danger, that meant Will could probably trust this fellow to stay in line somewhat.

It seemed that Will was going to have to reach out to another former HCP student. He just hoped Nick Campbell was up for playing a bad guy.

176.

Professor Cole examined the form carefully, her eyes moving slowly over each section. There weren’t many, admittedly, but what was there had to be done precisely right. Such was one of the many joys of working with government agencies. But things like this were important; a mistake here or there could lead to major issues down the road when dealing with licensing and concept ownership. Better to take the time and scrutinize these forms rather than let the kids start off on a bad foot.

Finally, she lowered the page back onto her desk, looking across it to Roy Daniels, who was more nervous than he’d ever been during one of his fights.

“It looks good. Once I turn it in, you’re set.”

Roy’s muscular body seemed to ooze with relief at the news; he sat back in his chair and adjusted his hat. “Thank goodness. Hershel was up late going over that to make sure we did everything right.”

“Well, he nailed it. This might be one of the few times I haven’t found anything in need of correction,” Professor Cole said. “You already checked to make sure the name hasn’t existed previously?”

“Yes, ma’am. No known record of a Hero called Ettin in any of the databases where you told us to look. So far as we know, it should be free and clear.” Roy was still relaxed, though he did grow a touch more tense at the question. Clearly, he still thought some surprise hurdle might pop up to knock them off course.

“I’ll do some digging as well, just to be certain, but I think you’re going to be fine with this.” Professor Cole glanced down at the document, specifically at the name written in the largest blank. Generally, she tried not to question the choices of her students when picking names and personas. A Hero’s call sign was something personal and special, often coming from places they didn’t always want to delve into. In this case, however, curiosity got the better of her. “What does it mean, anyway? What’s an Ettin?”

No sooner had the words left her mouth than Roy turned sheepish. She was about to retract the question, but he began to speak before she could. “It’s a mythical monster. Hershel learned about it from those dice games he plays. Don’t worry, we checked and the creature predates those games so they should be public domain. Anyway, Ettins are two-headed giants. Really strong, really tough, and sometimes they’d use small trees like clubs. When thinking over Hero names, that was the one that seemed to fit us the best.”

A two-headed brute. Well, it was a little on the nose, but only because she knew about Hershel. To the criminals he’d face, assuming they had enough knowledge of monster lore to even place the name, it would seem like something Roy had picked up just because he was tough and used a bat. They would never guess the true implications of an Ettin’s two-headed nature, and they’d underestimate Roy because of that. Personally, Professor Cole was rather fond of such tactics when choosing names. After all, not many crooks had been fearful of a Hero called Seamstress, right up until she appeared and showed them the true meaning of her moniker. And it fit the brothers well, drawing on aspects of both their identities to create a Hero persona that represented each of them.

“I like it,” she told Roy. “It’s a strong name. I think one day it’s going to be whispered like a curse among criminals, and yelled like a prayer among the innocent. Assuming you keep your efforts up and make it to graduation, I mean. Don’t go slacking off near the end.”

“Slack off?” Roy asked. “I just failed to make the cut for Intramurals. Ain’t no part of me thinking about slacking off right now. If anything, Hershel and I are doubling down on our training. We’ve got one semester left to close the gap and reach the top of this class. No way we’re giving up on that until the last punch is thrown.”

“Yes, well, I can’t say your classmates didn’t choose some strong competitors, but don’t get too down about who was selected.” Professor Cole considered her next words carefully. She wanted to encourage Roy, but it needed to be done without disparaging other students. “Remember, you and Chad, from the perspective of your class, both fill the strongman role. Given his record, if they were going to choose one from that category to send, it makes sense that they’d go with him.”

Roy tilted his hat back slightly, making sure he could look Professor Cole directly in the eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not down about missing the cut. It sucks, yeah, but I ain’t got room to argue. Vince beat me, flat-out, and Chad’s done the same many a time before. Right now, they’re stronger than I am. That’s why I’m working toward the future instead of being caught up in where I am today.”

Although Roy couldn’t see it under her ever-present bandages, Professor Cole smiled. Ego had always been Roy’s biggest weakness, a failure that it seemed he was starting to overcome. Rather than be slighted by a loss, making excuses or justifications, he was using it as motivation to improve. She liked that—hell, she respected that. It was the attitude of a Hero, and if he kept it up, she was positive he’d be walking across the graduation stage.

“Speaking of the future, do you have any thoughts on potential mentors? I ask because after the show you put on during the midyear trial, I’d be shocked if a few offers didn’t make their way to you. It might be prudent to have some top picks in mind.”

“No, ma’am,” Roy said. “Lots of the people I spoke with either were or worked with strongman-type Heroes, but to be honest, none of them really stood out to me. I know some have better reputations than others, and some of them would make starting a career easier. I don’t particularly care about that, though. All I want is someone who can make me stronger, who can teach me to be the best possible Hero I can be. Figuring out who can do that from handshakes and small talk is tough. If you’ve got any pointers, I’m open to hearing them.”

“Pragmatically, I guess your best bet is to see who makes you an offer and then do your research. You can read up on their careers online, and if any of the staff has worked with them, we’ll shoot straight with you about what they’re like. If we haven’t, we’ll find someone who has. Your mentor is a big deal; you deserve to know what you’re stepping into.” She stopped, wondering if to go on would be overstepping her bounds as an educator. It probably was, but she pressed on anyway. Sonya Cole had never been one for the laws of decorum. “All of that said, I think most of the time when you meet your mentor, you know it. Something clicks, and you can just see yourself learning from them. If you haven’t had that yet, then keep shaking hands at the mixers. You might get more than you think out of it.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. Do I need to do anything else with the form?” Roy rose from his chair, looking down at her desk and the slip of paper on it.

She followed his gaze, aware of how much he’d put into that single page. So many hours looking for a name, trying on ones that never felt quite right, until finally he’d found the one that fit. It was part of the Hero journey, and she could remember being in his shoes, nervously turning over a form to a professor of her own. “No, I’ve got it from here. Looks like you’re good to go, Roy. Or should I say, Ettin?”

177.

For the first time since he’d ever set foot on Lander’s campus, Nick felt wholly present. No part of him was back in Vegas, wondering about turf wars and power plays, trying to calculate what would be waiting for him on the next trip home. There was no going back anymore, not really. He might make a quick trip or two when the year came to an end, but there wouldn’t be much time to waste on the past. His new career goals were ambitious to say the least, and the more time he spent working on them, the better. Besides, the idea of going back to Vegas for any prolonged amount of time felt dangerous. Ms. Pips might have bought into the proposal, at least on a trial basis, but there were bound to be other forces trying to pull him back into that world, especially now that Gerry was gone.

Taking a step back, Nick examined the framed photos he’d just finished hanging up on his bedroom wall. There were two of them: one an iconic picture of the Vegas Strip, lit up in all its brilliance, and one a photo of Gerry and a young Nick standing outside a casino. Nick was at peace with moving on from his past, but he felt no inclination to abandon it entirely. Vegas, the Family, Ms. Pips, and Gerry: all of it had shaped him into the man he was today. Carefully, Nick nudged the picture of Vegas slightly to the left, making it level. It felt fitting to keep some piece of that with him, just as he would no doubt hang a photo of Lander in whatever domicile he occupied when the semester came to a close.

There was no shortage of other tasks on his plate: learning about Charles Adair’s crimes and Globe’s innocence had only given him more to do, and there was still the matter of flushing out the mole. Still, these moments were important. He’d seen what happened to people who couldn’t step away from their work, and Nick had no intention of going down that path. Regardless of what job he had, he would define it, not the other way around.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and Nick snatched it up by the third ring. “Yes, Eliza?”

“We’ve got a guy heading in your direction, climbing the stairs. Student, one of your old running buddies. I think I met him at Halloween, he went by Will?” She didn’t seem especially panicked, which was fair, since they’d yet to see any aggression from the HCP students. But Eliza didn’t know Will the way Nick did. If he was making an approach like this, it meant he either needed something or was coming to settle a score. Nick was pretty sure he hadn’t done anything to slight either of the Murray twins, but he tucked a knife into his pocket just to be on the safe side. Underestimating Will was an easy mistake to make, and one that rarely worked out well.

“Let him through. Will’s a useful friend to have; I’m glad to make some time for him.”

Nick checked the photos one last time, then made his way to the front door. Just before Will could knock, he pulled it open. Will’s face was unsurprised; he’d clearly expected Nick to be aware of and waiting for him. “You should really upgrade to phones with better security. At this range, it was almost too easy to listen in. Tell Eliza I said hi, by the way.”

“I’ll pass it along,” Nick replied, motioning for Will to step inside. It might have been a parlor trick—Will was smart and there was a fifty-fifty shot to guess which lapdog was on security duty at any given time—but Nick made a note to see if there were ways to upgrade their communication security, anyway. Hell, if this meeting went well he might just ask Will to do it. “So, what brings you by? If you’re here for game night, we only do those on Wednesdays.”

Will looked around the apartment, ostensibly checking out the décor while in reality probably searching for traps or monitoring devices. “I might take you up on that sometime. The chance to test my strategic skills against you and Hershel sounds like quite the opportunity.”

“We cycle between games based on skill versus ones based more on luck, since we want the others to have fun, too,” Nick said. “But if you set a weekend aside I bet you, me, and Hershel could kill a few days playing one of those world-conquering games and really pissing each other off.”

Reaching into his pocket, Will produced a circular device roughly the size of a stack of coasters, one with bits of wire and circuits sticking out. “Forgive the lack of aesthetics; I had to make this one on the fly.” Will flipped a switch, and several lights started glowing red. “This should knock out any remote listening or recording devices in the area. Mine and yours. This meeting is happening off the record, and I think we’ll both prefer it stay that way by the end.”

Nick’s curiosity was piqued; Will hadn’t ever been this bold in the past. He’d always been best working behind the scenes, staying out of sight and never displaying his true aptitude. To come in with such an aggressive approach meant that either Will had significantly stepped up his game, or the situation he was in was quite dire.

“I’m not sure what you think I have to say that I don’t want recorded. After all, I’m just a normal student these days. No cool HCP business or superhero intrigue to discuss.”

A small frown pushed down in Will’s mouth, and he shook his head. “I thought we could skip this part, since it was all rather implied, but I guess some things still need to be said out loud. I know you remember the HCP, Nick. I don’t know how you undid the wipe, or how much you got back, but you are too smart and resourceful to let someone permanently tinker with your brain. It was a given; I knew that from the day you were expelled, and your actions since then have only proved to me how right I am.”

“If that were true, I’m sure you could understand why I’d be unable to openly admit to it,” Nick said.

“Hence why I brought a device to prevent outsiders from electronically observing or recording this conversation. But if you don’t want to say it, that’s fine. I don’t need to hear the words to know I’m correct, and your memory isn’t why I came over in the first place.” Will lowered himself onto the couch, staring at Nick and waiting until he took a seat as well. “I’m here because I need your help. Not just me, the whole class, maybe even the whole HCP. What do you know about the Take Back Lander initiative?”

“Small group of students who wanted to kick the HCP off of campuses where normal students lived and went to school. They had a few good weeks early in the year and then started dying off. I haven’t kept tabs on them beyond that; they were kind of small potatoes and I’ve had a lot going on.” Nick had actually dug a bit deeper than he was letting on, but nothing he saw gave him reason to think the group would find the funds or audience they needed to keep going at Lander. Things could change, though, and given that Will had seen a problem important enough to approach him over, they clearly had done just that.

Reaching into his pocket, Will produced a stack of pages and held them out to Nick. “Their leader, Kennedy Dawson, is reorganizing the group to try and hunt down HCP students and out them. She’s focused, determined, and good at marshaling her forces. Without her, the whole thing would have crumbled. Instead, it’s just changed tactics.”

“And I take it you have a counterplan?” Nick took the pages, cracking them open and flipping through.

“I do. Or the start of one, anyway. There are a lot of components I’ll need to make it work, but you’re an irreplaceable one. This can’t happen in a vacuum. They need to meet someone, be confronted by a living embodiment of their opposition. Given the range of the role, I think you might be the only one who can play it.”

Slowly, Nick turned the pages, reading Will’s research, existing steps, and plan for moving forward. As he got to the section featuring a face, his ever-present smirk took on a more malicious gleam. “I’m in. We’ve got a lot to talk over, and I’m going to have input on this moving forward, but if I get to be this guy, then you can count me in all the way.”

Will’s whole body flooded with a brimming sense of relief, as well as a small trickle of pity for Kennedy Dawson and her cronies. They really had no idea what sort of monster Will had just called down upon them.

178.

Despite Dean Blaine’s warning, there was still a wave of surprise as the denizens of Melbrook came home from class to find four piles of crisp letters stacked neatly on the coffee table. There were varying amounts in each stack, although none had fewer than four in any pile. Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport were standing nearby, ready to explain. It was clear that they had been the ones to arrange the mail so carefully, and even more apparent that documents like this had certainly not been sent by means of regular postal services. The fact that they were addressed to initials rather than full names was proof enough of that. Although they all knew what was waiting for them on sight, it was Hershel who said the words out loud, whispering them like a holy prayer as he stepped closer to the four stacks on the table.

“Those are our internship offers, aren’t they?”

“Got it in one shot,” Mr. Transport replied. “That’s correct. These are offer letters—contingent on graduation, of course—from the Heroes who’ve been impressed with what you’ve shown thus far. If there’s someone you were hoping to get an offer from that isn’t here, remember that there’s still half a year left. I’m told some Heroes don’t make their selections until closer to graduation.”

Hershel started to reach forward, but hesitated. At his side, Mary took his free hand and gave it a firm squeeze. Under different circumstances, she’d have had a stack of her own, and she’d be radiating as much tension as her friends. Not all of them had specific letters they were hoping for, but the prospect of having to hunt for a good mentor was still a daunting thought. If there wasn’t someone who felt like a good fit in the offers, it would add more stress to the already daunting task of making it through their final semester.

Eventually, Hershel moved his hand the rest of the way forward and took the pile of envelopes bearing the initials “R.D.” into his arms.

The others followed suit: first Alice, then Vince, and finally Chad, whose pile was easily the largest of the lot. Alice held up a hand before anyone could tear in, forcing everyone to pause. “Is there some sort of ceremony or toast for this kind of thing? It feels like a moment where we should do something, you know?”

“How about wishing everyone good luck,” Vince suggested.

“Or we could just bring them to Nick’s and make sure we’ve got luck on our side,” Hershel countered. “But maybe that wouldn’t work, since the contents of the envelopes are already printed. One day, I’ve really got to sit down with Nick and figure out exactly what that power of his can do.”

“I think you’ve got better chances of getting an internship offer from Captain Starlight.” Alice barely suppressed a snicker at the idea of getting a straight answer from the mouth of Nicholas Campbell.

The sound of tearing paper filled the air; all eyes moved to Chad as he carefully peeled open the first of his envelopes. After a few seconds, he noticed the stares and looked up. “I’m sorry, I thought we were done with the toasting part after you all slipped into small talk. And, if I’m honest, I’m quite interested to see who is reaching out to me.”

“Chad’s right, no more stalling.” Vince ripped into one of his envelopes as well, albeit with far less delicacy than Chad. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Speech fell away as the sound of tearing and unfolding paper filled the air, each student meticulously going through their offers one by one. Some of the names rang quite familiar; others they could scarcely recall from the mixers. A few were complete mysteries, but they had been told not every Hero who might want an intern enjoyed mingling at the post-trial events.

Alice was the one who broke the silence this time, letting out a deep sigh of relief as she perused one of the last letters in her pile.

“Looks like Gale from Elemental Fury wasn’t just blowing smoke. She sent me an official offer letter.” Alice held it up for the room to see, as if she was afraid they wouldn’t believe her.

“Gale isn’t a Subtlety Hero though, is she?” Hershel asked.

“No, but she’s the leader of long-standing team, plus Elemental Fury has a Subtlety Hero I can learn from. I’ve always been about half-Control and half-Subtlety anyway, so I think this will be a good fit for my kind of education. Plus, I like the idea of learning from the head of a team; it’s a position I might want to fill myself one day.”

“Well, you might have some company.” Hershel flipped his own letter around to show the word “Granite” near the top in bold print. “Looks like Elemental Fury’s strongman is interested in Roy and me.”

“They are a good team with a strong reputation. I would encourage both of you to consider those options seriously.” Chad was going through his letters, popping each open, reading it, and then setting it aside without so much as a flicker in expression. “I have a few excellent options as well, although I’d like to speak with Shane and compare our offers before making any firm decisions. I think it would be preferable to go into my internship with a friend in the same city, if possible.”

“Huh, that’s more sentimental than I was expecting from you,” Alice said.

Chad nodded, as if to say he understood. “New Heroes are especially prone to making mistakes, even with the supervision of more experienced Heroes watching over them. I think there is something to be said for having a friend you trust and whose capabilities you know watching your back, and vice versa.”

It was the sort of logical, pragmatic decision process they expected from Chad, which was why it caught everyone by surprise when he kept talking. “Beyond the safety issue, however, I simply like the idea of being with my best friend after college. I am… not the best at connecting with other people, so I greatly prize the connections I do manage to make. Should things work out well, perhaps we can even work in Port Valins, near Angela. I must confess, the challenge of such a city appeals to me.”

“Given the pile of offers you’ve got, I’m betting you can find a place anywhere you want to go.” Vince was finishing up the last of his offers, this one from a respectable energy blaster he’d met a few months back. His options had been strong, even if he didn’t especially feel a strong connection with any of them. The truth of the matter was that Vince hadn’t met any Hero who felt like a perfect fit yet, and he was resigned to that. As the son of Globe, the fact that he was getting offers at all was miraculous, and Vince was well aware of that. So long as he found someone trustworthy and committed to doing the job well, that would be enough for him.

With all of the letters opened, the mood in the room had lightened considerably, save for Hershel. He was still digging through his letters, rereading them as if he’d missed something. While most of the others could guess what he was looking for, no one said anything about it.

After all, it would have been in poor taste to point out that he was clearly looking for a nonexistent offer letter from Titan.

179.

“Lastly, filling the final spot, the students have selected Vince Reynolds.” Dean Blaine watched the projected faces of his fellow HCP deans at the announcement, ready for any semblance of pushback. Even if they didn’t know the truth about Globe, these were educators who should realize that the sins of the parents were not their children’s to atone for. Still, Dean Blaine had been around long enough to be surprised by people, and he found it useful to be aware of opposition as soon as possible.

There was only one negative reaction to the news. Dean Jackson frowned at the announcement, his weathered face creasing visibly. “Well, that’s disappointing.”

“Really? I was sort of hoping I’d get to see the kid with so much hoopla around him,” Dean Fox replied.

“I’m sure Mr. Reynolds will put on an excellent show, but I was looking forward to seeing what the son of Titan could accomplish. Since I wasn’t selected to train him, I’d at least expected to be able to appraise his skill with my own eyes.” Dean Jackson considered the point for a moment longer. “Then again, I suppose this might be a blessing. If your students had decided to send Titan’s boy, I might have had to give up hope on taking the top position this year. Good thing they didn’t see his potential.”

“Trust me, Herbert. My kids picked a powerful lineup. I won’t say Roy Daniels wouldn’t have made a fine addition to the team, but the four we’re putting in are already a daunting challenge of their own.” Dean Blaine wasn’t a fan of pointless bragging; however, he didn’t see anything wrong with setting realistic expectations.

Dean Bishop was looking over her notes, carefully logging the students each dean had submitted for Intramurals. “You’re sure the kids made these picks, Blaine? I can’t help but notice that we’ve got the children of two guys from your class, Intra and Globe, the daughter of The Alchemist, and the grandson of Captain Starlight. That’s a lot of Supers with strong pedigrees being put up for the fight.”

“And every one of them has fought tooth and nail to earn their place,” Dean Blaine said, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. He’d been prepared for someone to bring this point up, but he wasn’t going to tolerate it for a moment. The origins of his students were irrelevant; they’d made it to Intramurals with their own strength, not their relatives’. “Trust me: these kids are a fine representation of Lander. I look forward to showing you that firsthand. And Dean Jackson, if you ever want to see Roy Daniels fight then come to one of the trials. I’m sure he’ll put on a show worth seeing.”

“If we have testing days that don’t overlap, I may take you up on that.” Dean Jackson checked his own pages, on which he’d written nothing yet still seemed to be reading. “Anyway, with Lander locked in, that takes care of the submissions for Intramurals. Next up is the obvious issue we tackle every meeting: security. The DVA has approved funding for all the extra security measures we’ve proposed so far, but we’ve still got no idea what the Sons of Progress are planning, if anything.”

“Do they even have the structure to still be a threat?” Dean Silva asked. “I thought after Lander the Heroes had more or less decimated their ranks.”

“In terms of money and influence, they’ve been almost decimated by all accounts,” Dean Jackson confirmed. “But Crispin is still dangerous on his own. The level of amplification he seems capable of imparting can turn any Super who hates us into a high-level threat. With a handful of zealots he can create a strike force of considerable danger.”

No one spoke to—or even looked toward—Dean Blaine as Dean Jackson spoke, not that they would have seen anything if they had. He was well-aware of the assessments on Crispin’s power—in fact, much of that information had come from Dean Blaine as he helped determine the baseline abilities of the Supers who had attacked his campus. Once Crispin was gone and the effects of his power had faded, a team of DVA agents and Heroes had carefully figured out what the attacking Supers’ initial abilities had been. Seeing how weak they were compared to what they’d been capable of with augmentation had both terrified and infuriated Dean Blaine. That Crispin could amplify Supers to such a degree, and to think of what he could do with that power on a Hero team, made it all the more appalling that he was using his skill to hurt people.

But no matter how much he could amplify, no matter how many Supers he surrounded himself with, it wouldn’t stop Dean Blaine. Every morning before work, he made a trip down to the lowest level of the HCP, where a large wall filled with names resided. He’d look at them all, taking in the sacrifice of those who came ahead of him, before turning to stare at one name in particular. Crispin had killed one of Dean Blaine’s students. For that, and so many other lives lost, he was going to be held accountable. If Blaine had to don the Zero costume and hunt for him in the streets, he would. Some crimes had to be answered for.

That would come later, once he’d seen things through with the students still counting on him. For now, he had to concern himself with things like Globe, a dream-walker spouting a pretty unbelievable story, and Intramurals.

“With no army, I doubt Crispin will be crazy enough to try attacking a campus again,” Dean Blaine said. “It’s possible, certainly, but given how well-thought out their first assault was, I don’t take Crispin as a man to do things without proper preparation. Your campuses, on the other hand, might be in danger. With the deans gone, it puts any school not hosting at extra risk. We need to mitigate that danger.”

“We could bring all of our kids to Intramurals,” Dean Bishop suggested. “Every HCP Super on one campus would make for a hell of a tough target to attack.”

“But if Crispin did come after one of our schools, we’d have left the humans defenseless,” Dean Fox pointed out. “It makes more sense to reach out to some graduates and see if they’re willing to come hang out on campus for a few days. We can make it an event for the students, sort of a consolation prize since they didn’t make Intramurals, and we’d have the peace of mind of knowing that trained Heroes are on the scene if anything goes wrong.”

“The DVA would have to give the Heroes clearance to go inactive for that long. Given the public outcry after Lander, though, I doubt we’d have any issue getting them to sign off.” Dean Jackson stared down at his pages, contemplating the proposal. “We could probably also get a few to hang around during Intramurals themselves. I know several will come to watch, but it never hurts to have some on duty, just in case.”

“If the group wishes to get extra protection, I won’t fight it, but I don’t think it’s strictly necessary.” Dean Blaine kept his expression placid, controlled, a habit he was falling back into with increasing regularity. “Between five deans, an audience of Heroes, and the best Supers our classes have to offer, it’s hard to imagine any sort of threat Crispin could pose to the event.”

Dean Fox let out a soft whistle. “Wow, someone feels like tempting fate today.”

“I assure you, Wesley, if I thought it would get Crispin in my grasp I would tempt fate at every opportunity.” Despite his control, Dean Blaine’s hands tightened into fists. “I greatly look forward to the day he and I finally meet face to face.”

180.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Hershel looked up from his laptop to find Mary standing nearby. They were the only ones in the common area this morning, the rest of the group off training, working, or filling their time with other distractions. For his part, Hershel had been meticulously researching the Heroes who’d offered him and Roy internships, seeing if any of them made a bigger impression with their public record than they had in person. He didn’t need to ask what she was talking about; why would he? Hershel was well aware of the nagging thought that had been eating at his mind since they opened their letters.

“I thought you made a point not to listen to my thoughts.” Hershel closed the laptop, giving her his full attention. It was the polite thing to do; plus, they’d been together long enough for him to tell when she wanted to have a serious discussion.

Mary made her way over and took a seat next to Hershel on the couch. “I still try not to snoop, but Roy is another matter. And despite what you might believe, the two of you aren’t all that different. I’m not prying if you want to let it lie; I just wanted to give you the chance to talk in case you wanted to.” Her hand wrapped around his as best it could with her diminutive fingers.

There was a split second where Hershel almost declined the opportunity before chiding himself for such an impulse. He and Roy had both come so far in the last four years; they’d grown both on their own and together in countless ways, but there were still some areas where they felt like confused children trying to untangle emotions that were too complex. He wouldn’t turn from them anymore, though. It was the strategy both brothers had tried for years, and it hadn’t made things better. Only the few occasions where they’d faced things head-on had yielded improvement.

“It’s... it’s not that I think it would be a good idea to intern under him. Even without all of our baggage—and that’s not a thing to ignore—our relationship could cause him to go easy on me, or make bad choices in the heat of the moment to protect me. In my heart, I know that it would have been a bad fit. Still, I thought Roy and I would have the chance to make that decision. I mean, he’s our dad, and Titan didn’t even offer to be our mentor? That feels a little messed up.”

“Maybe he saw those same conflicts as you and didn’t want to take the chance that you two would make the wrong call,” Mary suggested. “Or maybe he’s scared.”

Hershel snorted in reflex, then immediately turned sheepish. “Sorry, that was rude. I understand our dad is more than muscles and punching; he’s a real person with real feelings. It’s just hard to picture him being scared of anything, no matter how hard I try.”

The room grew silent as Mary stared at him, her gaze deep and thorough. She was searching his eyes, perhaps his mind as well, for something. Hershel had no idea what, but he didn’t mind. They’d long ago passed the point of trust where he believed she’d do whatever she genuinely believed was right—for him, and for them as a couple.

“I’m going to break a rule,” Mary said finally, her eyes unwavering from Hershel’s. “I don’t do this sort of thing lightly, you know. Don’t ask me to do it again unless there’s good reason. In this case, however, I think it might be necessary. Hershel, I’m going to tell you some of what I’ve gotten from Titan’s thoughts. And the first thing is that he is terrified where you and Roy are concerned.”

“Terrified?” Hershel had a hard time swallowing that, even if it was coming from someone he trusted as much as Mary.

“If anything, I’m understating it.” The grip of her hand tightened on his, her slender fingers much stronger than they appeared. “Titan loves you both very much. He’s deeply sorry for the choices he made way back when, and now that your relationship is finally starting to get the slightest bit better, he is scared beyond measure that he’s going to say or do the wrong thing to drive you both off again. Every time he sees you, it’s nearly all he can think about. He’s gotten his sons back a fraction of a percent, and the idea of messing that up is more than he can handle. I don’t know exactly why he didn’t send you the invite to intern under him, but I’d bet my trailer it has something to do with him worrying about how you’d take the gesture.”

“Those are very sweet things to hear, and I believe you,” Hershel told her. “But it doesn’t mean the same coming from your mouth. If Titan wanted me to know all this, he should tell me himself.”

“I think he truly wants to. Again, though, he’s scared. That doesn’t make it okay; it just means he’s not holding out because of something as stupid as pride.” Mary leaned in and kissed Hershel gently on the cheek. “Now, it’s time to pay up. I want a secret, mister.”

Hershel pulled back slightly, enough to see the mischievous grin on Mary’s face. It wasn’t an expression she’d often let the others see—generally, she tried to keep her den-mother aura untarnished—but Hershel knew her better than they did. Better than anyone ever had, really. And, if he was honest with himself, she probably knew him better than anyone else too, telepathy or no.

“What do you mean you want a secret?”

“Did I not just tell you I was breaking a rule? That kind of thing isn’t free, not even for my boyfriend. I want you to tell me something honest, something deep, something on par with what I just revealed to you.” She paused for a moment, watching his face carefully. “I want you to tell me the truth: do you want to intern under Titan?”

“We just went through all the reasons it’s a bad idea,” Hershel said.

“Yes, we did, but that’s not what I asked. I asked if you wanted to be his intern. What you want doesn’t have to be what you do. It doesn’t even have to make logical sense. It simply is, and you don’t need to feel bad one way or the other about how you feel.”

The truth of the matter was, Hershel had been asking himself that same question since he’d failed to find an offer from their father. Why did its absence feel so potent? Was it because he’d taken the offer for granted, or did it represent one more way their father hadn’t been there for the two of them? The issue had seemed so complex before, yet with Mary sitting at his side, asking him plainly, Hershel found that the truth was right there, just waiting for him to grasp it. It probably always had been, he’d just been too scared to face it. Oddly, he felt a small pang of empathy for his father.

“Part of me wants to intern under Titan. The best memories Roy and I have of our dad are training together. Even when I went to see him during sophomore year and we reconnected, that’s how we spent our time together. And no one has ever understood our power better than him. I guess I think that, if there’s some way to try and repair our relationship, training would be the best place to start.”

Mary pulled him in closer, turning their coziness into a full embrace. “That’s not nothing. It doesn’t mean you should intern under him; the points you made are still valid. But it sounds, to me anyway, like the reason you want the internship is because it would give you a chance to repair that relationship. You don’t need the internship to do that, you know.”

“I know. But it would have made things a lot easier,” Hershel admitted.

“You’re an HCP senior and a former Powered. Since when do things ever get to be easy?”

181.

To say the meeting was going chaotically would have been quite the understatement. Kennedy’s collection of cronies, usually so classy and composed, were on the cusp of a full-blown riot. Shouting, accusations, and angry declarations filled the room. To her credit, the leader of Take Back Lander was holding her composure perfectly as madness swelled around her, calmly sipping from a cup of tea as if nothing were amiss.

For his part, Will wasn’t acting much more perturbed than she was. He’d considered it—after all, he was supposed to be just as exposed as the rest of the group—but decided that it didn’t fit the quiet, thoughtful character he’d been portraying amongst them. Living in the moment was important; however, consistency in character mattered more.

Finally, when the shouting was beginning to ebb, Kennedy set her tea cup down and addressed the room. “Everyone, if you’ve gotten that out of your system, let’s discuss this rationally. Now then: thirty minutes before this meeting was scheduled, we all received emails with personal information contained therein. It seems that, for the most part, the information was embarrassing, but not necessarily damaging—things that would destroy relationships, friendships, and possibly even the bonds between parents and children in a few cases, yet none of it would have led to us facing actual criminal charges. So, let’s all take a deep breath and remember that as vital as the stakes feel, they are in fact not quite so dire as they might seem.”

“The information wasn’t the problem!” A man in khakis and a pressed polo leapt up. Will knew his name was Tad, and it had taken a lot of willpower not to make any jokes about that during the previous meetings. Tad wasn’t done with just one yell, though. “The problem is that they promised there was a lot more of it, and that they had stuff on our families. This is extortion, plain and simple!”

Will wanted to correct Tad, but he held his tongue. It was unnecessary anyway, as Kennedy was already on the case. “For it to be extortion, they would need to have made some sort of demand, or implied that the information was about to be leaked. All they sent were private emails telling us something embarrassing, something pulled from our private devices, and letting us know more information had leaked. We still might be able to use that as documentation to start an investigation, though I’d be surprised if any of us still have the email anyway.”

Now that part took Will, and everyone else, by surprise. She was spot on—he’d set everything up to trigger while he was in the meeting to solidify his alibi, but Will hadn’t expected Kennedy to figure out what was going to happen before it did. One more reminder never to take his opponent lightly.

He took his phone out with the rest of the group, affecting a shocked expression when he discovered that the email was no longer present. Mutters filled the air this time, darker and angrier than the prior screams had been. Hacks and messages containing secrets were something they could wrap their head around, but something digital vanishing without a trace was unexpected. They were starting to realize that this was not a caliber of enemy they were used to dealing with.

“Wait, I took a screen shot,” Tad said, flipping through his phone. “I can’t find it, but it has to be on here.”

“No, I don’t think it does. I doubt any of us will find any proof of what we received tonight outside of our own memories.” Kennedy poured herself a fresh cup of tea while she spoke, still unruffled. “Between the content of the messages and the signature the sender used, it’s easy enough to see what’s going on. Our plan to hunt for the hidden HCP students on campus has leaked, and someone out there is set against us… someone with exceptional resources of their own.”

“Hang on, how do you know that’s what’s going on?” This came from one of the other members, a stout fellow with a constantly uncertain expression.

“The implied threat is right there in the open. We started chasing the secrets of others, so our enemy reminded us all that we have secrets of our own, as do our families. In one swoop, they proved they have the means to uncover our indiscretions and the willingness to use that information.”

Tad stood up from his seat, face turning red as his eyes swept the crowd. “You’re saying the plan was leaked? That means one of us leaked it then. We’ve got a traitor in our midst.”

Will braced himself to lie, but before Tad could begin interrogating the rest of the room Kennedy let out a deep, annoyed sigh. “Sometimes I forget how truly idiotic you can be. Yes, a leak could mean that our internal group has been compromised, but it could just as easily mean that one of us was thinking about our plans around a curious telepath. Or a Super with enhanced hearing overhead the wrong whispers. Or we tripped some sort of mental alarm set up to detect those even considering our course of action. The point is, we are dealing with people who work outside the known spectrum of possibility. We can’t know for sure how we were discovered, and there’s nothing to be gained by turning on ourselves now. So sit down and shut up while we think this through.”

Deep down, Will hadn’t expected this initial gambit to work. There was a chance it might sow seeds of distrust and cause the group to implode, but he was logical enough to see the slender chance of success the plan had. It was an opening move, nothing more, designed to let Kennedy and her crew know that they had a challenger to their plans. All the same, he was still wowed by how quickly she shut down Tad’s beginnings of a self-destructive witch hunt. The others were just cogs, pieces doing as they were told: Kennedy was the only other real opponent on the board.

“Ultimately, we have little to go on right now,” she continued. “As it stands, we’re probably dealing with someone who either is or has access to a Super with tech-based powers, seeing as the secrets stolen from us—at least, given what I gleaned from your shouting—were all discoverable on our personal devices. That may be a ruse, however. Our enemy just as easily could be using a telepath and someone who can induce hallucinations to start us searching in the wrong direction; we may never have gotten those emails in the first place. With what we have now, nothing is knowable for certain. If we want more information we’ll have to keep pressing the issue. Push until they push back, hopefully overexposing themselves in the process.”

“What... what if they expose us? Our secrets, I mean.” While shouting was out of character, being worried and neurotic fit Will’s previous behavior perfectly. Not to mention raising the point was a good way to remind all of the flunkies that they were playing with stakes in the game now. They had secrets to lose as well.

“It’s a possibility we have to face,” Kennedy replied. “We’re going up against the HCP. There was always the chance that they were going to try and stop us. They are tyrants, used to doing as they please and ignoring what happens to the humans in their wake. Petty personal secrets are not enough to deter me from seeing this through, and I’d hope the same would hold for the rest of you. I chose this group because you are people of conviction, and conviction means making sacrifices. Perhaps I chose poorly, though. If any of you aren’t here at the next meeting, then I’ll understand.”

A girl in a white dress raised her hand politely, and Kennedy nodded to her. “How do we know we’re the only ones who got emails? There were other members before you boiled it down to just us. Maybe we should see if they got something too? At least that tells us if whoever did this has figured out who the inner circle is.”

Will said a silent prayer of thanks to her; he’d been wondering how he was going to steer the conversation in that direction. He should have given them all more credit; they weren’t all complete idiots, after all.

“That’s a good point. Everyone reach out to people who showed up at the old meetings, people you trust, see if they got anything. If they didn’t, then it’s contained to us. If they did, then I guess we’ll see how many received the message and go from there.” Slowly but surely, Kennedy was restoring order to the room, pinning it under her perfectly manicured thumb once more.

“What about the way they signed the email?” Tad asked. “Who the hell are ‘The Ghosts of Lander,’ and what does that name mean?”

Kennedy took her time replying, adding more sugar than was probably proper to her fresh cup of tea. “I can’t speak to the exact meaning just yet— though I have a few theories—but one point of the name is crystal clear. It means that someone out there is challenging us to a war, and we should be ready for them. Which, by the way, we will be.”

182.

As sure as she’d been about her decision to walk away from the program, Mary hadn’t been quite as prepared for how immediately different her life would become. Not for an instant did she regret the choice – it was right for her, and she knew that to be true in the deepest parts of her heart – but Mary did wish she’d been better mentally braced for the impending changes.

Time was the biggest shift. In the span of a few conversations and a formal withdrawal from the HCP, she suddenly found herself with an overwhelming amount of the thing. Even after taking more shifts at Supper with Supers and keeping ahead of her senior-level homework, she couldn’t manage to fill a day. Mary was too used to spending half of her time underground, working out and training and learning to be even the slightest bit better than she’d started the day. Now all those hours had been given back to her, and like an itchy, oversized sweater, Mary wasn’t entirely sure what to do with her unexpected gift.

It might not have been so bad if she’d had her friends around, but now that she was out of the HCP, she was truly starting to see how much it dominated the lives of its participants. Between their classes, their training, and their jobs, Mary had gone from spending every minute around her friends to only seeing them during fleeting windows. Her world felt different, even though she knew it wasn’t. Her world hadn’t changed: she had. She was just seeing her old reality from a new vantage point now.

By the third week of her freedom, Mary began to grow accustomed to the new arrangement. The extra time allowed her to start filling out graduate program applications, and she managed to rework her schedule so that her free time lined up better with her friends’. Things weren’t so bad, although part of her wondered how easy the situation would be to remedy if she weren’t still living with them. Partial memory-wipes were generally viewed as a harsh yet necessary part of purging someone from the program, a way to ensure the safety of those who remained. Only now, seeing it from this side, Mary couldn’t help wondering if those wipes weren’t also for the benefit of the students leaving. It was impossible to miss what you couldn’t recall, to try and hang on to something if you had no idea where to grab. Mary wondered if any sort of counseling was provided to those cut from the HCP. She hadn’t been given that offer, but between the fact that she’d chosen to quit and Dean Blaine’s awareness that her memory was still intact, maybe it had been deemed unnecessary. It was something to look into; she might be years from having enough degrees to do the job, but someone should be on it in the interim.

To her surprise, Mary found herself spending much of her newly acquired downtime with Nick. Since he had a looser schedule and lived nearby, turning up and bothering him when she was bored seemed natural. That was the cover story, anyway. The truth of the matter, which he surely knew yet chose not to comment on, was that Mary was trying to stay close in case he needed to talk. Nick was handling the loss of Gerry well, better than she’d expected, but she could hear enough of his thoughts to know the pain was still tearing him up. And Nick enjoyed having someone else around, even if he would never say it out loud. Plus, she liked the company as well.

All things considered, it wasn’t a perfectly smooth transition back to quasi-civilian life, but it wasn’t nearly as rocky as it could have been. Mary had found a balance between leaving her old world and laying the foundations for a new one, which was what made it all the more shocking one morning at a coffee shop when a familiar figure plopped down on the other side of her booth.

Mary’s textbooks were spread out as she worked; she had sunken so deep into her studies that for a moment she didn’t even notice the new presence. It was unnerving; Mary had to turn off her telepathy to focus, but she did this infrequently enough that she had never quite gotten used to people sneaking up on her. Even and especially people from the HCP.

“Good morning, Mary.” Dr. Moran was smiling, looking as put-together as always. She’d been sitting for less than a minute when one of the shop’s employees showed up with a steaming mug of coffee which was then set down wordlessly in front of her. “I hope I’m not interrupting, but I wondered if we might have a chat. If not today, then perhaps we could schedule a better time.”

“You know, I feel like way too many people are comfortable just dropping in while I’m out doing my own thing.” Despite her words, Mary began to shut her books. Whatever this was, it probably deserved her full attention.

“Apologies. My schedule is tight so I tend to use open spots as best I can. Like I said, though, if this is a bad time then we can pick another,” Dr. Moran replied.

Mary finished closing her books and shoved them to the side of the table. “No, it’s okay. You’re a better surprise guest than my last one. What’s going on?”

Dr. Moran tilted her head slightly, nodding to the nearby clusters of regular people going about their day. “I’ve come to talk to you about a possible opportunity, however at this stage I’m afraid I won’t be able to go very in depth. Confidentiality agreements and all that. Much of what I’m going to cover will have to go unsaid.”

If there was a more blatant way to communicate “read my thoughts,” Mary couldn’t imagine what it would be. She focused in on Dr. Moran’s mind while the HCP’s counselor continued to speak.

“I heard through the grapevine that you were interested in taking your education in a new, specialized direction,” Dr. Moran said. “Something akin to what I do. That seemed like a topic worth discussing, since much of my training was quite specialized. The truth is, there aren’t a whole lot of people in my field, Mary. Not as many as there should be. And much of the research for treatment is still confined to the minds pioneering it. There isn’t a good formal system in place, is what I’m trying to say. So, rather than have you and others interested in applied psych, start from scratch, it seemed more prudent to let you learn from those who have come before.”

While Dr. Moran’s words made things clear enough to figure out the general meaning of her proposal, her thoughts helped fill in the gaps nicely. Therapy and counseling of Heroes was still considered a niche field of study, with nowhere near as much education and research going in to it as other areas. Dr. Moran was offering to let Mary work under her, or someone like her, in grad school to gain firsthand experience.

“Aren’t there going to be clearance issues?” Mary asked.

“Not at all. I’ve been pitching this sort of program for years now. Thanks to the backing of some higher-ups, they’ve finally agreed to sign off on a trial version. And you, you are a prime candidate. My first choice, in fact.” Dr. Moran was still smiling as she mentally rattled off the details: the new head of the DVA had agreed that not enough funding was going in to treating the long-term mental side effects of the job, so several programs would soon be starting trial runs. The DVA would permit her to work with and remember the identities of HCP students and Heroes, so long as she signed an obscene amount of non-disclosure documentation.

“Sounds intriguing,” Mary said at last. “Maybe we can set up a meeting to talk about it more in depth?”

“I’ll see about setting up a time. But if you’re interested, I’ll go ahead and start getting the preliminary paper work done. There’s going to be a lot of it for both of us, so I hope you’re not susceptible to hand-cramps.” Dr. Moran lifted her still steaming mug of coffee and downed the entire beverage in a rapid gulp. She noticed the shocked look on Mary’s face and gave a half-hearted shrug. “Learned skill. I told you, I don’t have a lot of windows of free time. In fact, this one is up. We’ll put something together, Mary. I look forward to talking with you about the topic further.”

With that, Dr. Moran was up and out the door, a handful of bills left on the table to pay for her drink. Mary stared at the cash for a few seconds before getting back to her studies. Probably best to work ahead while she could.

It seemed her leisure time would soon be coming to an end once more.

183.

The first trial of the new semester went surprisingly smoothly. Dean Blaine was braced for some manner of upset; they weren’t uncommon when students came back from a month without training. He soon realized he should have known better than to expect this class to slack off. Whether it was their unusually high degree of power or the fact that they’d seen real combat, this was indeed the Class of Nightmares. For better or worse, the name had stuck and was being bandied about inside the observation room freely, no longer a mere whisper on the tongues of the watching Heroes. Given half a chance, Dean Blaine would still have squashed the term; he knew too well the perils that accompanied graduating from a class infamous enough for a nickname. Unfortunately, it was far too wide-spread for him to impact its spread in any way. All he could do now was train the eponymous nightmares to bear the weight of such expectations.

It wasn’t an especially unique battle; generally, this trial was a chance to ease people back into the rhythm of combat, which meant another pseudo-city with Sims spread throughout. They were still using the human-like Sims, and would do so for the remainder of the year. The students needed to grow accustomed to attacking human targets, wounding people who would yelp in pain, and even taking life when needed. Cruel as it seemed, they had to form emotional calluses on those fronts lest they hesitate in the field. Dean Blaine had always been of the opinion that life should never be taken lightly; however, when the moment demanded such action, there was zero nobility in freezing up. In those moments, someone was usually about to die: the only question was whether it would be the criminal, a Hero, or an innocent bystander.

As Dean Blaine watched the fight unfold on the monitors, he paid special attention to the screens showing Vince Reynolds. To his relief, Vince hadn’t entered the fray blasting like a cannon. It had been a small fear, admittedly, but sometimes students who increased their damage potential couldn’t quite help showing off their new skills, even when it wasn’t appropriate. Vince, thankfully, was showing better judgment than that, using only as much power as any opponent demanded, dropping them one after another. If anything, he was injuring without killing far more appropriately than he had been before Lander East. Anyone with experience training these kids could tell he’d grown more comfortable with his ability, and from the whispers around the room, the other Heroes were certainly taking notice.

A smattering of applause filled the air; Dean Blaine jerked his eyes to another monitor to see what had caused it. The source wasn’t hard to find. Across the battlefield, Roy Daniels was taking attacks from three different Sims while the rest of his temporary team moved civilians out of harm’s way. Glancing toward the ground, Dean Blaine saw the scraps of a fourth attacker that had apparently gotten a little too close to Roy and his bat. Taking that kind of abuse was impressive enough, but the real cherry was Roy using himself as both a blockade and a distraction so seamlessly. Despite his power, Roy had always seemed to function alongside a team rather than as part of one. Apparently, Hershel’s influence was helping in more than just straightforward combat.

Even so, Roy’s new discernment wasn’t the biggest surprise on the field. It was impossible to say whether the change had come from learning the truth about her family or gaining confidence from their end of semester trial, but Alice was showing a whole new side to herself. Minutes after landing she’d taken charge of a small unit consisting of herself, Alex, Thomas, and Violet, leading them across the battlefield and ambushing groups of unprepared Sims. The sneakiness was hardly new – she did excel at Subtlety, after all – but Alice was rarely one to take charge to such a degree. Between this showing and the way she’d run the Intramurals selection process, Dean Blaine had to admit Alice was beginning to display a true talent for leadership. Although she would have hated to hear it, the gift was one her father held as well.

On another screen, Shane cut the muscles of two Sims while Chad sliced the spine of another. They were working as a two-man team today and were leaving a trail of crippled Sims in their wake. It might have been Dean Blaine’s imagination, but there seemed to be a bit more edge to Shane’s attacks this time around. Perhaps he felt compelled to prove himself as a worthy Intramurals candidate or demonstrate that it wasn’t a fluke he’d overtaken Chad for the top spot. Whatever it was, Shane was striking faster and harder without losing his accuracy, so Dean Blaine hoped the trend continued.

It was a good fight; everyone was showing growth with relatively few mistakes, despite their time away. Dean Blaine was just starting to feel at ease when the entire room erupted in whispers. His eyes darted between the screens, looking to and fro as he searched for what had caused such a commotion. It didn’t take long for him to realize he was looking in the wrong direction, though. Following the eyes of the other Heroes, he turned to the rear of the room where an elderly man had stepped through the door. The gentleman looked good, much better than he had the last time Dean Blaine saw him. Not just better, younger. He’d ditched his cane and moved with the confident gait of a man fully aware of exactly where each next step would land.

“Mr. DeSoto, always a pleasure,” Dean Blaine said. He shook Graham DeSoto’s hand, noting the renewed strength in his grip with a barely suppressed grin. No matter how jaded Dean Blaine got to the life and the job, there was still something awing about talking with the world’s first Hero.

“You as well,” Graham replied. “Sorry about the commotion. I guess a few of them recognized me and spread the word.”

“It’s perfectly all right. I’m sure these trained, experienced Heroes have enough self-control to keep watching the students and wait until the mixer to greet you.” Dean Blaine raised his voice during the last bit, making sure everyone looking at Graham instead of the screen heard him.

“About that: when the trial is done, I’d like a few minutes with you before the mixer. Just some things we need to talk over in private.”

Nothing in Graham’s expression betrayed that this would be a bad talk, but that was of little comfort to Dean Blaine. Of course Captain Starlight would know how to keep a stoic face in front of a crowd. There was nothing to do for it, though. If Graham had come to talk, he had good reason for it. Dean Blaine would just have to hope it was about something positive; he felt the universe owed him some good news after everything the past year had brought him.

“No problem at all. We’ll adjourn to my office after the match.” Dean Blaine turned to the monitors once more, not quite able to resist adding one last thing. “You look great, by the way. Casper does exceptional work.”

“He does indeed,” Graham said. “Pity the man is such an ass.”

“Casper… well yes, he is an ass. But he wasn’t always. You know the toll this life can take.”

“Better than nearly anyone else.” Graham was looking up at the screen with Shane on it, watching every move his grandson made. “That’s part of why I’ve come to see you today, Blaine. I think it’s time we shook things up.”

184.

“So, they made it official?” Dean Blaine almost, almost offered the seat behind his desk to Graham DeSoto. It felt wrong to put Captain Starlight in one of the lesser chairs meant for guests, no matter how comfortable the upholstery was. But he wasn’t just Captain Starlight anymore, and it was important to establish boundaries early on. As an HCP dean, Blaine was in the employ of the DVA; however, that didn’t mean he’d roll over on every issue, even for someone like Graham.

“Last confirmation hearing happened a few weeks ago,” Graham replied, voicing no complaint as he took one of the chairs facing the desk Dean Blaine indicated for him. “Would have been done months prior if not for all the pushback. Seems a lot of the DVA’s higher-ups had serious qualms about making a former Hero the head of their organization.”

“A former Hero with no political experience,” Dean Blaine added. He didn’t mean it as a slight, rather as a compliment. That Graham had forced his way into the position without a lifetime in the department made the accomplishment all the more amazing.

Graham let out a resigned snort that briefly reminded Dean Blaine of Angela. “Is that how they’re framing it? Listen, I may not have been voted into office or nominated to a position before, but trust me when I say I spent a big chunk of my life immersed in politics. That’s most of what founding all of this–” He paused to motion to the room and the HCP base around them “–was about: politics. Getting people to see things my way, trading favors, occasionally playing hardball. I’ve got more than enough political experience for this gig, and the right people know it. I just made sure those right people took the ears of those in power.”

Given that the man had managed to create (or at least help shape) the entire Hero infrastructure, Dean Blaine wasn’t terribly surprised that he still wielded such clout. Even if he hadn’t, there was always the weapon of public opinion. For all the tribulations that modern Supers and Heroes faced, Captain Starlight was a beloved figure in the nation’s history. If he wanted to get involved in something, it would be a damn fool who tried to stand against him in the public eye.

“Well, congratulations on the new position. I have to say, it’s nice to have one of our own leading the DVA. Perhaps you’ll be able to do away with some of the more… archaic structures.” Dean Blaine could think of at least five things he’d change about the system on day one, although for some of them he’d need nearly unilateral power. Other things, like giving the HCP deans access to a freaking teleporter for travel, would be easier to implement.

“Don’t expect me to overturn the apple cart right away,” Graham cautioned. “I’m one man in one position. Malcolm was on our side too, and he was only able to get so much accomplished. But you’re not wrong about things needing to be changed.”

Graham looked down at his hands, weathered and strong hands that had knocked down countless criminal Supers and saved untold lives through the years. “When I helped build this system, I built the best one I could at the time. Compromises had to be made; there was no other way to get the Hero program off the ground. The world has changed a lot since back then. Things I didn’t imagine would be possible have slowly become commonplace. Supers wormed their way into all kinds of respectable, beloved positions. Corpies, EMTs, firefighters, athletes, we’re all over the place. And as much as that has helped normalize us in a lot of ways, it’s also served as a constant reminder to the mundane people of the world that anything they can do, we literally can do better. From a stance purely of what we’re capable of, humans are an inferior species to us.”

While he resisted the urge to visibly react, Dean Blaine did check the switches under his desk to make sure the room was sealed off from outside listeners. Graham was saying things that every Super had thought, yet few ever spoke aloud. It was a taboo of survival: if humans ever got even the slightest whiff of an idea that Supers thought of themselves as superior, their world could turn very bloody, very fast. They’d seen it happen in other countries.

“You’re uncomfortable.” Graham was looking him over, eyes sparkling with a drive that hadn’t been there last time the two met.

“The new head of the DVA just openly stated that humans are inferior to Supers. I’m sure you can see how that might be problematic if the wrong people overheard you.”

“Which is why I didn’t say it to any of them. Listen, Blaine, the old ways aren’t working anymore. We keep pretending things are okay, but they aren’t. I think you know that. The Hero system did the job it was designed for: it got the public comfortable with the existence of Supers and gave them people they knew they could trust. But the world is changing. I know you’re smart enough to see the rising tensions. If we don’t do something, I’m afraid eventually this whole system will collapse out from under us. That’s why I said we need a shake-up. We can’t keep using the system that was designed to work half a century ago. There need to be updates, new ideas, new programs.”

“Are… are you proposing dismantling the Hero program?” Dean Blaine’s question hung in the air between the men, a slice down the room that, depending on Graham’s answer, might never be mended.

Thankfully, he let out a laugh that turned into a cough midway through its lifespan and waved off the idea entirely. “God no, I’m not about to throw out the baby with the bathwater. You think I worked that hard just to start over? No, Blaine, I’m not saying we need to get rid of Heroes, but we do need to make things better. Even beyond the issues with humans, we’ve got too many of our brightest stars burning out or getting killed in the field. Not to mention that almost everyone walks away from the job with PTSD of some kind. Sure, we make therapists available, but I want to get ahead of the problems, start tackling issues that we, as former Heroes, know will come up before they have a chance to do so. Heroes have always been reactive by the nature of their jobs; as the DVA we can do better. We can be proactive.”

The word choice didn’t escape Dean Blaine’s notice. “We?”

“Yes, we. I do get some staff positions to fill,” Graham said. “And I was thinking of filling them with the Hero who had an amazingly low mortality record, the educator who trained up what is inarguably one of the strongest classes in some time, and the man who showed enough kindness to take in the world’s first rehabilitated Powereds into his program. Lucky for me, they’re all the same guy, which means he only takes one spot. What do you say, Blaine? Do you want to go from shaping young minds to shaping the entire Hero program?”

185.

Roy should have been feeling on top of the world. Not only had he managed to fend off the attacks of four Sims while the others got civilians to safety, he’d only killed one of them in the submission process. Given that the Sim in question was taking aim at numerous innocent targets, he felt like it was probably a forgivable kill at that. Part of him worried about how he’d feel when it was a real person’s life he had to take, but that wasn’t the issue nagging at him as he walked into the post-trial mixer with the others. No, today the issue was a seven-foot-tall muscular beast of a man who was standing on the other side of the room.

It seemed like Titan was always at these things, even when he didn’t show to the mixer Mr. Transport made sure to tell his sons he’d watched the trials, which was a little surprising once Roy thought about it. He was working as a Hero again: free time should be a precious commodity, yet without fail he kept showing up here. Mostly he stood around, occasionally talking to a student, though by this point he’d more or less shaken hands with all of them. If Gale was around, the two would hunker down and chat, but otherwise Titan was a solitary figure at these functions. Although Roy wasn’t as smart as his brother, even he could guess that the reason Titan was coming was to watch him fight. It didn’t come close to making up for all the moments he’d missed throughout childhood, but it wasn’t nothing either.

Taking a deep breath, Roy steeled his determination and started forward. It was funny: half an hour ago, he’d been in a simulated combat situation where injury was a very real possibility, yet the mere act of approaching his father was far more terrifying than anything he’d felt in the last bout. Even as the idea crossed his mind, he knew why this was scarier. The HCP had trained healers on staff to patch up nearly any non-lethal wound he might receive.

They didn’t make a healer for the kind of injury this might create.

“Titan,” Roy greeted, shaking the man’s hand on autopilot. Titan was visibly surprised by the sudden approach, but he quickly recovered himself.

“Great job out there, Roy. It seems like in every trial I see you’ve upped your game. Pretty soon the HCP is going to run out of Sims that can still hurt you.”

“If that ever happens, I’m sure they’ll just ask Will for some new ideas. He’s got a ray that causes itching, and as silly as that sounds, trust me when I tell you that you do not want to get hit by it.” Roy shuddered involuntarily at the memories of his Weapons matches with Will. Even more than a year later, he could still recall the way his skin felt like it was on fire. “Gale ain’t here today?”

“No real point for her to be,” Titan replied. “Alice accepted the internship offer, so assuming she graduates, Gale already has her student.”

That was interesting; Roy was pretty sure Alice hadn’t mentioned accepting the offer to anyone yet. Then again, Gale had been the only potential teacher she seemed excited about, so maybe it had been implied. Either way, that made things a bit harder; Roy had planned to use Gale as an entry point into the real topic he wanted to tackle. Thoughts from Hershel bubbled up, new ideas on how to redirect the discussion, and Roy jumped on them.

“Too bad, I wanted to talk to her. But since you’re so close, maybe you can help me. Have you ever worked with Granite?”

There was a long pause before Titan nodded, and Roy had no idea what to make of it. “A few times, since we’re in the same city and fill the same role. Strongman-type with one hell of a defense. A good man, too. He’s always got the right parts of the job at the forefront of his mind.”

“Glad to hear it,” Roy said. “He made me an internship offer, you know.”

“Gale mentioned that he might. Congratulations; getting to work with a team like Elemental Fury is no small feat. With their resources and collective experience, they make for a great learning opportunity, and I know Granite will do right by you.” Titan turned to his drink, almost, but not quite, concealing the flicker of sadness that darted through his eyes.

It wasn’t much, and if not for Hershel’s presence reassuring him, Roy might have thought he imagined it. But it had been there, and that was enough to convince Roy to keep pushing forward. “I haven’t decided if I’m accepting yet, actually. I’d like to meet the guy first, for one thing. And beyond that… well, he seems like he’d be a good fit for a teacher, no question there. But I have to ask myself if he’d be the best fit for me. The one who can truly help me reach levels I’d never make it to on my own. What do you think, Titan? He’s a strongman like you, so you’ve got to have some insight. Is Granite the best possible teacher for me?”

“Given his own experience and the team behind him, I don’t think you’re going to get an offer from anyone who can match what he’s bringing to the table,” Titan said.

“That ain’t the question I asked.” Roy heard the edge in his voice and hated himself for it. He didn’t mean to default to antagonistic like that, it was just… why did everything with Titan always have to be so hard? He was trying here, he really was, but the more he pushed his father on the issue, the more Titan seemed to retreat from it. Maybe he should have let Hershel handle this. “Sorry, I… I don’t know. I don’t know what I wanted from this. An explanation, I guess?”

He started to turn, but Titan reached out and put a hand on his forearm. “Roy, do you really want me to train you? I don’t have to tell you all the ways that’s a bad idea.”

“Trust me, I know.” Despite the instinct to knock Titan’s hand away, Roy let it remain. He had to try to make something happen, even if parts of him were screaming that this man couldn’t be trusted. Because there were other bits of him now, ones that remembered the night an amped-up Super had Roy dead-to-rights until Titan appeared to save him, pieces that had noticed Titan showing up for every single trial. He was trying, even though he was scared. Roy could at least match that effort.

“I know it’s a bad idea, and I’m not saying I want it to happen. I guess I was just hurt that you didn’t even offer. I thought things with us were getting a little better. When I didn’t see any offer from you, I started wondering if maybe you were done reaching out. Damn, that sounds silly when I say it out loud.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Titan told him. “I bailed on you, on the whole family, so being afraid that I might suddenly quit again is a perfectly rational fear. But I’m not going to, I promise. I know those words don’t mean much from me right now, and they shouldn’t. All I can do is keep showing up and proving that I mean it. If that means you want to train under me, I’ll have the offer out before the day’s end. If it just means you want to get a beer and talk, I’ll make the time for that too. I know I can’t fix what’s broken between us, but I’ll do everything I can to build something new.”

It was the most open conversation Roy could remember having with his father since childhood, and he suddenly found himself wishing they weren’t having it in a room stuffed full of other people. “Let’s start with the beer. Right now, since you’re already off. I know a few nearby bars that are never full.”

“You don’t want to stay here?” Titan asked.

Roy scanned the room, taking in the same function they’d hosted since the school year started, only with a few new masks around. “What for? I’ve already got some solid offers, there’s no need for me to mingle. I think this is a far better use of my time.”

186.

Neither man said anything for some while. Instead, Dean Blaine rose from his seat, went to the bar in the back of his office, and poured two generous glasses of scotch. He set one down in front of Graham before helping himself to a careful sip of the other. Only when he was settled back in his chair did he finally respond.

“It’s a generous offer, Graham, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a childhood dream of mine to work with Captain Starlight. Not quite the way I pictured it, but I imagine nine-year-old me wouldn’t be a stickler about specifics. But I can’t just leave the kids midway through the year. It wouldn’t be right.”

“This is the government we’re talking about, how fast do you think things move?” Graham helped himself to a larger gulp of the drink than Dean Blaine had taken. As a man further on in his life, he never knew which of these pleasures might be the last; it was important to savor them when they came. Sometimes he and his granddaughter were more alike than they knew. “We’d be looking at you to start after the school year is over, sometime in the summer. That would give us enough time to line up a replacement teacher, since I assume you’d want to promote from within your own ranks. Any thoughts on who would replace you?”

Dean Blaine knew this trick well; Graham was trying to coax him into talking about the specifics of how the change would happen, framing it as a hypothetical. The deeper they got, the more forgone the conclusion would be that of course he would take the job. After all, they were having a meeting about how to facilitate it, weren’t they? He opted to play along for the moment, because if he did decide to go down that path these were things they’d have to tackle. This way he could see how viable the idea really was.

“My first choice would be Professor Esme Stone, the Focus instructor. Unfortunately, she’s made it abundantly clear that she has no interest whatsoever in taking over my job. Esme loves to teach, but she’s got no stomach for bureaucracy. If I didn’t have to get it past the board and the DVA, I think Sean Pendleton would actually make a fine replacement for me as well. I presume an ex-con would be a hard sell, though.”

“Good presumption,” Graham agreed.

“Then I’d have to go with Professor Ariel Baker, our Ranged Combat teacher. While Blake Hill and Sonya Cole both have seniority, neither possesses the right temperament for this job. Ariel has the necessary mixture of patience, kindness, and determination that I think would serve her well if she stepped into my shoes.”

Graham took another sip from the glass, turning the idea over in his head. “She’s young.”

“Not by Hero standards. Besides, young isn’t a bad thing. Young means they can put in more years before you have to play this game again,” Dean Blaine pointed out.

“Your recommendation carries a lot of weight, so if you really push for her, I doubt it will be an issue. Ranged Combat should be an easy position to fill too, unlike some subjects, so that’s in her favor. Finding Subtlety Heroes willing to teach is a real pain in the ass, let me tell you. Anyway, Ariel Baker moves up to be Dean Baker, and some other Hero ready to hang up the cape steps in for her. If we did it at the end of the year, can you think of any reason why that transition wouldn’t work?”

Although Dean Blaine’s mind immediately objected to the idea, the more he thought it over, the harder it was to find a true obstacle. Yes, there was the mystery of Globe, but that seemed tied to the students who were graduating more than the school. The former Powereds were either out of the program or in their final year and showing strong chances of graduation, so he wouldn’t be dumping that on Ariel’s plate. And Crispin… Blaine could only imagine the sort of manhunt he’d be able to mount with the DVA’s full resources at his disposal.

Even with all of that, he might have pushed away at the idea of a career change harder if not for the issue of Shelby Adair’s visions. Alice and Mary had told him what they were shown, a world where war erupted and society was torn apart by it. Maybe it was a trick by a bored dream-walker, but with every bit of Abridail’s information that proved accurate, it became more and more clear that these visions were real. Graham was talking about the potential war, even if he didn’t know about it, and he was offering Blaine a chance to work at a higher level to keep it from happening. If he could help steer the world toward the better future, wasn’t it his duty to do so? Of course, that assumed he’d be able to guide things from his new position, which required his boss being on board with the idea. Could he trust Graham DeSoto, a man who he only knew in passing, with the secrets that they’d been uncovering?

No. It was too dangerous; too many lives were on the line. Dean Blaine couldn’t put that much faith in someone he barely knew. But he was fast approaching the boundaries of what his people could accomplish on their own; it was becoming ever clearer that they needed help. The head of the DVA could certainly open up some new options. And while Dean Blaine knew he shouldn’t set something this heavy in the hands of a near stranger, he had to trust someone.

If there was ever a Hero to put blind faith in, it was Captain Starlight.

“Graham, I’m interested in the job. I am. But there are some things you need to know first. Things that I’ve done, rules I’ve broken, secrets that I’ve uncovered. Hard truths that are going to force you to make some difficult choices. If you still want me after all of that, we can talk. Either way, as the new head of the DVA and the man who showed us all what it means to be a Hero, you have to be brought up to speed. I’d prefer not to have this conversation here. Honestly, I think I’d rather have it nowhere, or in the infinite void of space, but since neither of those is possible what’s the most secure area for discussion you have?”

Graham took his time replying, scratching his chin and appearing to really think on the issue. “The DVA has some rooms that are pretty high-tech, but using them can raise the wrong kind of red flags in a situation like this. I’ve got my own spot, though, in an old base I used to use. I still swing by regularly, so showing up won’t be too strange. If you want a private conversation, it’s the best I’ve got.”

“Then let’s schedule a meeting, or head there after the mixer,” Dean Blaine said. “The sooner you’re brought in on this, the better. There are people you need to be wary of.”

Graham laughed again, this time restraining his cough. “I’m a Hero and a politician; you think that’s news to me?”

187.

The room was quiet, still, empty of any disturbance save for Nick’s controlled breathing. Even Eliza and Jerome were under strict orders not to bother him. Days like these when his friends were caught up in their trials were one of the few windows he had to work in with virtually no fear of distractions. And that was necessary for today’s task, because Nick was pushing himself in a way he’d never succeeded with before. Not on his own, anyway.

It had taken him a long while, but he’d eventually managed to dig up and sift through nearly every bit of information available about his former classmates before their HCP arrival. The process had been tedious and ultimately inconclusive, which some part of him had expected. Whoever their mole was, they were good. Good enough to slip past all of the HCP screening processes and continue feeding Globe information even when the teachers were looking for just such a leak. It stood to reason their documentation and history would have been carefully crafted to ensure it didn’t draw any attention. Still, Nick had found a few things here and there. Not enough to prove anything, though it was adequate to give him a few suspects. The trouble was, to push on from here meant getting more hands-on, and Nick needed to get this right on the first try. If he chose wrong, he might spook the real mole and drive them into hiding, costing Nick his chance to pump them for information.

That was part of why Nick had resorted to more desperate measures – part, but not all. The deal he’d made with Ms. Pips meant more than his freedom; it also meant he wouldn’t be able to use Vegas resources for much longer. When the break came, it had to be clean. Being raised by his aunt, who happened to have a few charges that never stuck lobbed against her, was one thing. Children didn’t get to pick their caretakers, after all. But if he was connected to Vegas post-college it might dent his political aspirations, and that was unacceptable. Besides, he doubted she’d be willing to give much help. Not until he had something to offer in return, anyway.

Nick needed to replace the resources he was losing; he needed to grow more personally capable to offset the lack of assistance. That was why he was staring at a list of names, breath coming slow and steady as he tried to let his mind drift back to that night in May. The power he’d had then was out of his grasp, Nick understood that perfectly. He’d been juiced by an extremely powerful enhancer; no amount of effort would lift him to those levels again. At the same time, that didn’t mean his power was incapable of growing stronger: the sudden influx of accurate intuitions over the past few months were proof of that. Nick needed to do more than control the polarity of luck; he had to start shaping the outcomes, if only by a small amount. Because today he didn’t want to choose a name that would lead him to a great career opportunity or introduce him to a lifelong friend, even those would both be instances of good luck. He wanted to find the mole.

The golden lines were still there in his memory, blurry but distinct. Nick could remember how it all felt more than anything – the certainty, the surety, the ability to see where it was all going and coming from. If he had full access to that world, Nick would be a force of nature. Not unstoppable: he’d been in and around the HCP long enough to know that was lunacy, but quite powerful nonetheless. Today he was trying to tap into some of that power, just a fraction. Whatever part of him had developed in the experience to allow for the intuition, he was hoping it had more room to grow. Otherwise, he’d have to resort to slower methods to flush out his mole, and time was a quickly dwindling resource.

Slowly, Nick lifted a coin from his pocket and held it out, hands steady and unwavering. His eyes were glowing freely, sunglasses folded neatly on the side of the desk. They were the only item on the wooden surface, save for the piece of paper with Nick’s suspect list of people who had the capability to pull off the mole’s duties. He’d have added motive to the equation as well, if he could have found any. Unfortunately, either there wasn’t such evidence on paper or the mole’s documentation was too cleanly altered. Nick was betting on the latter.

He pressed the edge of the coin into the center of the list, still holding it between his fingers. Nick reached out with his mind, digging as deeply as he could into the parts of his brain that felt more alive when he used his power. How long had he tried to crush these sections out of existence, tried to push them away, make them not real? Vince thought he knew what it was to fear his power, but at least when he hurt someone it was clear. With uncontrolled luck, any bad thing that happened to people Nick loved might be his fault, and that made it so much more terrifying. He’d never trusted his power, not really. Even post-procedure he’d viewed it as a tool, a neat trick that was occasionally helpful, but nothing to be depended on. Globe had called him out on that, and he hadn’t been wrong. A little luck here and there was enough to bluff his way through the early years of the HCP. His friends were moving on soon, though, and into a far more dangerous world. If Nick wanted to follow them, even from the sidelines, he needed more power. It was time to turn the part of himself that had always been an enemy into an ally.

He put all of his thought and energy into those pieces of his mind that tingled with power. Instead of hammering them into submission or trying to corral them, he let the feeling wash over the rest of him. It wasn’t easy; he’d been trying for hours just today, but part of him always instinctually pushed the sensation away. This time, however, felt a little different. Whether it was practice in control or simple fatigue, Nick’s mental walls didn’t spring up with the same rigor as usual. The power coursed over him, through him, to whatever intangible presence out there governed things like luck.

In his mind, Nick imagined finding the mole. He pictured a golden line that led from him to that achievement, knowing it would have consequences and accepting them as part of the bargain. Nick blocked out everything else, down to the sound of his own heartbeat, until the line filled up every piece of his considerable mind. Only when that was done did his fingers make a quick, flicking motion.

The coin spun on its edge, circling the page in gradually growing outward spirals. Nick watched, yet paid little attention. His focus wasn’t on the show but rather the outcome, and he intended to keep his concentration until the very end. The coin was losing rotation, slowing down bit by bit. Nick held that golden thread in his mind, willing the power to lead him there with everything he had. He needed this, his friends needed this, and depending on how accurate Shelby’s visions were, the entire world might need this.

When it happened, it was easy to miss. Nick wasn’t even sure if it was actually visible or just an aspect of being in tune with his power. There was no mistaking it, though. The coin was starting to wobble in an empty stretch of page, meaning it would come down without telling him anything. Then, in the span of a blink, a brief spark flashed on its side, driving it toward a new direction. A spark as golden as the lines Nick had seen or the color currently glowing in his irises. No longer wobbling, now in mid-fall, the coin skittered across the page and tumbled down directly on top of a name. The first name on the list, in fact. It lay there, flashing no more sparks or golden light, as if daring him to doubt what he’d seen.

With a long flow of breath, Nick released his focus. There was no guarantee this had worked. Even if the spark was real, it could very well have been his power manifesting in a way that didn’t give him what he wanted. Still, it had felt right, like he was a little closer to that night in May than he had been before. This would be a test. If the name was right, then he could trust that power a bit more next time. If it wasn’t, then Nick had to accept his ability for what it was. He did feel somewhat encouraged that the coin had picked the top name, though. That was who he’d have put his money on for their capability alone.

Nick reached down and carefully plucked his coin from the page. “Looks like Adam and I are going to have a chat.”

188.

“Two months. You couldn’t give me even two months in this job without laying a conspiracy – one that somehow involves one of the world’s wealthiest men, a potential war in our future, and a legendary Hero framed for murder – on my doorstep. And that doesn’t even touch on you going around the DVA and allowing an expelled student to keep his complete set of memories. Honestly Blaine, if Casper had wound back my clock any further I’d probably slug you for this. Might still, if I get the urge.”

“I didn’t really mean for it to go like this,” Dean Blaine replied. “But when two of my people betrayed me, I started digging. By the time I looked up, I was in so deep I could barely see daylight.”

Despite what he hoped were merely comedic threats of violence, Dean Blaine felt like Graham was taking the news rather well. He knew it had been a lot to cope with, but the new head of the DVA had taken the tale in with a stoic, only occasionally worried, expression. Laying it all out had been a strange experience for Dean Blaine as well; it wasn’t until he had to unpack everything that he realized what an insane amount he’d been trying to tackle on his own.

The room in Graham’s base was simple, an underground, sparsely furnished concrete cell not unlike the HCP’s structure, only deeper and denser. Part of Dean Blaine wondered if he was seeing the prototype for his own building, but at the moment the idea was too big to properly consider. One of the few things the room did have was a coffee maker, and as Dean Blaine told the story, Graham had gone through a pot and a half of the good stuff. The Dean had only consumed a single cup by comparison. Apparently Graham wanted his full focus for their discussion… understandably so.

“That’s how it usually happens. You start pulling one thread and suddenly you’re hip deep in yarn with a big ball of it rolling your way. As the head of the DVA, I have to say that what you’ve done is blatantly against the rules, shows questionable judgment, and is grounds for extreme disciplinary action.” Graham paused for a moment, taking a hard look at Dean Blaine with those eyes that had seen too much. “But as a fellow Hero, I can’t say I’d have done things much differently. Digging up the truth and confronting it is part of what we do. For the moment – and just for the moment, because this is an issue we need to deal with – let’s skip over the particulars of how you got to this point. Instead, let’s look at the situation as it stands. Charles Adair killed Intra to find a cure for his wife, using Globe as an unwitting scapegoat. Turns out it works, and that cure might very well usher in the next world war, only this time it will be fought among Supers, former Powereds, and humans instead of nations. Meanwhile, Globe is trying to dig up proof to expose his brother, and is being helped by at least Relentless Steel and Mood Swing, if not more. Oh, and as a fun side dish, one of the first Powered test subjects happens to be Globe’s adopted kid – and another, Charles Adair’s. So you tell me, Blaine, how would you handle this in my position? Let’s see if you’ve got the brains to be a good employee after all.”

Dean Blaine blinked in surprise. “Wait, do you still want me to work for you?”

“Maybe. Depends on how you answer this question,” Graham replied. “I’m not stupid; I know you are the kind of man who does whatever it takes to see a job finished. Doesn’t really make sense to be angry at you for showing the very traits I want in an employee.”

“But I broke a lot of rules,” Dean Blaine objected.

“That’s one way to look at it. Or you were working a top-secret mission for the DVA, at the direct behest of Senator Malcolm. Since you both suspected the organization had been compromised it was kept off the books, communicated only between the two of you directly. Of course, when I took over he read me in on the situation. I think if asked, Senator Malcolm will happily corroborate this story, assuming I give him a call first. We parted on very friendly terms.” Graham didn’t smile with mischief or give Dean Blaine a wink; his expression was perfectly matter-of-fact.

“That’s a pretty big lie. You don’t think someone in the DVA who is unhappy with your position might try to call bullshit and bring in some telepaths?” Dean Blaine asked.

Graham nodded. “They might. But we’re all well-trained in how to control our thoughts, and if worse comes to worse, I know some people I trust in my head. They’ll rewrite our memories so that even we think it’s true, not that I imagine it will come to that. If we bring Globe out of the cold and expose Charles Adair’s corruption of the system, no one is going to dare question how we did it. So, Blaine. If you were the head of the DVA right now, how would you deal with this issue?”

It was a question Dean Blaine had asked himself dozens of times on sleepless nights. The initial impulse was to launch a full-scale investigation, to turn over every stone until the truth was uncovered. But Charles had deep pockets and too many friends: mounting an open offense on him was tantamount to declaring war on a nation without cause. They needed the proof first. “I don’t suppose you have a way to secretly access the HCP computer systems so we can get to those buried files?”

“I do not,” Graham said. “Partly for pragmatic reasons; we have an IT department that handles authorization and decryption, none of which I’m qualified to do. Partly because of the limitations built into the DVA power structure as well. No one, not even the lead, is allowed unfettered access to those systems. It’s to make sure none of us get into the information brokering game on the side. I can get you to the files, but probably not without someone tipping off Charles.”

“I figured as much.” Dean Blaine tried to step back and look at the situation. There was an abundance of potential next steps; however, they’d gone about as far as they could on the word of a dream-walker and a bit of corroboration. It wasn’t just the world that would need proof; Dean Blaine realized that he needed to know for sure as well. And now that he had the DVA’s potential blessing, it might be time to go to the best source they had for it. “I think, in your position, I would reach out to Globe. Not openly, of course. I’d use someone disposable, like an HCP dean who’d already broken a lot of rules and could have the whole scandal laid at his feet if things went awry. Have that person try to contact Globe, let him know there are people willing to listen if he’s willing to talk. We have to start separating truth from fiction, to figure out who our enemies and who our friends are. Globe might be one of the only people who can give us that.”

“If he’s willing to talk at all, and you can manage to find him when the entire DVA has come up short.” Graham didn’t sound dismissive of the idea, more like he was simply bringing the issue to Dean Blaine’s attention. “You know we’ve got nothing to offer him, right? Even if it’s true that he didn’t kill Intra in the way we thought, he’s avoided capture, broken into a jail, and organized the kidnapping of an HCP student. Not even I could get away with pardoning him from all of that, at least not so recently in the position. Do you think he’ll be willing to talk knowing that even in the best scenario this ends with him behind bars?”

“If he’s still the man I went to school with, even a little bit, then he’ll help,” Dean Blaine said. “And judging from the son he raised, I think it’s safe to say Phil hasn’t changed too much.”

“What about you? I just offered you a way out and now you’re proposing to get yourself in deeper instead.” Graham was staring at him intently again, searching Dean Blaine’s expression for a glimmer of doubt or falsehood. “How far are you prepared to take this, Blaine?”

Dean Blaine considered the question for several moments, turning it carefully over before answering. “To the end. Whether it was Charles or Globe, one of them is responsible for Intra’s death. I’ve watched Chad live his entire life with only a memory for a father, and I owe it to him to see that justice is done. I’ll take this as far as I have to, Graham – to the ends of the Earth if needed.”

Graham rose from his chair and walked over to the coffee pot, pouring himself another mug. “You know, I’d heard the tales about you, but I wasn’t entirely sure I believed them. Even Heroes tell fish stories. Seems I was wrong on that account. You’ve got every bit as much gumption and grit as they say. Get me some proof, Blaine. Some lead to work with. I’ll shelter you as best I can, but be careful. I’d hate to lose an employee with so much potential before he can officially take office.”

“I haven’t actually accepted the job yet,” Dean Blaine pointed out.

“Sure you haven’t.” It was fleeting, but for a moment Dean Blaine was almost positive he caught a wide grin on Graham’s face just before it turned out of sight.

189.

Vince grunted and let his head drop heavily to the couch cushion nearby. Alice, Alex, and Camille ignored him, which was fair since they’d done their own collapsing in frustration at that point. It went part and parcel with the task they were tackling. Vince was amazed by how hard this was, when it really shouldn’t be. He’d cleared so many seemingly unassailable obstacles to make it this far: being turned from Powered to Super, enduring the rigors of the HCP, even applying himself enough to be on track for graduation with a real college diploma. So why was a name, of all things, turning out to be such an insurmountable hurdle?

“Glam? What do you think? That’s a fun one, right? I could do an outfit with lots of color and sparkles; nobody would guess I was a Subtlety Hero in that get-up.” Alice chewed on the end of her pen for a few seconds before sighing and crossing the idea out. Her pad of yellow legal paper was scored with other rejected monikers. With the final semester upon them, the deadline for picking a Hero name loomed. Alice knew she needed something powerful – for her sake if no one else – but so far nothing she’d tried had felt right. “Good name, but not for me.”

“At least you’ve got open options; everything I could use is copyrighted,” Alex complained, not for the first time that day.

“You don’t have to put something Jedi-related into your Hero name, you know.” Camille’s voice was firmer than usual, possibly because Alex seemed to have not heard her any of the other times she’d raised the point.

“But then it wouldn’t be… me.” With a resigned look in his eyes, Alex turned back to his own pad of paper, occasionally glancing over to a tablet where he’d pulled up an expanse of tabs on Jedi and all things related to them. It was a search that would probably end without success, and everyone in the room knew that, yet he had to try all the same.

After a few moments of silence, Vince rose from the cushions to start puzzling through ideas once more. So far, the only one he hadn’t entirely crossed off was Energy Taker Lad, the name he’d hastily taken during the attack on Lander. It was plainly ridiculous, but at least it had some personal meaning to him. It harkened back to the first time he’d really been in the field and reminded him of the kind of choices he’d have to make as a Hero. Still, it was so stupid, there was no way he could actually use it… unless he failed to think of something better.

“We need something that encapsulates us, if not our ability,” Camille said. It was advice they’d all gotten from their professors at one point or another, and no one was entirely sure how many times it had been repeated today. Sadly, the concept was easier articulated than executed. “How does a freaking name encapsulate who we are? I know it’s only supposed to be one piece, I’m just not sure how people can drill down and find a single phrase to capture that.”

“I think it’s not supposed to be about us, but rather about what kind of Hero we want to be.” Alex was looking up from his tablet for the moment; it was anyone’s guess how long until he fell down the digital rabbit hole once more. “Aside from the ones with power-based names, that’s the trend I see most often with famous Heroes. Take Titan; he picked his name after the unstoppable legends of old, because that’s the image he wanted to project. I think if we’re straying away from a name that depicts our abilities then it needs to be something meaningful to us. Something that reminds us what we’re fighting for, even when things get rough.”

“Lovely sentiment,” Alice said. “Has that led you to any sudden bouts of inspiration?”

“Not a one,” Alex admitted, turning back to his tablet.

Alice ruminated on the thought for a while longer after they settled back into silence.

A name that depicted what they were fighting for, what sort of Hero they wanted to be.

What type of mark they wanted to leave behind on the world when they were gone.

Slowly, her hand began to trace new letters on the yellow page, one after another until a familiar word was staring back at her. In that instant, she knew she’d found it. Carefully, she tore off the sheet, folded it neatly, and stuffed it into her pocket.

“Looks like someone had a little inspiration.” Camille was staring at her from across the room, a touch of jealousy plain on her face. “Going to tell us what you just wrote down?”

“Absolutely. Once I’ve checked the databases to make sure it’s unclaimed. If I talk about it, I’m going to fall in love with it, and that can’t happen until I know the name will for sure be mine. I shouldn’t take too long.” Alice grabbed her coat from Melbrook’s hall closet and headed for the door. “Good luck with the planning session. Think over what Alex said a little more, it’s where I got my idea.”

Then she was out the door, no doubt heading to the nearest HCP entrance. Vince let out a low, long groan. Happy as he was for his friend, watching more and more of his peers land on their proper monikers made the situation feel all the more dire. Part of him, a part he could barely trust himself to acknowledge, wished he could do what Chad had done and take over his father’s name. That was never going to happen though. Even if it were available, which it wasn’t, the name was too tainted to ever be worn by a new Hero… especially one of the first formerly-Powered Heroes.

“Maybe we should try something different.” Camille had set her pen down and was looking over to Vince and Alex. “We’re too in our own heads right now; we might not even know a good idea if we heard it. Let’s try thinking of something other than ourselves. Alex, what would you name Vince? Don’t overthink it; just toss out an idea of what you think would be a fitting name.”

“I don’t know, my instinct is to say something related to his ability. Maybe Pickpocket. Or Powerpocket? Powerpicker? Okay, these are just getting worse, aren’t they?”

“There was a downward slide, but that’s fine. We’re just tossing things out, it doesn’t matter if they’re good or bad,” Camille assured him. “Vince, what would you call me?”

Vince didn’t reply immediately, but rather considered the question before answering. “Something like Life Support feels close to right, since you both support your team and keep them alive, but it doesn’t really capture the duality of your abilities. Karma isn’t too far off the mark, but there’s no way that’s not taken already, right?”

“Couldn’t hurt to check.” Camille took a quick note down on her pad before setting it to the side once more. “Alex, as for you, I’d either go with a name that’s a nod to your situation, like Knockoff, or a word too widely used to copyright that still has meaning for you. As long as you don’t put a ‘the’ in front of it, couldn’t you just use the word Force?”

“It’s… possible.” Alex scribbled a few notes down in sloppy script. “I might need another qualifier, but you might be on to something. No one would know what it meant, though.”

“You would,” Vince told him. “You just have to figure out if that’s enough.”

“We’ll keep brainstorming, but it’s not the worst idea to get some outside suggestions from people we trust.” Camille glanced to Vince and gave him a wink. “Unless Vince is really smitten with Energy Taker Lad and is just pretending to put on a show of looking for a new name.”

Hearing the moniker come out her mouth cemented Vince’s resolve: one way or another he was going to find the right name. That, or open a dictionary and throw a dart at a page. Literally anything was better than Energy Taker Lad.

190.

Professor Pendleton wasn’t particularly surprised when Alice burst through his classroom door. He hadn’t expected her by any means, but he always made it a point to anticipate unannounced entries, be they friendly or dangerous. It was a habit that had served him well as a Hero and had continued to be quite useful as a teacher. There was something to be said for never letting his students see him jump in surprise, especially given the subject he taught.

Alice didn’t pause to comment on his stoic reaction to the intrusion. She just kept walking forward, reaching his desk before he even had a chance to put his book down.

“Something up?” The odds that she’d come to talk about their extracurricular searches on HCP grounds were slim, though there was a possibility that she’d come to bring him somewhere that they could have that sort of discussion. Even that was unlikely, as Dean Blaine would have made a much less conspicuous messenger. Plus, as her teacher Professor Pendleton liked to think she’d have learned enough to keep a lower profile in situations like that.

“Hell yeah something is up. I picked my Hero name.” Alice reached into her backpack and pulled out a small stack of forms and printouts, placing the lot carefully on Professor Pendleton’s desk. “I ran it through all the databases we’re supposed to check and none of them had a listing for it. Unless you’ve got some hidden protocol I have to satisfy, this should be good to go.”

Tempted as he was to grab the top form, Professor Pendleton instead took his time. He placed a bookmark between the pages of his novel, shut it, and stowed it in one of his top desk drawers. Only when that was done did he lean over, scanning the entirety of the top page before letting his eyes wander to the large blank where Alice’s potential new name was waiting. This he read a few times, making sure he properly comprehended. She wasn’t wrong; Professor Pendleton had never heard of anyone with that Hero name before… probably because it was an odd choice, even by the admittedly loose standards of Heroes.

“Legacy? Is there a reference or gravity pun here that I’m missing? Or maybe you meant to apply for a legacy name and filled out the wrong box?”

“Yes to the first, no to the rest,” Alice replied. “We were working on names this afternoon and Alex brought up the idea of picking one that might not make sense to the public but had an important meaning to us: something to remind us what we were out there to accomplish, why we were fighting, and what we wanted to stand for. It got me thinking about something a friend told me not long ago: I’m the Adair legacy now.”

She paused, briefly, eyes widening a touch as they darted around. It was quick but unmistakable, at least to someone who’d trained her. Alice was saying that there were too many ears down here to be fully honest, so she was going to choose her next words carefully.

“My dad is a cold-hearted bastard. People will remember him more for the companies he crushed and iron fist he used to rule the financial world than they ever will for his time as a Hero. And my uncle, while probably a decent guy at heart, is still going down in history as a criminal.”

As much as he might have liked to think that last comment was about him, especially since she’d manipulated it to sound like it was, Professor Pendleton knew she was referring to Globe. If they were talking about the Adair legacy, there was no way that man couldn’t be part of the discussion.

“Even before that, apparently my grandfather was a real piece of shit,” Alice continued. “The Adairs have done a lot of bad in this world – hurt loads of people, even ruined a few lives. If I want to make our name something worth having, something I might be able to pass down to my own children one day, I have a ton of work to do to balance the scales. I like the idea of keeping that debt with me at all times, wearing it, turning a potential weapon into my own armor. Legacy is a reminder of everything I’ve inherited from the ones that came before me – good and bad.”

It was one of the more well-considered pitches Sean Pendleton had heard in his tenure as professor. Alice had chosen a name that meant something to her, one that would be a source of strength in the dark times. But saddling herself with a burden like that came with dangers of its own. Those were her dangers to brave, though; she was a grown woman and on track to become a Hero in a few months. That didn’t mean there weren’t a few points to raise, however.

“I like it overall. It’s a solid choice. I’m just wondering what you’re going to tell reporters when they ask you about it, which they will. Can’t very well go into the family history while wearing a mask.” Professor Pendleton had a hunch she’d considered this, but he wouldn’t be doing his duty if he didn’t bring it to her attention.

In response, Alice’s eyes grew wide again, though there was nothing subtle about it this time. Her expression shifted; the small changes, nearly imperceptible when considered alone, combined to make her appear as if she was only half-listening. The biggest change was her smile, which turned wide and cheery instead its usual dignified, reserve curve. In a span of seconds Alice had gone from an excited but reserved Subtlety student to someone who looked… not stupid, perhaps, but the kind of overly-happy that people often took as an indication of stupidity.

“I chose Legacy as my name because that’s what I want to leave: a big lasting crater of positivity on the world, a means to inspire younger people to chase their dreams. Because with hard work and an upbeat attitude, you can be whatever you want!” Alice’s tone was airy, simple, and almost teeth-grindingly cheery. There was little trace of the hard, cunning, determined Hero Professor Pendleton knew was really there. He had to give her credit; it was solid character work, especially with such a short time to prepare.

“You realize no one will take that woman seriously, right?” Professor Pendleton asked.

“Realize it? I’m counting on it.” Alice’s grin warped and soon there was nothing vapid about it. The effect was strange to see coupled with her new expression, like a dolphin suddenly smiling and showing the teeth of a shark. “Let’s be frank here: I’m a tall blonde with curves. There was always going to be a contingent of people who wouldn’t take me seriously. If I lean into it, I can use it to my advantage. Everyone will think they can outfox the peppy gravity girl. The more they underestimate me, the better it is.”

“And all the people who’ll dismiss you outright, maybe even other Heroes who don’t want to work with you?”

“Fuck ’em. If someone can’t see the value in playing people’s expectations against them then I don’t imagine that person will be terribly useful to me. Besides, Subtlety Heroes aren’t supposed to be well-liked,” Alice pointed out. “Isn’t that the tradition?”

She had him there. Professor Pendleton took one last look at the page. He couldn’t say there wasn’t merit in her plan: it would probably serve her well. He still wished she’d chosen an easier direction, but that just wasn’t Alice Adair. No matter the situation, it seemed like she always set herself on the hardest possible path. As her uncle it worried him, but as a former Hero, it was a trait he was glad to see. That was the sort of grit one needed to last in the Hero world.

“You’d better practice that act a lot in the next few months,” Professor Pendleton told her. “Assuming you graduate, I suspect Legacy is going to get plenty of media attention.”

Alice’s face settled back into its normal expression, although the dangerous smile remained in place. “I can barely wait.”

191.

Mary wasn’t underground, at least not yet. She found herself sitting in a seemingly unused office tucked deep within the recesses of Lander’s science building. Dusty test tubes and neglected petri dishes lined the shelves surrounding the desk before her and the stiff plastic chair where she sat. It all felt very mundane, which was a curious sensation when dealing with anything even tangentially related to the HCP. She checked her watch, making doubly sure she had come at the right time. One minute until their scheduled meeting. It looked as though Dr. Moran would be late.

No sooner had Mary considered the possibility than the hand on her watch lurched forward. At the same time Dr. Moran breezed in, mouth full as she crammed down bites of a sandwich in sizes that were comical bordering on dangerous. She gave Mary a brief nod of acknowledgment, chewing hastily as she made her way to the other side of the desk. “Word to the wise: if you want to do this job then learn to eat and walk at the same time. It’s the only way you’ll get lunch sometimes.”

“I have to say, you seem busier than I remember from passing you in the old facilities.” Ostensibly this should be a safe place to talk, and even if it wasn’t, Mary didn’t technically have to fear being discovered anymore. Still, using double-talk when above ground was second nature to her, a nature she saw no reason to shake off just yet.

“Of course I looked put together down there. I have to seem calm and centered, the sort of rock-solid foundation students seeking guidance would require. The truth of the matter is I’m over-worked in a job that really needs more staff. But that’s my problem, not the kids’. They’ve got enough on their plates; they don’t need to worry about me too. Or you for that matter, assuming you took me up on the meeting because you’re interested in my offer.” Dr. Moran paused, not so much to give Mary time to answer but rather to wolf down the last bites of her food.

Mary waited patiently. In a few years, she very well might be the one in desperate need of five minutes to beat back hunger; offering Dr. Moran the courtesy of a pause now was the least she could do. Once Dr. Moran has chewed up the last hunk of crust, Mary answered. “I am indeed. I thought about what you said, about the hurdles I’ll be facing and the opportunity you presented me with. If I really want to do this job then I don’t think I’ll ever find a better training situation. And if it turns out I can’t hack it, then I’d rather learn that truth now so I can find somewhere else to apply myself.”

“I think you’ve got what it takes,” Dr. Moran told her. “But I’ve been wrong before. The work is hard, I won’t lie to you about that, and there are days when it seems like you accumulate far more failures than successes. Every little bit we do matters, though… maybe not in big visible ways all at once, but trust me when I say that you can accomplish huge things through small improvements. So don’t let yourself give up too easily is what I’m driving at.”

“I assure you, that’s the last thing on my mind.” If Mary could make it through years of training, fighting, and dangerous tests when she hadn’t even wanted the prize at the end, she felt reasonably sure she could endure worse for a goal she genuinely desired.

“Let’s see how you feel after the first round of paperwork.” Dr. Moran reached into her bag and pulled out a large, thick stack of pages, setting them down on the desk with a muffled thud and sliding them over to Mary.

It was a daunting pile, even more so as Mary hunched over and noticed the small size of the print. “I have to read and sign all of this?”

“All of that? Mary, those are just the non-disclosure and contract forms you have to sign so I can talk to you about the job in real detail. If you want to take on the position… well, I don’t mind healing a sore hand, which you will be very grateful for once you see that stack.”

Much as Mary would have liked to take it as a joke, Dr. Moran didn’t look like she was kidding. In fact, she’d pulled out her laptop and appeared to be doing work of her own while Mary stared at the pages. Right; no time to waste. Picking up a pen, Mary looked down at the first page and started to read.

Time to see what she was signing up for.

*             *             *

“Sir, we have news.”

Crispin barely bothered looking up from his desk at the sound of Sherman’s voice. He knew the kind of news that his trusted aide, one of his few resources still remaining, would deliver: more arrests, more former members turning on the Sons of Progress, more signs that their infrastructure was crumbling away beneath them. If anyone besides Sherman knew his whereabouts, Crispin had no doubt they’d have handed him over by now. The Heroes probably would have traded full immunity and maybe a spot in the HCP to anyone willing to turn over the Sons of Progress leader. Between the money trail and the number of turncoats saving their own skin, it was no secret that the Sons of Progress was, more or less, dead. Now they wanted to hang him in the streets, to show the world what happened to those who attacked a Hero-training campus. He would have to rebuild, perhaps something newer, more dedicated; however, first Crispin had to watch the death of his first creation.

“How many more are lost now, Sherman?”

“Five of our operatives. We’ve also received word that none of the East Coast freelance operators are willing to work with us anymore. Apparently being connected to the Sons of Progress brings down too much Hero attention.” Sherman’s report was professional as always, yet Crispin thought he dedicated a bit of a hurry in his words, like he was rushing to the next part. Strange, usually there wasn’t a next part to hurry to.

“Is that all?”

“No, sir. We’ve received a message. Someone made contact through an operative, wanting to pass an offer along to you. Apparently, they’re willing to help us if we’re willing to pool resources. Assuming they can be taken at face value,” Sherman said.

“Which they obviously can’t be. We’re at the end of our proverbial rope. There’s little left to do besides shut off the lights and lock the door behind us. All anyone would want is to pillage what few resources we still have and perhaps put you and me to good use. If not a hostile takeover attempt, who else would be desperate enough to align with a group in our position?”

“According to the message we received… Globe, sir.” Sherman’s voice wavered a bit, and with good reason. In terms of legendary figures, he may as well have announced that the Easter Bunny was offering them aid.

“Globe? The disgraced Hero who successfully managed that jailbreak a few years back?” Crispin hadn’t expected that. Globe might be the only other person in the world the Heroes were hunting with the same gusto as Crispin and Sherman. A Hero certainly wasn’t the sort that Crispin would prefer to throw in his lot with, but Globe was renowned for the way in which he’d turned his back on the world of capes and masks. If there was anyone who might be reaching out in an effort to give genuine aid, Globe was a strong contender. That didn’t mean Crispin trusted the message, but he also wasn’t quite so inclined to reject it out of hand.

“Send one back down the line,” Crispin ordered. “Let him know that we’re interested.”

192.

“And that’s what we’ve got laid out so far. Right now things are pretty stable, but once we start the ball seriously rolling, it’s all going to come to a head quickly. As far as I can tell, you’re genuinely out. No one in the group seems to be looking at our old members too suspiciously. Whether you stay that way is up to you. I left you a doorway, but there’s no need to walk through it.”

Will stared across the desk to Camille, who was carefully reading over the files he’d shown her. Despite not making it to the inner circle, she’d been adamant about receiving updates on the state of Take Back Lander. He’d expected some pushback when they got to the part about bringing in others, especially Nick, but there had been nary a peep. With her kind nature and innocent looks, it was easy to forget that Camille was among the most ruthless of the class when her loved ones were threatened.

“So, either way you need my help, it’s just a question of whether I do it at your side or from a distance?” Flipping the pages over, she slid them back to Will, who tucked the entire stack in a special safe installed in his desk. If anyone did try to break in the pages would be ash before they could ever be read. Better to lose work than have an operation compromised.

“Actually, it’s my deepest hope that you won’t be needed,” Will corrected. “Escalating to physical violence, even if we’re faking it, changes the stakes in a dangerous way. My goal is to keep things simple, digital, and impossible to prove. But I’m not as good at improvising at this as some of the others, so I need to build my contingency plans in advance. That way, if things do go awry, I’ve got options to fall back on.”

Although she didn’t say it out loud, Camille thought Will was selling himself short. In the years they’d known each other, he’d transformed from the tech-builder in Jill’s shadow to a formidable opponent in his own right, and that was just what he could do with the staff. When looking at the amount of skill he’d gained in Subtlety, Camille considered Will to be a very dangerous man… all the more so because he refused to over-estimate himself.

“I want to get in there. I really do. I want to be in that room, watching as they fall apart. Ever since I went to that first meeting I’ve longed to see these people brought down. But I’m not a Subtlety Hero. I don’t have the training you and Nick do. Part of being a Hero means knowing what you can and can’t accomplish, as well as trusting your friends, your team to fill in the gaps. So I leave it in your hands, Will. If you tell me that my being in the room is going to be helpful, then I’m in. If you think I’m going to be a detriment – or worse, put the whole group in danger – then I won’t be mad if you cut me out.” Much as she loathed the idea of walking away, Camille just couldn’t put her desire to be in the action over the safety of her friends. “The operation is what matters. Sending these people a message is what matters. You make sure they know this is our fucking home, and while we’ll share it freely, we will not be driven out.”

Will stared at her for several long seconds, blinking like a stunned owl. “You’re not usually a big fan of the f-word.”

“I don’t often get cause to use it,” Camille replied. “But for a lot of us, this college is the first place in the world where we’ve felt like we belonged. Where we were part of a community instead of being the lone freak in town. I love this campus, and the people it’s brought into my life, down to my bones. It’s the one spot where Supers shouldn’t have to be afraid of getting run off. I’ll do whatever you need, even if it means staying away, to help protect that.”

“Hmm.” Will leaned back in his chair, mulling the idea over in that amazing brain of his. “I sent messages to some of the other members who didn’t make the circle, low-stakes stuff to ones I knew were tight with those who still remained. Let’s see how the next meeting goes. If they decide to bring in everyone we can to shore up their ranks, then I think you’d be able to smoothly transition to the Take Back Lander core. If they want to keep it limited to who we’ve got right now, I won’t force the issue. I could steer things in your direction, but maybe it’s better this way. The less they can see me moving them, the safer the operation.”

Much as she wanted to get back into the fray, Camille simply nodded in agreement with the proposal. Will had a point; it was less suspicious if he let the group take whatever direction they wanted. It would make her re-entry seem more natural, should it occur, and would paint him as a dopey follower either way. Given what he had planned with Nick – and Camille knew Will hadn’t told her everything –Will needed to be as inconspicuous as possible. If this blew back on him, it very well might be the end of his HCP career.

Someone else might have tried to talk Will out of it, to point out that he was risking a lot to thwart a group and that his chances for success were low. Camille understood, however. She knew what it was to watch people group up and turn against Supers. Take Back Lander could push and push and potentially ruin some Super’s life, all the while risking only a slap on the wrist if they were found out. It was too much to sit by and stomach yet again, especially when Will had the power to change things. Low chances of success or not, these people were targeting her and Will’s friends. That wasn’t the kind of shit a Hero stood on the sidelines for. Not the kind of Hero she wanted to be, anyway.

“Got a next play in mind?” Camille asked. There had been a few options outlined in the files, but she had no idea what direction Will was leaning.

“I’ll see how they feel about expanding the inner circle first then go from there. Part of me is still hoping they’ll make the smart choice and disband, but with Kennedy at the helm, it’s a long shot. Most likely I’ll have to escalate things gently, give them the sort of bad luck that’s impossible to prove anyone is behind but gets them more paranoid. Not long after that, I think it will be time to give a face to their fears, albeit one in a mask.”

“I know I said I was okay with not being there to help, but I just realized that means I have to miss the Nick show as well. Any chance you’d be willing to sneak in a video camera or something?” Camille asked.

“You know, I just might do that. Win or lose, I have a hunch it’s a performance I’ll want to record for posterity.”

193.

Eliza was seriously debating the idea of protesting. She didn’t trust the orders. Not that she ever took anything Nick said at face value, but this was a step too far. Was he really expecting her to swallow a bullshit assignment like this?

“Guard duty. You want me on guard duty.”

“I’m making contact with an enemy who very well might have assets of his own in place, ready to respond the moment he knows he’s compromised. It only makes sense to put some protection on the most likely targets.” Nick barely glanced at her; he was straightening his tie in the mirror and checking his hair. Despite what loomed on the horizon, he’d decided that this was still a good time to take Alice out for a date night. It was the most effort Eliza had ever seen him put into romance since… actually, she couldn’t recall him ever working so hard at courting a woman. It was sort of sweet, or would be if she didn’t feel like there were better ways they could be spending their time.

“Look, I don’t mind guarding someone when the occasion demands. That’s not the issue here.” Eliza snatched up an empty beer bottle from the coffee table, duplicating it a few times until there were six vessels in front of her. “I’m confused why you’d want me for this, because while I’ve certainly got some skills, my ability is to make more of stuff. Useful, sure, just not that powerful in combat. So why is it you want someone like me guarding Vince? I’ve heard you guys talk; I know he’s one of the toughest people in your class. What the hell is going to be stronger than him but weaker than me?”

Finally satisfied with his tie, Nick pulled his collar down, smoothing it out until it was symmetrical and crisp. “That’s not the sort of thing you’re guarding Vince from. If they were dumb enough to burst in swinging then I have no doubt old Silver would whip whatever poor bastards came after him halfway to hell. In terms of raw power, Vince is hard to stop once he’s motivated to fight. The trouble is that he’s not nearly so resilient against people who go for the head. That big trusting heart of his makes him gullible, especially where his dad is concerned.”

“You think they’ll try to tempt him into leaving?” Eliza asked.

“I think I’m about to tell a mole that his cover is blown, and there are any number of ways that could play out, up to and including pulling out of Lander while taking as many resources from us as possible. Vince would never turn on his friends, and anyone who’s been around him for five minutes knows that. However, I’m not sure he could resist the chance to see his dad again if it was offered, and once he’s gone there’s no way of telling if we’d get him back.” Nick finally turned from the mirror, checking his watch to ensure they still had time before Alice’s arrival.

“So your job is to make sure no one has the opportunity to make that sort of approach,” Nick continued. “Take him out for food or coffee; I know you two are still friendly so that shouldn’t raise any red flags. Then just keep him occupied until you hear from me that it’s all clear. Give it a three-hour cutoff, though.”

There was no need to ask why Nick was imposing a time limit; Eliza already knew the answer quite well. In a situation like this cutoffs were important, because there was always a chance that the meeting would go poorly and someone would get killed. If that someone was Nick, a cutoff ensured she wouldn’t be stuck waiting all night. Plus, she’d be aware that the mole was on the attack, which gave her a better chance of surviving long enough to escape.

“You’re taking Jerome for backup, right?”

“At a distance, but yes. I’d prefer to keep anyone with useful powers away from this kind of situation. Jerome’s talents will be better put to use behind the scope of a rifle. It might not be enough to save me if things go south, but it will probably ensure I don’t head to the afterlife on my own.” Nick certainly didn’t appear that worried about the possibility, not that Nicholas Campbell was ever one to openly broadcast his emotions.

As much as Eliza still didn’t love this situation, she could see Nick’s point. In terms of raw physical power, there was almost no one Globe’s people could send who would be able to take down an HCP senior without a hell of a fight. If they used trickery or manipulation, on the other hand, Vince was indeed a potential target. Even if it galled her to be away from the action, she couldn’t find much fault in Nick looking out for a friend. “Be honest with me here: what are the chances this turns ugly?”

Nick walked over to the window and glanced out, presumably to check for Alice’s arrival in case she’d shown up early. “We’ve got better odds than we usually take with these kinds of gambles. Aside from the kidnapping, Globe’s generally never been hostile to us, so it stands to reason his people might not be either. There’s also the possibility that I’ve picked the wrong target and the whole thing will be a bust. If it does come to blows… well, I’d like to say I’ll stand a good chance. And based on what I remember about our target’s skills from the HCP, that would be true. But there’s always the possibility he’s been sandbagging to keep from drawing attention. Probably best to assume that if it comes to a fight I’ll have to focus on tactical retreat.”

“You could take one of your friends along. Hell, Alice has the skills to help put pressure on the mole and the power to stop him if it goes south,” Eliza suggested. “Why not bring her in?”

With a turn from the window, Nick shook his head. “Too dangerous. Maybe not physically, but she’s got a lot to lose. All of them do. If I pull this off, I’ll be establishing a relationship with a wanted criminal. While that’s fine for someone like me, someone trained to cover these things up, it could be toxic for a new Hero should the truth come out. No, this is just us, Eliza. You and Jerome are the only ones I can call on for this. So are you in, or do you have more objections? Alice isn’t going to be a lot longer.”

“Of course I’m in.” Eliza didn’t quite snap at him, although it was only thanks to concentrated willpower. “I still wish you’d tell me who the mole is though – if things go bad, I’d at least know who to put the hit on.”

“Which is part of why I’m not telling you,” Nick replied. “That and to keep the telepathic targets as limited as possible. This is not the kind of fight the Family needs to be getting mixed up in. I’m on my own on this one. If it goes bad, then let it end with me.”

“Even if I agreed to that, which I don’t, you know your other friends wouldn’t just shrug their shoulders once they saw your corpse. They’d tear half the country apart looking for your killer. The only question is whether they’d put him in jail or in the ground.” Eliza had a hunch it would be the latter, though it would depend on which of Nick’s friends found his murderer.

The sound of an engine rang out in the parking lot, and Nick went to check the window once more. Despite the fact that she couldn’t see outside from her vantage point on the couch, Eliza instantly knew Alice had arrived. Few other things drew that kind of smile to Nick Campbell’s face.

“You’re quite right,” Nick agreed. “Which is why I’ll do all I can not to die. But just in case I do, it only seemed proper to spend my potential last night alive with someone who makes me happy. On that note, you’re dismissed, Eliza. I’m done with work for today.”

194.

Despite the fact that spring was around the corner, winter refused to release its grip without a fight. Two days ago it had been warm enough to wear shorts (not that Sherman ever would) and now he was shivering beneath a thick jacket as the wind whipped against his exposed face. The top of the parking garage they’d chosen as a meeting place had a nice location and loads of escape routes, but protection from the elements was a feature it lacked.

Glancing down at his watch, Sherman noted that there were only a few minutes left until the meeting time. He had no idea who he was supposed to be looking for, not even a name. All he’d been told is that they’d find him. Given how deserted the area was, that wouldn’t really be a hard task to accomplish.

Another blast of wind tore at Sherman, this one stronger than the previous breezes. It took him a moment to realize that the increase in force was because nature hadn’t summoned this wind; what he was feeling was the blast of air from a super-speeder suddenly coming to a stop. Turning his head ever-so-slightly, Sherman found himself looking at a tall woman who hadn’t been there a few moments ago. She must have circled and run in from another direction. There was little he could make out of her face – the thick hat and scarf obscured most of her features – although it was hard to fault her for bundling up, especially at the speeds she must have been moving.

“Sherman, I take it.”

“If I say I’m not him, what possible excuse could I give for being out here at this time of night?” The cold had made Sherman a little snippier than he meant to be, and this wasn’t the time for sass. “Sorry. I mean yes, I’m he. What do I call you?”

Her eyes darted around a few times before glancing to the lower half of her face. “Scarf is fine.”

“Scarf? If you didn’t want to give me your real name you could have at least thought of one before arriving,” Sherman pointed out.

“Maybe I just haven’t decided if you get my real name or not yet. I thought you’d appreciate someone who doesn’t go around with a favorite code name locked and loaded. That’s the sort of thing Heroes do.”

She wasn’t wrong about that, and even if she had been, they were spending far too much time on something that didn’t matter. Better to get down to business so that he could be free from this relentless chill. “I suppose you have a point. Very well then, Scarf, I followed your protocol to the letter and arrived without any backup. Let’s cut to the heart of this meeting: what is your boss looking for from the Sons of Progress?”

“From the Sons? Nothing, because you’ve got nothing to offer. We both know your organization still stands in name only. I doubt you even had backup to bring with you if I’d allowed it. No, my boss doesn’t want anything from the Sons of Progress. Crispin, however, is another matter. A Super with his power is always valuable, and we’re willing to compensate him for a few services.”

Although it was galling to hear some stranger pronounce the death of a movement Sherman had poured years of his life into, there was little he could say as defense. The Sons of Progress were functionally dead. The only question remaining was whether to move on to a new incarnation or try to raise this one from the dead. Either was possible with Crispin at the helm; it would simply depend on what sort of compensation Globe had in mind.

“We anticipated such a possibility, and my employer is amenable to the idea. Assuming the compensation is appropriate for what he offers, of course.”

“Hey, I’m just the messenger. That’s for the bosses to figure out. Since you say yours is open to the deal, then the next step is to set up a meeting so they can hash out the specifics,” Scarf told him.

Sherman bristled, and it had nothing to do with the weather. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question. Crispin doesn’t meet for such dealings; he trusts me to represent his interests. While he will obviously show up to do any work he’s hired for, even that will only be under tight, carefully controlled circumstances. There are many people out for his head these days, I’m sure you can appreciate his cautious nature.”

“Oh I appreciate it just fine. You act like I’m not also working for someone in hiding. Thing is, I don’t really care how your boss feels about it. My guy is old school, doesn’t believe in working with someone until he’s looked them in the eye and shaken their hand. And he always handles his negotiations face to face.”

“So he doesn’t trust you?” Sherman knew it was a long-shot to try and wheedle her into agreement, but he had little else in the way of diplomatic options.

“He trusts me just fine,” Scarf shot back, unfazed by the verbal jab. “He believes that a real leader does more than their share of the work, not less. He’s not going to send any of us in to deal with a dangerous criminal, not when he can put himself at risk instead. So are we going to break over this, or do you want to run it by your boss and see what he has to say on the matter? Because we can find other amplifiers. Not easily, I’ll grant you, but it’s doable. I doubt it will be as simple for you to find another group willing to lend him aid… at least, not under such friendly terms.”

It took all of Sherman’s effort not to glare at Scarf; thankfully his half-frozen face made the task easier. “You call strong-arming us friendly?”

“I call wanting to handle things in person friendly. And offering to pay for the services is pretty friendly. There are lots of unscrupulous people who wouldn’t care what you wanted; they’d let you choose between doing the work and losing a few limbs.”

“Which is precisely why my employer makes a point of not needlessly endangering his safety by meeting with strangers,” Sherman said.

Scarf shrugged, or at least she seemed to. It was hard to tell under the dense coat. “This is a deal-breaker, Sherman. Take it back to your boss and see what he has to say. I’ll come back through here in one week. Same time, same conditions. If you’re here then be ready to discuss a meeting. If you’re gone then I’ll assume you don’t want to deal. It will be a shame and will slow us down, but we’ll manage to press on eventually.”

She began to walk back toward one of the exit ramps, not quite turning on the speed yet but clearly done with the meeting. Sherman called after her on instinct, words leaving his mouth before they could be properly vetted by his brain. “Is he a trustworthy man? Assistant to assistant, do you trust him?”

Scarf stopped, turning around to look back at Sherman. “Do I trust him? Of course I trust him. I’ve thrown everything away to follow him, and he’s proven worthy of it at every turn. If Globe told me he was ascending to the heavens to slay God himself, I’d start burning bibles for warmth because that’s all they’d be good for.”

“A little over-dramatic, but I take the point. I’ll speak to my employer and see if some arrangement can’t be reached.” Sherman watched as Scarf turned back around, began to jog, and then vanished in a blur. She was exceptionally fast, he had to say. Fast and good at her job. She’d summarized the situation perfectly: Crispin needed them more than they needed Crispin, and that put them in the stronger negotiating position.

For now, anyway. Sherman had seen the hunger in those who tasted what Crispin could offer. Once they saw their true potential unlocked they would become addicted to the power, and after that happened, Crispin and Sherman would be the ones in control. They just needed to play ball long enough to reach that point. Then the Sons of Progress would be born anew.

195.

Adam had always expected that when this moment came there would be lots of shouting, probably from people in colorful masks as he was beaten and restrained – something suitably dramatic for a discovery of such magnitude. Instead there was nothing but a simple note on his pillow. Just the words “I Know” along with a date, time, and address.

With that alone he would have had little to go on, although the number of people who could have found him out was quite limited. There was no need to begin speculating on who’d uncovered his secret, however.

After all, who else but Nick Campbell would write a note like that on a playing card?

It was a bold move, letting a potential enemy know who was setting the meeting, but Nick had always favored high-stakes gambles. In this case, Adam found it somewhat prudent. If he’d had no idea who sent the note, then he would have needed to contact Globe and begin extracting himself from Lander as fast as possible. There were bolt bags tucked away all over campus, and Adam knew the schedules of Supers with powers he could borrow that might be handy for escape. But to be uncovered by Nick… maybe that wasn’t so bad. Globe himself had worked with the former student in May, helping provide Nick with enough power to help sway the outcome of the attack against Lander. Besides, if Nick wanted to turn him in then he wouldn’t bother setting up a meeting. No, Nick wanted something else; maybe this was just the leverage he was using to get it. There was also the possibility it could be an elaborate trap, but again Adam couldn’t see why Nick would bother when he’d had (and squandered) the element of surprise.

There wasn’t enough time to reach out and hear back from Globe through the usual channels before the meeting was set, so Adam had to make this call on his own. Maybe it was naïve, but he didn’t see the harm in taking the meeting. Nick already had him dead-to-rights: all he had to do was tell Dean Blaine and the whole jig was up. There was nothing he could bring to a secret meeting that was worse than the full might of the HCP coming down on Adam’s head… unless he planned to kill Adam before any investigation could take place. It was possible, albeit not terribly likely. While Nick certainly had no qualms about taking life, he wasn’t the sort to throw away a useful resource. Odds were good that this was a meeting to talk terms, not bury Adam in a shallow grave.

Still, Adam did intend to go grab some useful powers before the deadline. He was the first to admit Nick was among the craftiest bastards Adam had ever met, and there very well might be an aspect to this meeting Adam hadn’t figured out. Better to be prepared, just in case. Getting booted from Lander, even captured by the Heroes, all of that was fine if the mission demanded it, but Adam couldn’t allow himself to die. Not yet. Not until he’d taken revenge for his family. He’d made a promise to those graves, and no one was going to stop him from keeping it.

Slipping on a coat to fight the failing winter chills, Adam tucked the playing card carefully into his pocket and got on the move. Not much time to work with, so he’d have to be quick. Nick didn’t strike him as the type to tolerate tardiness.

*             *             *

Eliza had settled on dinner as Vince’s distraction. By the time he’d finish with training and classes it would be too late for coffee, and dinner implied a longer engagement anyway. She’d gone out of her way to pick a place that didn’t send the wrong message: a chain restaurant with garish junk and pictures all over the walls. It was the least romantic destination she could picture, chosen specifically so that neither Vince nor Camille would get the wrong idea. If the dinner came off as suspicious, Vince might feel morally inclined to refuse or leave early, neither of which could be permitted. Instead, Eliza framed it as a meal between friends who needed to catch up with one another, the sort of meeting that could stretch on as long as she needed it to if Nick didn’t wrap things up quickly.

As soon as she arrived, Eliza knew she’d done her job well. Vince was already there, punctual as always, waiting for her in the restaurant’s lobby. Loud off-pitch voices could be heard over the awful music warbling from the speakers in every corner, probably the staff singing for a birthday. At least Eliza hoped that was what it was; if they sang like that through the whole evening she might cut dinner short and just hope no one went after Vince. Well, she’d be tempted to, anyway.

“Good to see you.” Vince wrapped her in the sort of hug that felt familiar no matter how many years elapsed between them. She hugged him back then pulled away quickly. Professional and friendly, that was her role here.

“You too. It’s been a while,” Eliza replied. She felt a pang of regret even as she said it, but making Vince feel a little guilty over his schedule now would ensure he didn’t leave before things were safe later on. “Senior year really kicking the crap out of you, huh?”

“Between the job, the classes, and the tests I feel like I’m living off a few hours’ sleep during the week. But it only gets busier in the real world, so I’ve got to adapt to this while I can.” Vince walked with Eliza up to the hostess station, where they were immediately led off to one of the booths along a wall. They passed three tables of children, two of whom were openly screaming, and Eliza barely resisted the urge to congratulate herself on choice of locale yet again. Not even Nick in his Vegas prime could have pulled a romantic vibe out of a place like this.

They were seated and greeted in rapid succession, their poor waiter looking as though he was on hour ten of a double shift, and then they were left on their own while he fetched their drinks. Eliza expected the conversation to start right up; however, she noticed that Vince had suddenly fallen silent. He was staring at the wall of their booth, and once Eliza followed his gaze it wasn’t hard to figure out why.

Among the knickknacks and frames on the wall there was a framed black and white picture, probably meant to evoke a rustic sentiment. If it had been of farm equipment or a log cabin it might have worked; unfortunately, neither was the subject of the photo. Instead there was a moonshine still propped up in the woods, poorly covered by foliage. For most people it was probably nothing more than one more bit of trash on the wall, but she and Vince had their own memories of an abandoned still, ones that were good and bad all mixed together in a way she’d never truly untangled.

“Do you want me to see about getting another booth?” Eliza asked.

Vince tore his gaze from the photo immediately. “No, no, this is fine. Sorry for spacing out. I just thought it was funny, how you and I keep happening upon these things.”

The flood of memories between them threatened to collapse the flimsy table of their booth, so Eliza lifted a menu and buried her eyes in it. That was not the part of their life to be thinking about right now. She had to be calm, collected, and in control. She had to keep Vince here happily, because there was no chance of overpowering him if he decided to leave. Sooner or later the nostalgic sentiment would evaporate and things would be back to normal.

Where was another screaming kid when she really needed one?

196.

Adam wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cross himself when he saw where the address led. Of all the places he’d expected Nick Campbell to call this sort of meeting, a church – let alone one as historic as this chapel – wasn’t one of them. It had been built around the time the town was founded; if he remembered correctly, the spot was even a protected historic landmark. Maybe Nick wanted to make sure if they started anything people wouldn’t be able to ignore it? No, trying to puzzle out that man’s thought process was a waste of time. Nick had his reasons, and so long as they didn’t end with Adam injured or dead, then they weren’t a concern he had to deal with. And this probably wasn’t a murder setup… unless there was a cemetery out back with a freshly-dug grave.

Circling the building once, Adam didn’t see any mobs of goons tucked away in the shadows or telltale mounds of fresh dirt in the back, so he went back to the front and shoved open the large wooden doors. They opened to show an interior lit by dozens of candles casting their flickering light on empty pews. Mostly empty, anyway. From the entrance Adam could just make out a head of sandy-brown hair in the very front row.

“Lock the door behind you.” Nick’s voice echoed all over the room, no surprise given the acoustics and high ceilings. Adam did as he was told, pushing an old lever on the door into place so that no one else could enter.

“Are we alone?” Adam asked.

“I rented the place out. If anyone asks, you were here for an all-night prayer group and lock-in.” Nick’s reply explained the empty chapel, although Adam noticed that he’d never actually said whether it was just the two of them in here or not. Adam’s eyes lifted to the shadowy rafters of the high ceilings. With only candlelight it was impossible to explore all the nooks and crannies up there; knowing Nick, there was zero chance that was accidental.

“So… you know, huh?” There was no point in beating around the bush. They both knew what they were there for. The sooner everything was out in the open the better Adam would understand his chances of surviving the evening.

“Well, I thought I did. Truth be told I put one of those cards on the pillow of every suspect I had, assuming the guilty party would be the one to show up.” Nick stood from his seat in the front row, turning to face Adam for the first time.

“No, you didn’t.”

“No, I didn’t,” Nick agreed. “It was just you. Not that it was easy by any means. Whoever doctored your paperwork did an incredible job. And please understand, I have extremely high standards for forgery, so I mean that with sincere regard for their skill. When this is all over, I may want to get their card or something from you in case I need work done.”

Slowly, all-too-aware that his movements were being watched for aggressive intent, Adam made his way toward Nick. “When this is all over, I don’t think any of my people will be in a position to do much. Mind if I ask what gave me away, or is that a trade secret?”

“A lot of research and critical thinking combined with a little luck. And maybe a dab of personal insight. I’ve played the same game as you: stay good enough to make the cut but never stand out too much. Only you are much better at it than I was. No matter how the class grows and changes, you stay right around the middle of the pack, safe from cuts while never having much attention paid to you.”

“There are plenty of people in the middle,” Adam replied.

“But they’ve all moved about more than you; their ranks are more volatile. Not you, not Adam Riley. Good old dependable, ignorable, forgettable Adam Riley. We never even see your face during real fights; you’re always wearing someone else’s. Even knowing that, I still wasn’t sure about you. That’s how good a job you’ve done blending in.” Nick pulled a coin from his pocket and tossed it in the air once, catching it with a blur of motion before it fell past his chest. “Funnily enough, it’s thanks to Globe’s little push that I had enough luck to be sure you were my mole.”

Adam had crossed the majority of the aisle; he and Nick were only a few pews apart now. “That doesn’t necessarily seem like information you should tell an enemy.”

“Maybe that’s because I don’t see why we need to be enemies,” Nick said. “I know you work for Globe, but I also know that people might have the wrong idea about him. And let’s be honest here: aside from one kidnapping, he’s never done anything against me and my friends. In fact, he or his people have helped us a few times. I called you here to have a talk, Adam. A talk about what you’re after, and what I’m after, to see if maybe you and I can’t be of some help to one another.”

It was hard not to wonder if this was how Faust felt as Adam stared at that candlelit smirk on Nick’s face. But that was a silly analogy anyway; he had no soul left to trade. That had been spent years ago on the promise of revenge. What wasn’t lost immediately had been stripped away day after day, lie after lie. “You want to know what I’m after? It’s not complicated, and I’m sure a man like you will understand. I want revenge, pure and simple. The man who killed my family is going to die, at my hands, when my work is done.”

“You seem pretty sure of that.” Nick was watching him carefully, as were his hidden allies, no doubt.

“Because that’s the deal we made. I do my job to help them bring everything to light, and when it’s all done, I get to take his head. Even if I didn’t trust the man who made the deal, I trust the others to make sure it gets honored. There’s your answer, Nick. I want vengeance. If your goals in any way keep me from that then you should kill me now, because I’m not going to let you get in my way. If, on the other hand, that works with what you want, then we can talk. I know the value in making strange alliances when the occasion demands it.”

The coin was moving between Nick’s fingers, tumbling effortlessly from one digit to the next so smoothly Adam wasn’t even sure Nick noticed he was doing it. “I’ve got nothing against settling scores, but the ‘who’ in this equation is important. It didn’t sound like you were after Globe, so who is it you want dead? If it’s someone I owe friendship or favor to, we might have a problem.”

“No, it’s not Globe.” Adam felt pretty sure his next words wouldn’t be the end of the conversation, but he readied himself to roll behind a pew just in case. “The man I want to kill is the Hero who took my family away from me: Relentless Steel. Or as we knew him in class, Coach George.”

197.

“You want to kill George? Have to admit, I didn’t see that coming. I can think of no shortage of people who wouldn’t mind slugging the guy a few times, but murder, that’s a new one.” Nick wasn’t entirely sure he bought this story; however, Adam didn’t seem to be lying. Granted, the young man had fooled the entire HCP staff for years, so he was obviously talented at deception. Nick still prided himself on sensing a bluff though, and nothing in Adam’s expression was giving away falsehood. “Mind if I ask you why, exactly?”

“It’s kind of a long story. One I’d like to tell in private,” Adam replied.

In response, Nick lifted his hands to gesture around at the empty, or almost empty, church. “I’ve got this bad boy rented all night under a name no one would associate with you or me, and I’m going to assume you’ve got enough skill that you made it here without being followed. If you’ve got a better idea for a private place to talk, I’d love to hear it.”

There was a stretch of silence, one that lasted so long Nick wondered if Adam was going to reject his offer of discussion, before Adam finally answered. “You’re the type that looks up everything on the people he deals with. Friends, enemies, all of it. So should I take it as a given that you know about what happened to Ralph Chapman’s children?”

“Raze and Relentless Steel were on the job, a fight got out of hand and Raze made a mistake that brought the whole damn bridge down, taking a lot of trapped civilians with it.” Nick had learned the story of Ralph’s motivation long ago; it was a necessary precaution to take when working with someone he didn’t fully trust.

“That’s the story,” Adam said. “But it’s not the truth. Things were bad on that bridge, frantic and panicked like you can’t even imagine. Lots of mistakes got made in the heat of battle. Having the training I do now, I can understand how things reached the point they did. However, it wasn’t Raze who brought that bridge down. Relentless Steel was the one who took a dangerous shot and missed, blowing out one of the main supports and triggering a collapse. It happened behind a pile of mangled cars, the sort of place with virtually no witnesses, unless you count a small scared kid who got separated from his family, hiding under a truck. Because of my position, I was the only one who saw how it really happened. That proximity to George is also what saved my life; he caught me as the bridge was falling out from under us. Even used his booster legs to slow our fall, giving me the treat of seeing my family, so close they could have heard me if I’d cried out, as they fell with the cars and rubble into the cold water below.”

Either Adam was a hell of a liar who’d decided to swing for the fences, or he was telling the truth. Every bit of Nick’s training had him leaning toward the latter. A year or two ago he might have dismissed the idea that such a massive shift of blame was possible, but after what he’d seen happen to Globe, Nick knew just how viable such tactics were. While he didn’t fully believe Adam yet, he was curious to hear more of the tale.

“George was always a bit of a bastard, but that’s a far cry from blaming a fellow Hero for his colossal screw-up.”

“Much as I want the man dead, I can’t say that part of the blame falls on him.” Adam was looking away in brief intervals, past Nick and the church to a day that was long past yet had never truly left him. “I didn’t understand at the time, but apparently Raze had been looking into some things that powerful people didn’t like. That includes the supposed villainous turn of his former classmate, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. Couple that with the fact that his power of raw destruction made the public a little nervous, the destroyed bridge was just the opportunity someone needed. Nobody knew what really happened except for me and George.”

“I’m a little surprised you didn’t speak up.” It wasn’t quite an accusation on Nick’s part, although it was a bit closer to one than it could have been.

Adam lowered himself into a pew, spreading his arms out across the hard wooden back of the bench. “I would have, if given the chance, and I’d probably have died for it. When the DVA agents arrived on the scene they pulled Relentless Steel off to the side. Once he came back he was in human form and pale as I’ve ever seen him. He told me that no matter what happened, I was never to talk to anyone about what I’d seen. That it would be the end of me. Someone had tampered with the evidence before the DVA got there and sent false reports up through the system. By the time they arrived, Raze was deemed guilty and no one was going to believe otherwise. If we made trouble or asked for a telepath, we’d almost certainly end up dead or framed too.”

Slowly, Nick walked over to a pew on the opposite side of the aisle and mirrored Adam’s posture, taking a seat and spreading out. While it looked like he was getting comfy, the truth was Nick wanted to make sure Jerome had a clean line of sight from wherever he was in the rafters, just in case the conversation unexpectedly went south. “I feel like I’ve been a pretty accommodating listener so far, but that last bit is pushing it a little. You expect me to believe that Charles Adair has a network of spies constantly keeping tabs on Heroes and getting rid of them if they drill too close to his secrets?”

“Given what you know about Charles, I’d be amazed if you didn’t already assume that,” Adam shot back. “But you’re missing the point. Charles used wealth and power to influence a system by compromising individuals; he’s not the first or last person in history to figure out that equation. While some aspects of that company who created you are genuinely helpful to Heroes, like what Numbers and Transport do, others exist to protect the company itself. That means making sure the wrong people don’t stir up too much trouble. Do you want to know why Globe has followers? It’s not just that he’s a good leader, or charismatic. It’s that everyone on the team has either seen or experienced the broken parts of our system. Bringing down Charles isn’t just about proving Globe’s innocence; he’d never fight this hard for something that selfish. It’s about showing the world the truth and forcing those in power to start dealing with the corruption.”

“Quite a lofty goal, although given what I know about Globe that fits the bill.” Nick could believe that man would take on nearly any goal, practical or not. It was a trait he’d obviously passed on to Vince.

“I’m not sure things will go the way they want, even if they do take Charles down, but that’s not my concern. All I have to do is help get them to that point. When it’s over, I take George’s head from his shoulders. That was the deal we struck. Once he’s brought it all to light and hopefully cleared Raze’s name, George is willing to let me kill him. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven himself for that day on the bridge, and he shouldn’t. I’ll grant you it’s not the easiest path I could have taken, but he’s too strong for me to kill on my own, so this seemed like my best shot.” If Adam felt any remorse for his murderous intent, it wasn’t showing, not even in the deepest parts of his eyes.

“You want to kill him that bad, after he saved and – I’m just guessing here – helped raise and train you so you’d be skilled enough to pull off this job?” Nick asked.

Adam gave one quick, curt nod. “He killed my family. I don’t really have to explain more than that to you, do I?”

He had Nick there. Blood for blood was gospel in Nick’s world; had he been in Adam’s shoes Nick had little doubt he’d have pursued the same course of action. Oh, he’d have been smarter about it and not gotten himself in so deep, but the end goal would be the same: retribution for what had been taken.

“I suppose that’s fair, and if George is on board it’s not my place to question the deal. That brings us to the more important question, though: whether you and I are enemies or allies.”

198.

Dinner was going well, despite the initial moment of awkwardness. Eliza was steering clear of anything with alcohol: she needed her wits for a myriad of reasons tonight. She and Vince had gotten back into light conversation, catching up on the small stuff about work and school. It would all be fine, so long as they didn’t look at that damn picture on the wall. Too many memories came with that sort of image, the kind that she couldn’t afford to indulge, especially since Vince had fallen in love with someone else.

Still, every now and then she would glance at him, marveling at the utter absence of scars or burns on his face. There was a time that she’d never imagined he’d look like this again.

*             *             *

If she’d been asked why she was helping the stranger who’d been set on arresting her, Eliza would have claimed it was simply a matter of balancing a debt. No matter how she looked at it, he’d saved her life, and that wasn’t the sort of obligation she wanted to carry around with her. But in truth, Eliza was perhaps not quite so bound to survival above all else as she might pretend to be. Whoever this guy was, he was the sort to throw himself into danger to keep a stranger, a thief, safe. It didn’t feel right to let him die alone in the woods.

Finding the shack had been easy; dragging the guy she knew only as Tights there took more effort. Most of the burns were along his back, though his limbs and parts of his face had been scorched as well. Keeping him on his stomach, she rigged up a makeshift stretcher by replicating her clothes and then shredding them for material. It was hard work, but they couldn’t risk hanging around the site of the explosion. Whoever had made that moonshine still was going to come back, and she and Tights couldn’t risk being found, especially on the chance that person was wary about leaving witnesses.

After she’d gotten Tights into the shed, she went back and made some fake trails while obscuring the real one. It wasn’t her strongest skill set, but she only needed to buy enough time to get help. Once Tights was in an ambulance she could disappear once more, guilt free. She took her time though; it wouldn’t do to be discovered before they were ready, so it was over an hour later when she made it back to the shed.

To her surprise, Tights was awake. He’d halfway propped himself against a wall and was staring at the door. It was hard to say if he was standing watch or working up the strength to crawl outside, but his face lit up when she walked in. The expression was sincere and unexpected, and something in Eliza’s chest grew tight for a shadow of a moment.

“Well well, looks like you’re doing okay, Tights.” She kept her voice low and shut the door firmly behind her. Given the amount of dust and neglect in this shed it obviously hadn’t been in use for some while; however, she didn’t want to risk bringing unnecessary attention down on their heads. “Don’t worry, I’m about to head back to town and call you an ambulance. By tonight you’ll be getting treatment.”

“No.” His voice was raspy; he must have inhaled smoke or heat during the explosion and fallout, but it still came out with more force than she’d have thought a man in his condition capable of. “I can’t go to a hospital.”

She looked him over skeptically. Had the fire burned off all his nerve endings or something? He had to realize how bad of shape he was in. “Look, I don’t know what your story is and I’m not really in the mood to find out. But you have to go to the hospital. That fire fucked you all the way up. You need treatment, and the sooner the better.”

Tights shook his head, a painful motion that was hard to watch. “You don’t understand. I can’t go to a hospital. I’m a Powered, and my ability… you saw it for yourself. It’s not just fire either. I draw in electricity almost as often. If I had an incident in a hospital I could black the whole place out, even if they have backup generators. I’d kill everyone there who was on life support and put countless others at risk.”

“That’s a noble sentiment and all, but you look like someone dropped most of you onto a grill. I’m genuinely amazed you’re this coherent.”

“It’s not the first time my power has gotten me hurt. I have practice dealing with pain.” Despite the brave words, she could see him push down a shudder. Coping with pain wasn’t the same as erasing it, and this had to be taking a hell of a toll on the guy.

“Then what’s the game plan here? If you were hoping I’ve got some healing mojo then let me shoot that idea out of the sky right now. You’re in deep shit here, Tights, and if hospitals are off the table then I don’t know what to do for you.”

He didn’t say anything immediately; instead he just stared at her. No, not at her: past her. The guy was lost in thought or memories, drifting somewhere in his own mind. Finally, he spoke again, although that unexpected force had vanished from his voice. In its place was the kind of tired that sounded like it went all the way down to the bone. “I don’t think there is a plan. I’m just going to rest for a while and see how I feel when I wake up.” His eyelids were fluttering as he spoke; she guessed he had a few minutes of consciousness left in him, tops.

“The smart money would be on worse,” she said.

“Probably. But I don’t know what else to do. I only know I can’t drag innocent people down with me. Promise me you won’t take me to a hospital. Please.”

This guy couldn’t be for real, right? He had to know how bad these burns were, to understand that without treatment he wouldn’t be long for this world. Who chose death over potentially causing trouble for others? The same kind of guy who ran down strangers he saw picking a pocket, apparently. It was tempting to tell him to fuck off, to go get the ambulance anyway. But… he’d saved her life. Dragging him through the woods didn’t make up for that kind of debt. If this was how he wanted things to go, then she owed that much to him.

“Fine. I swear: no hospitals. I’m not promising to be here when you wake up, though.”

“That’s okay. I appreciate you doing this much… what was your name?”

“Thief is fine, and I’ll keep calling you Tights. No offense, but given the situation I think I’d rather not get too personal.” It was the smart play, keeping some distance between herself and this brave yet clearly insane stranger. Unfortunately, some part of her was already wondering if she’d gone too far to be truly detached.

Tights gave a small nod but no other response. His eyes simply slid closed as sleep overtook him once more. At least he was still breathing; that was something. Quietly, Eliza slipped out the shed door and did a quick walk of the perimeter.

If there was ever a time to ditch out, this was it. From here she’d only be more involved, and when the inevitable happened, it would hurt all the worse. Tights had made his decision. She didn’t need to stick around and watch things play out. It wasn’t as though she could do much for him anyway. She should just go, run away from this city, this shed, this boy, and never look back. All she had to do was walk away and try to never think about that smile on his face just before the explosion. He’d known what was happening, and his biggest concern had been trying to make her feel okay. Really, what kind of utter nutjob did things like that in the first place?

“Goddamnit,” Eliza muttered under her breath, turning away from the shed, back toward town. If she hurried, she could hopefully steal some medical supplies before nightfall.

199.

Adam took his time considering the question, more than should have been needed by Nick’s opinion, but perhaps he was making a moment out of it. “Enemies or allies? That is a tough one. If I were dealing with one of the others I think I’d have a ready answer for them. Vince is certainly an ally, whether he means to be or not. There’s no compromise in that one; he takes after his father. Once he got a whiff of the system being corrupted he’d do all he could to bring it to light, even though it would destroy him in the process. Alice I’d call an ally too. She’s proven herself steadfast and dedicated to the pursuit of truth. Roy and Hershel would be harder to predict, but I think between the two of them they’d eventually come down on our side. Mary… well, if someone is open with their thoughts Mary is almost impossible to lie to, so of course she’d be our ally. Actually, she was supposed to be on our team from the near-beginning. But you, Nick, you aren’t any of them. You don’t have a creed or an easily defined moral center. I’m never fully sure who you’re fighting for, and that makes it quite difficult to say if you’re on my side or not.”

Thoughtful, well-reasoned, and with a lure about Mary meant to drag the conversation off topic if he wasn’t careful; Nick was starting to realize just how much Adam had been sandbagging in the HCP. This was a level of intellect he’d never displayed during the trials and classes before. In a way, it was humbling. They’d both been playing the same game, but Adam had proven more skilled at it. He’d made it to senior year without turning a single head.

“That’s a nice speech, with one glaring hole in the logic,” Nick said. “You know damn well who I’m fighting for. It’s obvious you’re smart enough to figure it out, and even if you weren’t, Globe sure is. He juiced me up during the attack on Lander because he knows exactly whose side I’m on. I’m with my friends, the other former-Powereds, from now until the end. So if all of them would side with you, then you can count me as an ally. And if you do anything treacherous, make one single move against them, then I become your very devoted enemy. You’re clearly a capable man, so that might be a problem you can handle, but I’d be sure to make as much trouble for you as I could before I was off the board.”

“I have no doubt you would. But as you said, that only matters if my goals require hurting your friends, so there isn’t much cause for worry.”

“There shouldn’t be.” Nick rose from his pew. He’d stay clear of the lines of sight for Jerome, but he didn’t feel comfortable staying seated. Better to be moving, to have quick cover to roll behind at a moment’s notice. “And I say shouldn’t because you people have already made a lot of trouble for us. Or did you think I couldn’t figure out who slipped Michael Clark those files with the truth about us during freshman year? This is a major problem, one that only seems slight in comparison to the fact that your two associates kidnapped a pair of mine. You’ve already proven yourself willing to fuck us over when it suits your needs, why should I think dealing with you now will be different?”

Adam’s face was set; neither of the allegations had caught him off-guard. He’d clearly been preparing for this since the conversation began. “Because you’d be dealing with me. George was the one who decided that the best way to cause enough chaos for him to slip away with Mary was by letting out your secret. If she’d vanished that night without a witness to the kidnapping, you’d have all thought she went into hiding just like she did with her home in the woods. It would have been at least a day before anyone grew genuinely concerned, and by then she’d have already been back. Not the plan I’d have used, but George is a blunt man who likes to work amidst panic. I would never do that to you all. Whether you believe me or not is probably going to determine if we’re allies, or just people who stay out of each other’s ways.”

Were the others making Nick soft? It didn’t seem likely; if anything, he felt that parts of him had become more ruthless since he started letting them into his life. Yet here he was, interrogating a man who specialized in deceit and had every motivation to lie… and who Nick was reading as truthful at every turn. There was no way he was being that honest, but either such was the case or he was fooling Nick completely. The second option was valid; if Gerry had taught him nothing else it was to never underestimate his marks, so it couldn’t be dismissed outright. But Globe was the man at the top of Adam’s organization, and Globe had proven himself to be a friend already. The smartest move for the moment was to trust his skills, believe that Adam was telling the truth, and then watch like a hawk for the moment he did anything even slightly duplicitous.

“For now, I think we can be allies.” Nick sounded sure and doubtless, for there was no gain in letting Adam see his uncertainty. “Globe wants what we want: the truth. If you’re on that team, and you do right by us, then I don’t care what kind of weird shit you and George need to work out when it’s done. I do want something from you as a sign of goodwill, however: tell me about Mary. Why did Globe try and take her?”

“Haven’t you figured it out by now?” Adam asked.

“I’ve got my pet theory, but if I told you then you could just agree. I’d rather hear your explanation and see how closely it lines up with my own deductions.”

Slowly, making sure the gesture wouldn’t seem aggressive, Adam lifted a hand with two fingers up from the pew. “The plan was a simple one. I’d spent the whole first year watching you all from a distance, sometimes wearing other people’s bodies so you wouldn’t notice. I’d gotten a good sense of who you all were. Mary presented a unique opportunity, one that we decided to utilize. See, there were only two ways kidnapping her could go.” The middle finger of Adam’s hand lowered, leaving only the index extended.

“One, which was more likely by far and ended up being the way things shook out, was that someone would notice she was missing and send up the panic-signal. While everyone else was scrambling, I turned into Coach George. He’d given me all his passwords and I could fool every bit of biometric security, meaning this offered us the perfect opportunity to hack into the database where the information we needed was stored. As I said, we both know that’s how things happened. But there was another possibility.”

The middle finger rose back up alongside the index, making a peace-sign on Adam’s hand once more. “Plan two was that we got Mary away without incident, out to where Globe and the others were hiding at the time. He’d have talked to her, opened up his mind and let her see the truth. When she believed us, which she would, Mary would have fallen on our side. She’s not the trusting type, or at least wasn’t then. That’s why she listened to everyone’s thoughts so frequently. Finding out the system was corrupt wouldn’t even have been a big shock for her. Once she was with us, we’d have had a telepath that could, with a lot of focus and special training, learn to hear specific voices from miles away. That range of hers is amazing, Nick. If she’d been learning to search that sea of thoughts instead of swing heavy objects I daresay she’d be the greatest information gathering asset in the world. Virtually no one would be safe; they could have their thoughts monitored with no idea it was happening. Keeping a mind controlled takes a lot of discipline; most people screw up at least a little bit of the time. With Mary, the moment that happened it would be game over.”

“So either way, you get information,” Nick surmised. “Be it through encrypted data or a new mole with spectacular telepathy. Having a win-win is nice, but it cost George and Persephone their covers to do it. Not the greatest trade to make, given their positions and authority.”

“In the second option, we’d have kept them in place since the kidnapping would never be discovered. But it was decided that if we did get the encrypted data then the trade was worthwhile. Uprooting Charles is the best shot we have at yanking everything into the light. That’s the main goal of Globe and his people. If you’re on board with that, then I think we can work together. If not, then let’s be done with this.” Adam stared at Nick, his eyes briefly darting upward for a fraction of a second. He knew someone was up there, ready to strike, and he was still delivering an ultimatum. It was ballsy. Nick respected ballsy.

“Send word to your boss that I’m interested in making some deals. Just me. Keep the others out of this for now,” Nick said. “If things go bad, my reputation can take a little more smearing.”

200.

No one had ever called Eliza the nurturing type. It wasn’t her style. She focused on self-reliance and survival above all else. True, if one really looked at a few of the homes where she’d been fostered, they might discover that the younger kids constantly found unexpected bits of food in their possession, food that was mysteriously never reported as missing, but no one would have thought the silent girl with the dark curls was responsible for it. She barely ever talked to anyone, never attempted to bond or connect. Eliza was passing through, getting by. It was how she’d made it this far with just her wits and a useful ability as her tools.

So it was as much of a surprise to Eliza as it would have been to anyone else when the days passed and she found herself still in that shack with Tights, taking care of him. Although she knew “taking care” was a generous term for what she was doing; it was more akin to fighting back the inevitable than really helping him heal. She’d made a hospital run to steal an armful of drugs, nearly getting snagged in the process, and by duplicating them she was at least able to keep Tights medicated. He never complained about the pain, which had to be insane; he’d merely wince and readjust his position on the cheap padding she’d used to make him a mattress. The guy was tough as hell, and the more time they spent together, the less surprised Eliza was by that.

With no television, books, or radio on hand, all they could do in that shed was talk – first about the situation, then eventually about themselves. They never exchanged names, however. She knew he might be gone any day, and hearing his name would make the loss harder. Tights never pushed the issue, either. He probably knew what she was doing and didn’t mind letting her keep some distance. It was the kind of man he was, she slowly learned. Hearing his story – born a Powered, unwanted by the system, found by a stranger who became his father only to die a few years earlier – it hurt her to listen to, perhaps because there were so many moments that echoed her own life scattered in.

Eliza wasn’t bothered by the fact that Tights had suffered. In her experience, everyone suffered; it was part of the human condition. No, what bothered her was that their early lives were so similar in so many ways, yet he’d turned into the kind of person who shoved a stranger, a thief, out of harm’s way at the expense of his own body. She would never have done that and held no illusion otherwise. Even caring for the person who’d saved her was a real stretch. All of her life she’d blamed that attitude on her circumstances, always justified her cutthroat nature by reasoning that it had been her only option. But talking with Tights made it clear that someone could come from the darkness and still be a source of light. It forced her to ask the honest question: was it really the fault of her circumstances she was like this, or was Eliza just a genuinely selfish person?

She tried not to dwell on the question; instead she kept her days filled with taking care of Tights, occasionally making runs for new supplies, and getting to know her injured patient. Well… that, and trying to convince him to let her call an ambulance. While she’d accepted his choice early on, with every passing day it was a little harder to swallow. She didn’t want… he didn’t deserve to die. Not like this. Not in a dirty shack with a thief as his only company. Eliza worked on him day after day, pleading, wheedling, manipulating, and conniving to try and get him to bend on his choice, but Tights was unshakable. He wouldn’t risk others for himself.

One night, lying next to him on the stack of padding, Eliza lifted her head to catch his blue eyes awake and staring at her. “See something you like?”

“I… um, sorry.” The few unmarred patches of his skin flushed and he glanced away.

“Uh oh, did I just catch you plotting to smother me in my sleep and then ditch out?”

“No, of course not. I was just thinking I was kind of glad that if I have to go, I was thankful I got to spend my last days like this, with someone like you.” He turned away as best he could, which mostly consisted of tilting his eyes upward toward the ceiling.

“Much as I appreciate the compliment, you’re not dead yet, Tights.” Eliza was still trying to keep the tone light, but when he looked at her again she knew the gambit had failed. Those stunning eyes had turned deadly serious. His voice wasn’t quite as strong though, words soft as he kept stopping and starting.

“You’ve done so much for me, Thief. More than I had any right to ask for or expect. But I can feel… I’m getting weaker. Thank you so much for all the help you’ve given me. I’ll never forget it, for what that’s worth. I think maybe you should go soon, though. You don’t… I’ve had to be there for the death of someone, when that train car burned with my father inside. I can’t do that to you, not after everything you’ve already given. In the morning, you should leave. You’ve done enough; I can face this last part on my own.”

Looking at him in that moment, Eliza knew two things for certain. The first was that he was lying through his teeth. Not about what was coming: they were both smart enough to see that all she’d done was buy him time. No, the lie was about wanting her to go. He was scared to be alone, to be in pain, to meet the end with no one at his side. But he didn’t want to hurt her, to make his pain hers, and that fact led to the second thing Eliza knew without question: somehow, a piece of her had gone and stupidly managed to fall in love with this idiot.

Or maybe it wasn’t all that surprising, really. Maybe Eliza had always been drawn to selfless, caring men and had simply never met one and discovered her preference. Whatever the reason, there was no denying how she felt once she saw it in herself. She didn’t want him to die. She didn’t want to live with the knowledge that someone this decent was gone and it was because of her. Mostly, though, Eliza didn’t think it was right to let one of the few good people she’d met in this world leave it so easily.

“You make it sound like you’re ready to die, Tights.”

To her surprise, he laughed. Nothing huge, just a small chuckle that ended in a wince. “I think I’ve been ready since I lost my father. I’m not suicidal or anything, I’ve just never been able to imagine a life where I got by without him. I always knew that one day my power would do me in. It’s a truth I accepted as soon as I knew what I was. Now that I’m finally getting close, though… I didn’t think I would be this scared.” Tears had formed at the edges of his eyes and were slowly sliding along his cheeks. “It might not have been a good life, but I think I did the best I could with it. And as much as I wish it were going on for longer, at least I didn’t hurt anyone this time. In fact, I got to save a wonderful person. That’s as good as it was ever going to get for me. For one moment, I got to play the Hero. Thank you, Thief, for giving me that.”

Eliza’s eyes were locked on his. Part of her admired the way he was facing his mortality, and respected the fact that his dearest wish was just to not injure others with his death. But another part of her, one much bigger and stronger than she’d have suspected, raged at the idea of this man being gone from the world. Before she’d stopped to think about it, she was kissing him, and he was kissing her back with all the strength he could muster.

They made love that night. It took some care and gentleness on both parts to work around his injuries, but the determined can always find a way. And when the sun rose, she gave Tights his medication along with an extra bit to make sure he slept soundly before she headed into town.

It didn’t take long for Eliza to find a payphone, and in seconds she dialed the number she’d memorized that day in the diner. She’d been sure at the time that she wouldn’t call it, but Eliza was never one to discard a useful tool. In all the scenarios she’d imagined driving her to this point, however, never once had she considered that she’d make this deal for someone else. But Tights had come from a world as bad as hers and turned out… good. Brave. Heroic.

She could do that too. She could make a sacrifice for someone other than herself.

Eliza could be more than just a thief, even if doing so meant going deeper into the shadows.

The man from the diner, Gerry, picked up on the third ring. “Hello Eliza, glad to hear from you. Is there something I can do?”

Brushing past the fact that he’d inexplicably known it was her, Eliza took a breath and steeled herself. “I’m willing to take you up on that employment offer, but I’m going to need something first. Consider it a signing bonus. I need a healer, a damn good one. The best you’ve got.”

The pause was brief, and when Gerry spoke again it was with irreproachable sincerity. “Of course, Eliza. We always provide our people with the best.”

201.

“I’ll pass the word along.” Adam took his time getting out of the pew, again making certain that none of his movements came off as aggressive. The meeting had gone better than expected; no sense in mucking it up at the end. “He’ll be glad to hear you’re on board. We were all sort of wondering who would make the initial approach.”

“You knew we would approach… Of course you did. Because Abridail has been feeding information in both directions, hasn’t he?” It was always a risk when working with an untested asset, especially one that was impossible to monitor, but Nick had still hoped they’d have a little more time before Globe and crew knew exactly how much they’d uncovered.

“Can’t really blame the guy. He’s completely helpless in the physical space; it only makes sense for him to have a few contingency plans for his body in case there’s trouble. If it makes you feel any better, Globe warned me that you might hunt me down this year before we ever came back to Lander,” Adam said.

Now that was news Nick hadn’t been expecting. “That so? What made him think that?”

“Something to do with when you two met in May. He told me you had the look of a man who’d let himself be dragged into hell before he’d let go of something that mattered to him. Once you turned your sights on flushing me out, it was only a matter of time until you succeeded.” Adam paused, looking at the church’s doors for a moment. “There is one thing we need to set straight before either of us leaves here: are you planning to blow my cover? If so, I need to bolt until everything has settled down. If not, then I’ve got some homework to do.”

It was a reasonable question, and also something of a test disguised as an olive branch. This was the first chance to show that there could be trust between them. Whatever Nick told Adam, the real question was whether he would stick to it or not. If he did, he was laying a foundation; otherwise he was proving himself not to be trusted. The moment wasn’t lost on Nick in the slightest, which was why he didn’t do anything as silly as offer an immediate answer.

“Are you planning to try and graduate? Because no offense, but I think you’re a little too much like me to make a good Hero. Maybe if you were going the Subtlety route we could talk, but as things stand I don’t think you need to take up one of those ten spots.”

There was a flash of a smirk on Adam’s face, so quick that if Nick had blinked he’d have missed it. “I was tempted a few times, if we’re being honest with each other. But no, being a Hero was never part of the end game. I’ve stayed in the middle for a reason; the plan was always for me to drop out when I was discovered or let myself sink in the rankings if I made it to the end. I don’t know what kind of life I’ll have when this is all over, but I know Hero work won’t be part of it.”

“Then I don’t mind keeping your secret for a while longer,” Nick said. “However, once I think Dean Blaine and the others are ready to hear the truth without overreacting, I may need to bring them in on it. Is that going to be an issue?”

“Not as long as you give me a little warning. Can’t risk being caught unaware; there’s a reputation to think of.” Adam started heading toward the church doors, and Nick followed. “Also, don’t be shocked if I don’t put you in touch with Globe right away. After we talked with Abridail, he had a hunch one of you might be reaching out to us, so he’s working on a little surprise. Something to show his goodwill.”

“Dare I even ask?”

“Feel free, although I don’t know what it is,” Adam admitted. “All Globe would tell me is that he’s getting Dean Blaine something from the very top of his wish list.”

*             *             *

Dinner ended pleasantly enough. Vince ordered a basket of wings that were hotter than expected and had to hurriedly chug down a glass of milk, but that contributed to the spirit of the evening rather than pulling away from it. Eliza took a curious delight in watching a man who was now virtually immune to things like fire or punching be brought low by something as innocuous as too much spice. It reminded her that under all the muscle, determination, and power, Vince was still the same guy he’d always been: kind, steadfast, and a little dopey at times. She took solace in that, even as the thought pained her.

The text that things were clear came before dessert arrived, though she still took her time enjoying the lava cake. It was nice, spending time with someone she cared so much about, even if the foundation of their relationship had changed. More than anything, Eliza found herself looking back at the way things had played out, reflecting on the choice she’d made, and realizing that she had no regrets. Gerry had turned out to be a great mentor who was true to his word: he really had opened up a whole new world of opportunities for her. Hell, it was thanks to Gerry that she was going to have a college education. Even if things had gone badly, she felt like she would have still been at peace with her choice. Eliza didn’t have a lot of moments in life she could look back on proudly, knowing that she’d done the right thing. Vince, Tights, was one of those few, and seeing how he’d grown since she saved his life reminded Eliza that even people like her could do good in the world.

When the meal came to an end Vince walked her to her car, giving her a hug with those strong arms to say goodbye. He didn’t linger suggestively in the embrace, because of course he didn’t. Vince lived by his commitments. It was part of what made him… him. Maybe things would be different, if he knew what she’d done for him, if he’d thought of her as more than the woman who’d abandoned him without explanation. But that was one revelation he would have to live without.

Vince already carried enough baggage. This piece Eliza could handle on her own.

202.

Had Dean Blaine been a bit more romantically aggressive in his youth, he might have worried about how the invitation would come off. Inviting Clarissa over to his home, just the two of them, could have sent the wrong message if they’d ever come close to exceeding their friendship. Thankfully, that issue had never arisen between them, in college or after. Each of them had already given their hearts to someone else, and both respected the other too much to try and use them as a temporary surrogate of affection. So Clarissa didn’t bat an eye when Dean Blaine invited her to join him for a home-cooked meal. Perhaps she suspected that under his wily, shy grin he had other intentions than just conversation, but she wouldn’t mistake it as an attempt at courting. It was one small concession in a night that threatened its fair share of potential pitfalls.

“Next senior trial is coming up soon,” Clarissa noted, helping herself to another glass of chardonnay. “Is it one of the recalibrating ones, or the other big bad?”

“Big bad, I’m afraid.” Dean Blaine always tried not to think too hard about this next trial when it approached each year: the stress it would put on his students and the truths it could reveal were both extremely dangerous. No one would get hurt – unless they royally screwed up, of course – but it would be a genuine shock if they didn’t lose a few more students from the program. The one upside to the debacle with Globe was that Dean Blaine had managed to shove the impending test from his mind. “There have been suggestions that we draw inspiration from real life for the exact scenario, but I feel it adds more emotional weight than necessary, even for a trial like this one.”

“I’m sure you’ll make the right call. You’ve done a great job educating these kids. I’m really impressed with the crop Lander is turning out, and I’m far from the only one.”

Dean Blaine grabbed the bottle and refilled his wine. “Thank you, but I only teach the ethics classes and handle the administrative work. The real credit goes to their professors; our amazing staff is the reason why the students are so strong.”

“Be as modest as you like, we all know that attitude and leadership come from the top,” Clarissa said. “You’ve set a strong standard and the others are following the example.”

It wasn’t the best opening in the world, but it was the clearest one Dean Blaine had seen since the conversation started. Not wanting to wait any longer, he decided to make it work however he could. They didn’t have all night; it was time to get down to business. “I never thought I’d be the one to go back to Lander, you know. I always figured it would be… well, Phil spent so much time helping the rest of us, he seemed like he’d be a natural fit for a teacher. If things hadn’t happened the way they did, he’d probably be the Lander dean by now.”

“Hate to say it, but I disagree.” Clarissa’s next sip of wine was measured; she was staying keenly aware of her alcohol intake. “Phil would have never hung up the cape. He might have thought he’d do it eventually, once his reaction time got slow or his bones got weak, but he wouldn’t. Just wasn’t in him to give up the good fight. He was always destined to die in the field.”

“Probably taking some threat to the entire world along with him,” Dean Blaine agreed. “It’s hard to believe that man is the one who turned on his team and killed his best friend. I mean that quite literally. It was difficult for me to swallow even after I saw the tapes. Do you really think he turned?”

“Please, Blaine, I get that question enough from DVA–”

“Because I don’t.” Dean Blaine felt bad about cutting her off, but it was important to make his stance clear so they could proceed. His words hung in the air between them, a dangerous idea that Clarissa was no doubt weighing carefully. Dean Blaine didn’t look away as she watched him. He had nothing to hide. He really didn’t believe that Globe was a traitor; part of him had never accepted it. Even if Abridail didn’t turn out to be telling the whole truth, Blaine knew the man he’d trained alongside. Globe wouldn’t turn, especially not on Intra, not unless he’d been deceived.

“You don’t what?” Clarissa said finally. It was a careful move, one he could respect. She was testing the waters to see how firmly he was willing to commit.

“I don’t think Phil betrayed Joshua. I know he killed him, but I believe he did so under false information. I think Phil thought – that he believed, deep down – that he had to kill Joshua to keep innocent people safe. And even until the end, I don’t think he really bought it. I think he was just shoved into a corner by people that knew him well enough to orchestrate it. They played on his deepest fear of losing family, pushed his buttons until they got the desired reaction: one quick, deadly strike.”

If Clarissa wasn’t aligned with Phil, there was a good chance she’d storm out, cursing Blaine’s name the whole time. No one was grilled harder than her when news of Globe’s treachery broke. Even his brother received less scrutiny since Charles had been part of the effort to stop Globe. But for Clarissa, the dear friend with a not-so-secret crush, always at Phil’s side, there had been no such defense. Accepting that Phil was a killer would have been nearly impossible for her. Dean Blaine was betting heavily that it was so impossible she’d never managed it, even though he knew that if she had then anyone suggesting he might be innocent was ripping open an old wound, one that had never healed properly in the first place.

“That’s quite a theory, Blaine. A dangerous theory, because the pool of people who might know Phil well enough to do that is extremely limited. I’d say it’s just Joshua, who is dead, myself, who I hope you’re not accusing of anything, and Charles. I would be very careful before I started leveling accusations against Charles Adair.” Clarissa’s whole body had gone tense; she was on the edge of her stool, ready to react to any sort of attack or trap Dean Blaine might spring.

“Agreed. The only way one should do a thing like that is if they had proof – real, solid, substantial proof that Charles had done unforgivable things. It wouldn’t be easy to come by, I’m sure. Locating such proof might very well drive a Hero into hiding, or force them to appear to be working against the people who were really their allies.”

“Blaine, if you have something to say then perhaps it’s best if you come out and say it. I spent years with Phil dawdling and beating around the bush about his feelings. You’ll find my patience for such half-hearted measures has worn thin since then.” Clarissa set her wine glass to the side; the socializing part of this evening was obviously done.

“I’ve come into information recently that points to Globe not being the villain we were told he was.” The time for delicacy was past; he either put his cards on the table now or lost the opportunity. “The sort of information that, if true, would make me interested in helping an old friend who has been cast out by the community. I would just be me, mind you; not the dean of Lander or a representative of the DVA. That might change if we can find some of that theoretical proof, but until then I’d only be able to offer myself, and the help of a few closely trusted friends. In theory, do you think Globe would be interested in discussing such collaboration?”

Clarissa’s eyes swept the room once more, looking for any signs of an ambush she’d missed previously. She found nothing, because there was nothing to find. “I think, in theory, that Globe would absolutely be open to such an arrangement. In fact, if I were hypothetically in contact with him, I’d say he’s been expecting you to reach out for a while now. He’d likely even be working on a present to show his goodwill. I could probably arrange a meeting at some point, with enough planning. Hypothetically, of course.”

“Of course.” Despite Clarissa putting hers aside, Dean Blaine treated himself to another sip of wine. The way things were going, he had a feeling tonight’s progress would be worth celebrating.

203.

“So far it looks like ten or so people in total, all of whom were still attending our public meetings before we shrank the group. None of them were entirely sure what to make of it: some thought it was their friends playing a weird prank, and a few figured it was a kind of glitch after the message vanished.” Tad finished his report, sitting back down at his place in the circle.

There were fewer faces at this gathering of Take Back Lander, their already diminished numbers having shrunk further. Despite Kennedy’s impressive speech at the last meeting, it seemed some members had decided this extracurricular activity was no longer worth the risk. While that was the ultimate effect Will was shooting for, he hoped the numbers wouldn’t fall too much more before the organization collapsed in on itself. The fewer the participants, the harder it was for him to hide in plain sight among them.

“Then whoever did this is either working off old information, or just wants us to think they’re working off old information.” Kennedy, unsurprisingly, didn’t miss a beat as Tad unpacked his findings for the group. She was a truly dangerous opponent, although Will found that part of him was actually enjoying the challenge. As good as the Blonk was at simulating these sorts of high-stakes ventures, there was something about playing the game in earnest that reality’s virtual counterpart could never capture. “Either way, this means we have to decide whether the ones we cut loose are now potential allies or liabilities.”

“Why would our friends be liabilities?” A demure woman wearing earrings that cost more than Will’s first car asked the question, showing impressive composure despite the circumstances.

“Because one of them may not be a friend at all,” Kennedy explained. “While it is possible, and likely, that the Supers are the cause of this headache, there is another possibility. When I chose the best, most dedicated members to form this smaller circle, it’s possible I alienated one of our old members. We could be seeing a personal retribution that has nothing to do with our goals. Now, that is the less likely option, mind you, but it does need to be evaluated before we discuss whether to bring the old members into the new fold. There is a chance, albeit a small one, that we will be inviting our own enemy into the flock.”

Will found himself quite glad he hadn’t come to this meeting with a concrete agenda. If he’d been set on getting Camille back in, he might have needed to push the group in one direction over the other, and that would be extremely dangerous. Kennedy was the one in control, and if things didn’t go whatever way she wanted, he had no doubt she’d take note of the cause. The way she commanded the room, it was obvious everything had been going her way since the start. If one of her followers suddenly started making trouble, steering the group to different ends, it would be a huge flashing sign about where the threats were coming from.

“Wait, why would one of our former members send all that stuff to get back at us then send it to themselves as well?” Tad asked, proving yet again that money couldn’t buy intelligence.

“Have you never heard of the Trojan Horse? The best tool an enemy possesses is the guise of friendship. Frankly, if whoever is doing this didn’t send themselves some threats, or at least lie about it, I’d be sorely disappointed in them. They could walk right in here, claiming to be in the same boat as us, and use the insider knowledge they gained to do more damage.” Kennedy took a slight pause to scan the room briefly, making everyone keenly aware of how little they really knew about each other. “However, if we forgo bringing in the old members then we lose out on potential allies, cutting ourselves off from reinforcements. That too could be playing into the hands of whoever sent those messages.”

Confused looks filled the room, with Will affecting one of his own so as to blend in. For him this level of uncertainty was part of daily life, but to the others it had to be bewildering. Life had right choices and wrong choices; it wasn’t supposed to present muddled options that were so complex and risky. These poor souls; if not for their leader it really would have been child’s play to sweep their whole movement off the game board.

“So… what should we do?” The question came from one of the men seated slightly apart from the perimeter, a nervous fellow who seemed one bit of bad news from bolting out the door.

“That is up to the group to decide. I’ve pointed out the potential pitfalls and gains from asking our old members to join us. What we do from here impacts us all, so we should each have a say in the choice. I say we hold a ten-minute discussion on the matter, followed by a vote. We’ll raise our hands for or against letting the old members back in, and whatever the group decides is what we shall do. It’s the fairest method possible since we all share in the risk equally, don’t you think?” Even though she’d phrased the last bit as a question, it was clear that Kennedy didn’t expect anyone to disagree.

Will had come in with a hunch that this wouldn’t be too easy, and it had turned out to be right. Kennedy was forcing everyone to pick a side, to publicly commit to whichever option they thought would serve the group best. Whatever they picked, Kennedy would remember who had been on each side. If they chose an option that helped the group, then she’d likely consider those who voted for it as loyal, whereas if they picked a choice that hurt them then she would lean toward those who’d voted against it. All in all, it was a solid way to narrow down her list of suspects for the traitor, but it had one fatal flaw. No matter what the group chose, their troubles were going to get worse. There was no right option in the first place.

For the most part, Will kept his silence during the ten-minute talk, only chiming in with small, inconsequential details that painted him as needing to be right more than concerned with the group’s well-being. He took careful stock of everyone’s positions, and when the time for voting came, Will made sure to put himself on the losing side. Ideally, when more trouble came it would make Kennedy think he was trustworthy, but at the very least it should make him seem less suspicious than other members. That was all he had to do, fly under the radar long enough until the job was done. For a guy who’d always seemed aggressively mundane in a world of extraordinary individuals, it was the best job he could have asked for.

“And it looks like…” Kennedy finished counting the last of the raised hands. “It looks like we have a consensus. Tad, tell the others you talked to the message was some sort of mix-up, or come up with a more believable lie. Whatever you do, don’t give them the full story. By group decision, it seems we’re going to press on without them. From here on, the only people we can trust are the other members of this circle.”

Will didn’t so much as smirk, although it took a touch more effort that he would have admitted.

204.

Dean Blaine considered the crowd of Heroes milling about in the viewing room with a mixed attitude. On one hand, he understood why this trial was among the most frequented. The other tests allowed students to demonstrate many sides of their abilities, but this one was something special. This and the trial where the students first fought human-like Sims were considered by some to be the only two truly essential viewing experiences for potential mentors. There was an argument to be made there, without question, but Dean Blaine still felt like many of the Heroes showed up to this test for the wrong reasons. Yes, they were going to learn a lot about what each student could do and how they held up when truly pushed, but he knew that some were only here simply because this trial was always, without fail, one hell of a show.

At least there were a few familiar faces among the crowd. Titan was around as usual, alongside Gale and a muscular man in a costume made of shifter material, probably Granite. There was also a strikingly handsome fellow in a rather mundane outfit who Dean Blaine didn’t recognize, though from the way he was chatting with the other three from Brewster, they were clearly friends. Dean Blaine recognized some Lander graduates as well, even a few who might not have needed to be there. Victor was talking to a small group of younger Heroes about the glory days, which had probably taken no more than minimal encouragement from his listeners. As a retired Hero, Victor wasn’t technically eligible to be here from an intern-recruiting perspective, but the SAA and the HCP had a friendly relationship, so they permitted a few scouting viewings every year. While not every student would make the final cut, all of them were impressive to have gotten this far, and Victor would want to be ready and waiting with a generous contract once people dropped out.

Personally, Dean Blaine wasn’t sure how many recruits Victor would have after this trial. There were a few he worried about more than others, although if they were going to break he would have expected to see it happen sooner. More than anything, he wasn’t sure how this year would play out because it wouldn’t be the same experience for this class. Normally by this point the students had only experienced the training that the HCP provided: dangerous and challenging, yet carefully controlled. This group had seen the real fight already, maybe not up close and personal in all cases, but they’d gotten a taste. A few might still leave when the day was done, but Dean Blaine suspected this group could buck the trend. They knew what they’d come back for after last May, and this was just one more aspect of it.

Leaving the crowd to mingle, Dean Blaine made his way down to the gym. Normally he liked to be waiting as the students arrived, however more Heroes meant more logistics to sort out which meant more running around for the dean. If he did leave the position and take Graham up on his offer, he’d deeply repent for the burden he was putting on poor Professor Baker. Sure, the dean gig always seemed like a great job, right up until one had to start dealing with all the tasks that came with the position. And there were so many more than anyone could be properly prepared for. Professor Baker was smart, though, and better organized than Dean Blaine, so he had no doubt she’d figure it out just like all her predecessors.

Assuming he left, anyway. Dean Blaine tried to keep it an uncertainty in his mind, even though he was thinking about it more and more as a forgone conclusion. He finally reached the gym doors and pushed the whole idea from his head; there was no time to dwell on the future when the present had demands of its own. Walking in the gym, Dean Blaine made his way across the floor to where the students had formed their usual half-circle around the professors, all of them waiting for him to start things off. No one else had explained the trial to the students, because no one else was expected to shoulder that burden. Moments like these were the cost of leadership.

“Last semester you endured what many of you probably considered to be the most difficult of all these tests,” Dean Blaine opened, taking his spot in the middle of the teachers. “When we told you to prioritize neutralizing criminal Sims even if it meant losing civilian lives, many of you balked. Good. That’s not supposed to be an easy task, to ignore your humanity as you watch innocent people die. But it is, regrettably, an occasional necessity: lose some to save more. I hate that it’s true, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have the power to save everyone. No Hero does. No Hero ever has. We do our best to save the most. The DVA’s damage evaluation scale is based around that very principle. Does anyone have any part of that scale they need clarified before today’s trial begins?”

Several of the students looked tense, yet none raised a hand or made a peep. They knew what the scale meant. Dean Blaine had been sure to cover it at length in class – partly because it was essential to the job, and partly as preparation for this day.

“What you saw in that trial was a bad scenario, a situation where things had gotten out of control and an entire town was in danger. Today, you don’t face a bad scenario. You face the worst scenario. The situation every Hero prays to never see again. Students of Lander, an Armageddon-level Super has surfaced in the course below. The culprit is surrounded by fellow criminals as well as the civilians of the city. The Armageddon-power involves nuclear chain reactions, and if the Super has ten uninterrupted minutes, they will start a reaction that will wipe out the entire world. What’s worse, we have no information on the target’s location beyond the city. All support has been cut off, including intel. The only people you’ll have to talk to are one another. No other aid will be coming. The DVA has deemed this an emergency of the highest magnitude. No priority is put on civilian lives, and no limits on force have been put in place. You may destroy whatever is needed, kill anyone who gets in your way, and ignore every cry for help if it means catching our Armageddon-Sim. This is a pass or fail test. Either you kill the Sim, or you give them ten minutes and the world ends. Life is precious, and I know you’re all keenly aware of that. However, if this Sim succeeds, every person in every city across the entire world is dead. Keep that thought in your minds when you’re tempted to show mercy or lend aid. I’m not ordering you to kill indiscriminately; I’m just conveying the importance of speed. Win or lose, as a team. Any questions?”

Dean Blaine was expecting more silence, so he was surprised to see Violet slowly raise her hand. “Yes, Ms. Sullivan?”

“I was just wondering how classes usually do in this test, if I’m allowed to ask.” Violet’s voice was steady, even as her hand shook with the barest of tremors. There was nothing wrong with having nerves about the task ahead; he’d have been more concerned if she didn’t.

“Historically, more classes fail this than pass it,” Dean Blaine replied. “That’s not surprising, since the task is designed to be as difficult as possible. Plus, even in a simulation, pushing down one’s most instinctual morality is extremely difficult, and knowing that speed is more important than lives lost is different than being able to act upon it. Don’t take that as leeway to slack off, however. More Heroes have come for this trial than any of those before, and they’ll be watching each of you closely. How you deal with this test tells them a lot, and pass or fail, you will be evaluated for the choices you make in there. Anyone else?”

This time, the hands stayed down. Dean Blaine motioned for them to head downstairs then nodded at the professors to get everything in order. It was time to throw this year’s crop of seniors face-first into the fire.

205.

In defiance of the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Vince forced himself to stay calm. Tempting as it was to go tearing off through the fake city, scouring every inch of it for his target, that sort of action would only feel good. It wouldn’t be the best use of his time. He had to work smart, and the first step was to take stock of his surroundings and tools.

The randomized drop-off system had put him in an unfamiliar alleyway, although whether that meant this was a new course or he was simply in a new part of an old one remained to be seen. All he had was a communicator in his ear to coordinate with the others, a sturdy-looking digital-watch, and a rough idea of what the target could do. While they’d been given time to grab some of their weapons and equipment before entering the battlefield, Vince made do with the standard materials since he didn’t use any special tools or tech. He had only those meager resources and an entire city to search within ten minutes. The whole thing had a very “needle in a haystack” vibe to it, but Vince couldn’t see how it would be any easier if they were taking on the task in real life.

A slight scuff of feet came from behind Vince, who whirled around to find that someone else had jogged up to his location. “Chad?”

“I am indeed. Glad to see you, Vince.” Chad stepped out of the shadows, appearing as calm as always despite the high stakes situation they were in. “I’m surprised you’re still here. Action tends to be your first recourse.”

“Yeah, but I can’t start punching someone until I know how to find them, so I was trying to come up with ideas.” Vince wondered if this was really coincidence or not. The son of Globe and the son of Intra being dropped off so near each other for what was, apparently, the year’s most intense exam. It smelled like the sort of situation cooked up to put people at ease with his connection to a famous villain.

“Smart. Forgive me for overstepping if this is the case, but can’t you sense energy? Dean Blaine indicated that the chain reaction would be building for ten minutes, so I have to imagine it will put out enough power to track,” Chad suggested.

That was a good idea. Pity it wouldn’t work. “I have to know what I’m sensing to find it. I can do fire, electricity, and kinetic because I’ve gotten familiar with all of them. Never had occasion to take in nuclear power, and given that I was a Powered most of my life, that’s probably a good thing.”

“I see. Just as well. I can only assume they’re using some sort of faux-nuclear power anyway; hardly seems worth the risk to use the real stuff just for authenticity. That means our best tracking options are myself and Amber.” Chad reached up to his ear and turned on his communicator, which reminded Vince he needed to do the same. As it turned out, they weren’t the first to have this idea, as they entered a conversation mid-sentence.

“-to the east. The only downside is that running all those drones is going to leave me highly vulnerable, so I need some defense until the search is complete.” The voice, to Vince’s surprise, belonged to Will. He wasn’t usually one to speak up a lot during these tests, which must mean he’d felt he had something serious to contribute.

“Hey guys, Vince and Chad just hopping on,” Vince said. “Did we miss something?”

“I’ll say you did. Will brought a new toy along for this trip, one that might end up saving our collective ass,” Violet informed him.

“After the test where we received help from the woman calling herself Dispatch, I was inspired by how much easier things were when the team had access to active information. So I created a fleet of small, airborne surveillance drones. Didn’t expect I’d have a chance to test them so soon.” Will was doing a masterful job of hiding what had to be annoyance at using precious time to re-explain the plan. “They have a myriad of camera functions, meaning they’ll be able to map the battlefield, including building interiors, as they explore it. And if someone is pooling enough energy for a nuclear chain reaction, I should be able to see it. I need a line of defense around me to coordinate them though, and then I can guide the rest of you. I’m near a supermarket on Baker Street on the east side of the city.”

Vince glanced to Chad. “We could get across the city fast, and I’m sure we could hold the line if needed.”

“You, perhaps, although your powers are better suited to self-defense than protecting someone else. As for me, I’m a poor fit for that job. Infiltration and assassination are among my best skills, so I’d serve the team best by joining the offense. Give it a few seconds. We have a strong team; the right people will take up the right jobs.”

Just as Chad finished speaking, the comms crackled to life once more. Shane’s voice came through them. “Will, I’ll be your front line of protection. I’m near the east side and can be there soon. We need someone to defend against ranged strikes, anything from an enemy too far out for me to hit.”

“If there’s ever going to be a cue for me, I’d say that’s it,” Thomas volunteered. “I’ll join Shane and Will.”

“Perfect. The rest of you, start moving.” Will didn’t slow down, issuing new orders as soon as the last situation was resolved. “Based on previous fights they’ll have put us all on the outskirts of the city and the action will be toward the center. You need to be somewhere you can move once I start piling up information. Alice, you’re the most mobile member of the group, who do you have with you?”

“Violet, Amber, and I all got dumped off at the same place,” Alice’s voice replied. “So we’ve got the makings of one hell of an offense.”

“Excellent. And Vince, where are you?” Will asked.

“Me?” Vince was taken off-guard, eyes sweeping his surroundings for some sort of context. “I’m with Chad down a small alley. There’s a museum across the street, if that helps.”

“I’ll find you once the cameras are up.” Will hesitated for a moment. Vince could almost hear him taking a breath and mulling things over. “Vince, if time gets low and the situation turns dire, you are the most immediately destructive member of our class. I may have to call upon you to unleash a significant amount of energy against our target, ignoring everything else around him. Can I count on you for that, or should I conceive of another contingency plan?”

Saying yes felt like it should be easy. They were all robots, after all. But while that was true today, it wouldn’t be in the future, when he was in this situation for real. Would he be able to do it then? Would he be able to kill innocent people to save the world as a whole? Truthfully, Vince didn’t know. He wouldn’t, not truly, until he was in that moment, faced with that choice. Still, this was probably as good a dry run as he’d ever get.

“Count on me, Will. I’ll make it happen if I’m needed. Let’s just try not to get to that point.”

Chad’s hand fell lightly on his shoulder, and Vince glanced over to see a rare smirk on his face. “See, I told you the right people would step up for the right jobs.”

206.

There was value in nonviolence. Some of Shane’s classmates understood that easily, others might struggle with the concept, but for him it was a lesson that had been ingrained since his powers first manifested. He had to absorb that teaching, otherwise he would have turned into a monster. Shane didn’t have a power like Angela’s – versatile and multi-functional, allowing her to fill various roles in a team dynamic. His ability was only good for one thing: cutting. Killing, if he were truthful with himself. Injuring people with it was a much harder challenge, and the reason he trained as hard as he did. To wound without taking a life demanded exceptional knowledge and control. But killing… killing was easy. So ridiculously easy that it could have become Shane’s instinctual reaction without his grandfather’s guidance.

Thankfully, Shane knew the value in holding back, in not striking just because a target presented itself. That was why he was able to sneak across the city, avoiding the gangs of Sims roaming the streets that were lighting things on fire and otherwise causing destruction. True, it would have been easy to gut each one as he encountered them, reducing the overall enemies for the others to deal with, but in doing so Shane would have left a trail of corpses to Will’s location. Better to hold back and preserve whatever seclusion Will had managed to find. Something tickled Shane’s brain, a nugget of intuition that told him guard duty wouldn’t be an easy task, and the less attention he drew on his way over the better off they’d be.

The city was, mercifully, a layout they’d fought in before, so it didn’t take long for Shane to sneak and sprint his way to Will’s location – maybe two minutes, tops. Those two minutes still felt like an eternity, given that they represented twenty percent of their total time to stop Armageddon. Shane was glad to see that he wasn’t the first to arrive, at least. Thomas was already present; he and Will had tucked themselves into a back alley surrounded by buildings and Thomas was in the process of throwing a dome over them. It was good thinking: the single point of entry into the alley would minimize the Sims’ numbers advantage. Of course, that assumed there wouldn’t be a Sim capable of smashing in through the rear, but they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.

Will was hunched over what looked like an old eighties-era desktop, except with all manner of wires and new electronics sticking out. Overhead, Shane could just make out a small device lifting higher into the air, presumably one of Will’s drones. Although his grandfather had never been especially fond of the idea of Subtlety Heroes, feeling that such work was best left to non-Heroes, Shane had gained a deep appreciation for them in his time at Lander. They often came through with unexpectedly useful tools or creative solutions, often enough that Shane knew when he ran his own team, there would be a place for a Subtlety Hero on it. Maybe even Will, if he was interested. Heaven knew the man had demonstrated his value time and time again.

“How are we looking?” Shane asked. It was part genuine question, part identifying contact to make sure they didn’t attack him as he approached. Thomas paused lowering his dome to let Shane through, but Shane waved him off. He needed to be out here, to see and feel everything, if he was going to be a useful defender.

“I’ve found a few buildings pumping out abnormal amounts of power; however, those could be ‘Supers’ with abilities that condense energy inside themselves. There are more than enough Sims on the streets to allow for that possibility. I think our situation is one where people have accepted the approaching end and gone into full-blown riot mode. Getting around the main areas of the city will require exceptional stealth or a high body count.” Will paused, clacking away on his computer a few times before the orange dome lowered and he vanished from view. When Shane heard him next, it was over the comms. “Alice, I can see you, Amber, and Violet on that rooftop. We’ve got a potential target to the northwest, a red office building on 24th. Head that way and I’ll give you more directions as you get close. Vince and Chad, there’s a high-energy source in that museum you mentioned. Check it out for me. Roy, Alex, and Camille, it looks like you’re all to the south. Head down your street to the right and stop at the trailer park, I’ve got someone in there building up loads of power. Let’s see, the next group – well shit, that didn’t take as long as I hoped. Looks like one of the Sims can either track signals or spotted my drones flying up.”

Shane didn’t grow tense or anxious; he’d been ready for this since the moment he was dropped into the trial. “How many, Will?”

“From what I can see, at least five on this first push. They’re moving as a unit and should be coming around the alley’s corner in twenty seconds. Do you need Thomas for backup?”

“Thomas is fine where he is. I volunteered for this job because I can handle it. You just worry about coordinating with everyone else. The clock is ticking,” Shane reminded him.

He’d never told anyone, but Shane could feel it when the sclera of his eyes turned black. It came with the rest of his senses warping as he reached into the shadows and filled them with life and danger. There was no adequate way to explain what it felt like for part of him to be in those shadows – no existing sense captured the experience, although touch came the closest. Shane felt his senses expand as he readied for the impending squad of Sims to try and surprise him. Part of him, a part he wasn’t especially fond of, drifted back to the night in May, when he’d hesitated and nearly died for his mistake. A downside to habitually using his power in a diminished capacity was that it sometimes caused Shane to waver in critical moments. His near-death in May had been a lesson, one Shane knew needed to be taken to heart. If he wasn’t willing to kill when the situation demanded it, he would never be a useful Hero. Angela wasn’t here this time; it was just Will and Thomas counting on him to hold the line. Failure tonight meant the failure of everyone on the team, and the death of the world if the stakes had been real.

The Sims moved quietly, albeit not quietly enough to avoid giving Shane a few moments advance notice. They darted around the corner, each with fists raised or attacks charged, ready to drop whatever resistance they found. None of them made it farther than three feet into the alley. That was how far in the largest chunk of Sim clattered to the ground.

The entrance of the alley was a mess of circuits, metal, and sparks. It looked like someone had dropped five robots through a blender, which wasn’t all too far off from what had happened. Inky, dark, blades slithered back into the shadows, waiting for their next chance to strike.

“First wave is suppressed,” Shane reported. “Let me know when the next group of poor bastards is heading this way.”

There was indeed value in nonviolence; Shane would never stop believing that. However, that didn’t mean utter decimation didn’t have its usefulness as well.

207.

There was uncharacteristic tension in the air as the Heroes stared at the monitors. Usually the viewing room was full of conversation, kept politely quiet but present nonetheless. Today was different; any words spoken were spat out in a hurried whisper. All attention was on the screens and the students they showed, as it should be.

Dean Blaine didn’t blame them at all. Were he in their position, evaluating a potential intern, he’d be paying just as much attention. You learned a lot about a person in situations like these. When they were told they could destroy as much as they had to, did they grow bolder in their attacks or try to keep the bloodshed to a minimum? Did they ignore the panicked civilians in the streets or lend aid? Did they avoid groups of roaming gangs or mow through them without remorse? There was no right answer to any of those questions; in scenarios where the fate of the entire world was on the line, morality quickly became an abstract concept. Each way of acting had benefits and costs; only the end result would prove if they’d chosen correctly or not. So while a mentor wouldn’t necessarily base their decision on which direction a potential hire would go, they would want to select an intern whose way of thinking lined up with their own. Otherwise, facing a moment like this in the field could lead to arguing or disobedience, neither of which were acceptable when the stakes were high.

Personally, Dean Blaine took some small measure of satisfaction in watching Shane obliterate the group of Sims trying to move against Will. Like most people with powers suited to destruction, Shane was trapped on a tightrope. If he used his abilities to their full extent then he’d be tossed out for excessive force, yet limiting them every day made him appear weaker than he was. It was the same struggle Gerard, later known as Raze, had dealt with during his HCP years. The world wasn’t the HCP, however, and once they got outside these walls, destructive Supers found they not only had a place in the Hero system, they were high in demand. Jobs wiping out entire gangs or areas – the “scorched-earth” runs – weren’t exactly common, but when they came up, the DVA made sure to tap Heroes who could see the task through. And now everyone was getting a chance to see that Shane DeSoto could fill that role damn well, if he proved to have the stomach for it.

A rogue whisper reached Dean Blaine’s ears, its source opining that it had been good luck that Will had brought in his surveillance system. A smile threatened to twitch on the educator’s lip. Luck had nothing to do with it: Will had been tinkering with that drone case, along with a few other unused gadgets, since midway through last semester’s trials. He’d held it back, waiting until it was truly necessary to use it so the administration couldn’t counter him the next time. Creating brilliant tech was certainly useful on any team, but Will Murray was doing more than that. By using strategy, conserving resources, and wielding the element of surprise effectively, Will was proving that he had the sort of tactical mind befitting a Subtlety Hero. Professor Pendleton was certainly taking notice, as were the rest of the Subtlety Heroes hunting for interns. Dean Blaine had no doubt of that.

They were holding together well so far, but establishing a strategy was only the first of several hurdles. From here on, they’d have no choice but to start getting their hands dirty, and not all of them would take to the task of slaughter as competently as Shane had. But given their history and their brief journey into a real battle, Dean Blaine didn’t expect them to shrink from that challenge either.

At this point, he was just hoping the class as a whole didn’t come off as too bloodthirsty. The year wasn’t over yet, and Class of Nightmares was a bad enough nickname. There was still time for them to earn something worse.

*             *             *

It felt strange to be running away from fights, but Roy had to admit that this was the faster tactic. While he could have bulldozed his way through the gangs of Sims on the streets it would have taken longer than going around them, not to mention it would have put Alex and Camille at risk. Swinging wide by a block or two when Alex sensed Sims coming saved them a lot of time, even if it did mean they never put themselves in a position to help any civilians. Roy didn’t care for that, nor did Hershel, but each kept reminding the other that the lives of everyone in the world were at stake. Citizens in every city, the brothers’ own friends, their family, even their mother. Titan… well, even in an apocalypse neither was sure Titan would die, though after long enough alone he might turn off his power and let himself pass on. These were the kinds of losses that the world would take if they failed. Theoretically, anyway.

They made it to the trailer park in no time, years of cardio in their gym sessions paying excellent dividends. Roy was about to call Will for direction on what to do next when he noticed the flickering light in the window of one of the trailers. That sure seemed like the target they’d been sent after. Deciding that a moment of prudence was better than charging in blind, an act which Roy would look back on and marvel at himself for, he put in a quick call to confirm with Will.

“We’re at the trailer park. There’s a green one with a white awning sticking out from it and glowing light in the windows, is that our target?”

“One moment,” Will said. There was a brief hum in the air as a drone whipped by, moving too quickly to be targeted by any Sims that might be lurking behind cover. “That’s the one. Be careful on the approach. Even if this isn’t our main enemy, it’s a Sim that obviously meant to bait us in to approach. It’s probably going to be a tough fight either way.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured that might be the case.” Roy hefted his bat into prime swinging position then checked with his impromptu team members. “Any thoughts?”

“If you can get the Sim in the open, there’s a high chance I can disable it with a touch,” Camille offered. “It doesn’t work on every Sim, but the ones who can resist me are pretty rare.”

“That puts you at risk, though. It might be better to let Roy take the brunt of the attack and slowly wear our enemy down,” Alex countered.

“Except that time is the most important asset we have, and that wastes it,” Camille shot back.

They both had valid points, and on his own Roy might have been lost for what to do. Thankfully, he was no longer by himself, and Hershel was no stranger to tactical thinking. “You’re both right, so here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to fight this Sim into the open. Alex, you have good control, so I want you to telekinetically carry or Force-lift or whatever Camille into the air. When there’s an opening, drop her on the Sim’s back so she can try her touch. If it works, great, if it fails then just try to help me tear it apart as fast as possible. Any objections?”

Neither protested immediately, so Roy took that as agreement. Camille was right about time being crucial, after all. One more thought struck him, this idea not from Hershel but rather from a cartoon Roy had watched in childhood. It was a silly thought, honestly, yet there was some merit in expediency. Plus, it had the potential to look really cool.

“Before that, though, I think the less warning we give this Sim the better. Alex, you’ve been working on raw power. Think you can lift and throw something pretty heavy?” Roy asked.

“Like your bat?” Alex’s eyes were already on the ultra-dense material in Roy’s hands, a step ahead of him.

“Like my bat with a little more weight added. I want you to throw me into the trailer as hard as you can.”

208.

“Wow. That is a shitload of menacing robots.” Violet peered over the side of the rooftop at the mass of Sims below. The human-like robots were surrounding the red office building to which Will had sent her, Alice, and Amber, which certainly lent weight to the idea that this was where the big bad was holed up. Unfortunately, since the staff hadn’t known Will was going to bust out drones, all those Sims could just be bait meant to draw them in and fight a decoy. It didn’t matter either way. They still had to find the potential Armageddon Sim, it was just a matter of figuring out how to make the approach.

“We’re here, Will. I dropped us onto a nearby roof so we could scope things out. If this Sim is throwing off energy inside the building, can you give us a floor? Right now going in from the roof looks like our best bet, but if our target is on the ground level I’m going to assume there’s another army in the upper floors between them and us.” Alice wasn’t pacing; in fact, she was remarkably still and calm as she rattled off details into the comms. Sometimes, Violet was a little worried by how good Alice had gotten at staying cool under pressure. It was starting to feel like nothing really got to her, and that was a dangerous attitude for a Hero to have… especially one going into Subtlety.

“My last drone sweep had the energy output concentrated on floor number two.” Will’s voice came through all of their communicators, even though only Alice had asked the question. “The building has five floors from what I can tell, and your suspicions were right. I’m picking up a lot of thermal signatures matching that of Sims on the higher levels.”

“So we either fight the army in the street or the one waiting for us in the halls.” Amber licked her lips, the pre-fight adrenaline clearly already coursing through her veins. “I say we go through the front. We’ve got the element of surprise instead of them, we can see where most of our enemies are laid out, and with the Sims all bunched up like that I can probably wipe the bulk of them out with a single concentrated blast.”

Although Violet wished there had been a touch less eagerness in Amber’s voice, it was hard to argue with her logic. Fighting their way down one floor at a time would take too long; a single shot could down the majority of their foes while she and Alice picked off the remainder. Violet was about to voice her approval of the plan, but Alice spoke first.

“I like the idea, and you’re right that we can’t afford to piss away the time it would take to fight our way through. But let me make one change to the plan. Instead of blasting them, what if I reversed the gravity in and around the entire building? Our outside foes would go all the way up to whatever the top of this simulation is, and everyone inside would be pinned to the ceiling. Amber, you could blast us a hole into the second floor so we don’t have to risk anyone on the first taking a ranged shot at us.”

“It would be quick,” Violet agreed. “But that’s a damn big area, Alice. Are you sure you’re going to be able to change and hold the gravity for all of it, all while presumably keeping us unaffected?”

“Pretty sure. It is still a risk,” Alice admitted. “But if there was ever a time to go for it, I’d say this is it. I’ll start with the outside group; clearing them will at least let us blast into the second floor easily. And if I start to lose control I can drop that area first. I think the fall would take most of those Sims out of the equation.”

“But that’s you doing all the work,” Amber pointed out.

“Oh no, not by a long shot. Holding up that much gravity over that big of an area is going to take all I’ve got. Once we’re inside, I’ll be almost useless for anything else. You and Violet will have to be the ones to take out the Sim we came for, plus any who manage to make trouble along the way.”

It didn’t escape Violet’s notice that Alice had put together a plan that not only indulged Amber’s penchant for destruction and need to feel important, but also minimized the amount of life that would be lost. Enemies or not, Alice was keeping her kill count as low as possible. Maybe she wasn’t as unaffected as she seemed after all.

“I think this is as good a plan as we’ll get in time,” Violet said. “We’re ready when you are.”

Alice moved slightly closer to the edge of the roof, her face tightening in concentration. “Since we have a ticking apocalypse clock, I’d say there’s no time like the present.”

*             *             *

Sneaking into the museum was easy; Vince just had to follow Chad’s lead. Between his enhanced hearing and exceptional sight, Chad was able to locate potential enemies long before they ever saw him. Avoiding every Sim in their path (what few that they saw) they made their way inside to a building that was surprisingly empty, given the situation. There was still a bit of debris here and there, signs of earlier looting, but overall the place was pristine compared to the city around it. Vince wondered, if Will hadn’t pointed them in this direction, would any of the students have thought to investigate somewhere like this?

“Will, can you give us any idea of where the power source is located?” Chad asked. “This museum is huge, and the distorting acoustics are making it hard to get a lock on where sound is coming from. I’ve got four potential targets right now, so any direction you can give is helpful.”

They only received silence for a moment, long enough that Vince had time to contemplate how screwed they would all be without Will guiding them. Finally, Will replied. “Sorry, managing a lot right now. I’m doing another sweep but this place is pretty well shielded. I guess they don’t want people snooping around, figuring out how to rob the joint. Sorry. I can see the power leaking out the sides but nothing more. You’ll have to search for the location.”

“Thanks anyway, we’ll keep you posted.” Chad lowered his hand from the earpiece, walking over to a large directory charting the various areas of the museum. It really was huge, so big and detailed Vince wondered if there was a real-world version in some city he could go check out one day. They’d never find their guy if they searched one exhibit at a time. Even with Chad having it down to four targets, they might take too long.

After several long seconds of staring at the directory, Chad pointed to a section in the northeast of the museum.

“That’s the one.”

“You’re sure? Did you hear something?” Vince asked.

“No, the sounds are still muddled,” Chad replied. “But that is where one of them is coming from. And besides, I know something about Dean Blaine that tells me this is the right choice. He doesn’t like to broadcast it, but he’s got a bit of a flair for the theatrical.”

Vince edged closer, looking down at the directory at the section where Chad was pointing. “An exhibit about the origins of Supers and the creation of the Hero Certification Program. I guess it would be a pretty appropriate place to fight for the fate of the world.”

209.

The thing about trailers was that they ultimately had little more than sculpted tinfoil for walls, and to a man who could burst through concrete, a barrier like that barely even registered. To his credit, Alex had been working on his mental muscle, and he got Roy up to an impressive speed before hurling him bat-first into the trailer with the glowing windows. Normally, Roy wouldn’t have risked putting his weapon in front without knowing what was inside the trailer, but between Will’s sweep of the place and the time limit of their situation, it felt like a risk worth taking.

Everything came at Roy in a flash. He was moving too quickly to take in fine details – an outer wall, a brief glimpse of the interior of a trailer, and a very surprised looking Sim woman. Then they were outside again as Roy’s momentum carried him and the Sim straight through the opposite side. Despite the disorientation, Roy didn’t hesitate; he hit the ground running and slammed the Sim off her feet. She was obviously armored since she was still in one piece, and she had some sort of green energy glowing around her arms. Rather than find out what that energy did, Roy stooped low and pressed his bat against her torso before she could raise her arms, pinning her to the ground with the weight of the dense weapon and his own incredible strength. It was a cleaner capture than he’d dared hope for; they wouldn’t even need to fly Camille around if she could get over to them fast enough.

Roy was turning his head to call to her when he caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. That was the only warning before an oversized fist smashed into his skull, catching him so off-guard that he lost his grip on the bat and went hurtling several feet through the air. It didn’t hurt, he noticed that before landing, but it still had enough force to uproot him from the ground. That probably meant if the other two caught one of these blows, they were done for.

Scrambling to his feet, Roy surveyed the battlefield and quickly realized their mistake. Will’s scan of the trailer had made them think they only had one opponent; however, more Sims were pouring up from a hole in the ground under the trailer’s shredded remains. A secret basement, and in a trailer no less. There was zero chance that kind of addition had been covered by the trailer park’s board of directors, but it was the least of their issues at the moment.

A big male Sim, presumably the one who punched Roy, was helping Roy’s opponent up from under the bat. She still looked dazed and unsteady, a small mercy that gave them a few precious seconds to work with. Three more Sims emerged, staying clumped together and advancing on Alex and Camille. None of them were showing signs of what powers they had yet, although given the difficulty of the trial, they probably weren’t going to be pushovers. Roy forced himself to stay calm, to spend an extra moment or two thinking before he sprang into action. They weren’t getting more than one try at handling this fast; he needed to make it count.

Right now there were two variables already defined: a strongman Sim and one with energy-based abilities. Alex and Camille could handle that; one enemy apiece was practically easy-mode at this point in their training. The other three, unfortunately, had yet to show their powers. That made them unknown and dangerous. If this were real, if the woman shaking off his last blow were trying to end the world, then that made the answer easy to figure out. Roy had to give his friends room to work in, even if it meant going up against enemies that might be able to hurt or even kill him. He could take those blows; the world wouldn’t withstand nuclear annihilation. Hit and get hit. That was what a strongman did.

Roy was tempted to yell out his plan to the others until he remembered that Alex’s “non-telepathy” sure came with a lot of telepathy. Instead, he thought his plan as hard as he could and locked eyes with Alex, who gave him a quick nod. That done, Roy hunkered down and launched himself across the trailer park. Running would be a waste of time, and besides, he’d already been a human cannonball once today. May as well keep the theme alive.

Roy whipped through the air, slamming into the back of one of the unidentified Sims and shoving his knees into its spine. He didn’t know if it would be able to get back up and fight again, but judging from the crunches he’d heard on impact and the lack of movement below the waist, it seemed like a small risk. The other Sims didn’t take to losing their friend kindly, however. The taller one’s eyes started glowing and less than a second later Roy felt a burst of pain across his chest as he was struck by ocular lasers, which knocked him off the third Sim’s body.

Shit. It had been a while since anything down here hurt him. Part of him, probably the Hershel part, wondered if they’d been saving the strongest Sims for this exact trial to make sure Roy had to fight with real stakes on the line.

As he leapt to his feet, Roy was relieved to see that despite the pain, there was minimal injury where the lasers had hit. Patches of his uniform were burned away, yet the skin underneath was only reddened slightly, like he’d gotten a sunburn. It still stung, but that was just pain. Roy could ignore it until the work was done. Unfortunately, when he glanced up from his chest, Roy noticed that the other Sim, a shorter woman who’d darted away upon his landing, had slipped around to his side. She was fast; had they managed to replicate super-speed in a Sim? She opened her mouth, and Roy realized that speed definitely wasn’t her power.

Her voice felt like knives across Roy’s brain, a screech that made his stomach turn, eyes blur, and sense of balance vanish. It sent Roy staggering; only years of training and a mile-wide stubborn streak kept him on his feet. Sadly, that just made him a bigger target for the blast of eye-lasers that hit him in the stomach. If he’d eaten breakfast, Roy would have lost it on the ground in that moment. He was getting it from both sides; neither Sim doing real injury yet still managing to take him out of the fight. Standing there, being hit by their simultaneous attacks, Roy did something that only a few of the watching Heroes, the ones who really knew what they were looking at, took notice of.

Roy grinned like the cat who’d caught the canary. Because Roy knew something these buckets of future scrap didn’t. They weren’t taking him out of the fight – he was keeping them distracted. Getting smacked around might not come with glory or dignity, but it was still vital to the mission. Because while they’d been caught up with him, Alex and Camille had been given ample time to take care of the other two. He didn’t dare glance over – he couldn’t risk diverting the Sims’ attention – but Roy didn’t need to. They were his team, his friends, and he trusted them to finish things off just like they’d trusted him to hold the line.

Then, without warning, the voice stopped. Roy glanced over to see the Sim staring wide-eyed with her mouth open, nothing coming out. Right… he always forgot that Alex could block sound. That done, Camille slipped behind her, laying one hand on the Sim’s neck and sending her to the ground in a heap.

Never one to waste time, Roy took the opportunity to rush the last Sim while he was charging up for another eye-blast. The shot never got off, as Roy grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved his face into the ground. All those lasers would hit now were earthworms and dirt. Camille stepped nimbly over, touched the Sim’s scalp, and that was that.

Finally able to get his bearings, Roy looked over the remains of their battleground. Both the strongman Sim and the green-energy Sim were down, although the strongman Sim was still conscious, trying to move along the ground using only its neck. Apparently Alex had cut some important bits that functioned like a spine. As for the energy-Sim, Roy didn’t know if she was dead or alive, only that she was still and not a single blip of energy ran across those hands. They’d done it.

“Will, our target is down,” Alex reported. He looked a little worn, and there were some dusty patches on his uniform where he’d clearly been tossed to the ground, but he didn’t seem injured. With Camille around, none of them had to worry about that. “Was that the one? Did we win?”

“I can only presume that we’d have been told if that was the case,” Will replied through the comms. “It must be one of the other targets. You should start moving north to lend aid. Although it’s not going to be easy to get there. Your fight drew the attention of nearby Sims, all of whom are converging on your location.”

Roy walked over where he’d landed after Alex’s first throw and picked up his bat, giving it a brief test swing as was his habit. “Bring ’em on. We’ll plow our way through and get to the others with time to spare. Ain’t nobody stopping this team.”

210.

“There must be some sort of distress system in place, fighting or dying Sims calling out to other nearby units. That’s the only explanation for how they keep traveling toward our people after a battle.” Will was hunched over his portable drone console, clacking away furiously. Thomas, unsure if anything he could say would help, focused on keeping the energy dome intact.

While for most his energy was hard to see through, Thomas could peer through it with ease. That was how he was able to wrap himself in the stuff like a suit, and that was why he knew how many Sims Shane had already taken out. Thomas had no idea why Shane wasn’t calling the fights in – maybe he didn’t want to worry or distract Will from the task at hand –but it was getting brutal. Three groups had come through already, each progressively bigger than the last. Will was too busy tracking the potential-Armageddon targets to check his own area, though that hadn’t hindered Shane in the least. He’d torn through each group relentlessly, shadows whipping about and striking from every angle. Some Sims took a few more blows than others, but Shane was able to deliver dozens of strikes, often to the exact same spot, in the span of seconds.

All that training Shane had done, all the work on precision and control, it hadn’t just given him the ability to use his power non-lethally. When applied with intent, Shane’s training had also turned his power into a brutally efficient killing machine. He knew where the vital organs were, precisely, and he’d learned how to hit exactly where he wanted. There had been a few dark, prideful moments when Thomas had wondered if Shane was really a better choice than he was for Intramurals; after all, wasn’t malleable energy a more versatile fit? Now, standing under his dome and watching the carnage, Thomas understood what Chad had meant about Shane’s strength. He might not win Intramurals, where killing was frowned upon, but there wasn’t a doubt in Thomas’s mind that Shane would be a legend among Heroes once he was out in the field. Perhaps a terrifying legend, one used to scare criminals into compliance, or a legend of destruction when people saw what remained in his wake. No matter how it went down, Shane’s ability to cut through entire swaths of enemies was going to be noticed and depended on by the public at large, regardless of how terrifying it might be.

Maybe the other Heroes were right. Maybe they were the Class of Nightmares after all.

“Shit. I might be able to rework the sonic taser to neutralize the Sims’ distress frequency, but I’d have to land the drones and stop coordinating to do it.” Will was chewing on his lip, visibly weighing his options in the few seconds he had to make these sorts of calls.

“Keep up the tracking, we need that more,” Thomas said.

“You think? But it would only be a couple of minutes, and then our people wouldn’t risk getting swarmed.”

“We don’t have a couple of minutes to spare.” Thomas looked over to the edge of his dome, where he could see a fourth group of Sims, the biggest lot yet, just beginning their charge at the entrance of the alley. Shane was poised and waiting; the moment they appeared his shadows sprang into action. “And our class can handle a few gangs of Sims. They need you for guidance above all else right now. The ass-kicking we’ve got handled.”

*             *             *

Vince hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect, but the unremarkable male Sim hiding in the Origin of Supers exhibit surprised him nonetheless. He’d been certain there would be at least a gang of Sims waiting, maybe with a tiered floor that required fighting his way up one enemy at a time. There was a strong chance he might have cobbled this imaginary battle together out of memories from watching Hershel play video games, but it still would have been exciting to have something a little grander than a shabby guy in the corner with a flickering ball of light between his hands.

“Stop!” Vince yelled, more on reflex than intent. Since they were dealing with an Armageddon Sim, he probably should have attacked first, but some instincts were hard to curb. To his shock, the Sim did exactly as instructed, letting the ball of light disperse and raising his hands in the air, showing the universal sign of submission.

“Huh. I did not expect that to work.” Chad appeared from the shadows behind the Sim; he’d slipped away moment’s prior and taken a stealthier route. The original plan had been for Vince to draw fire while Chad snuck in and delivered the killing blow, but that seemed a little unnecessary at this point.

“What do we do now?” Vince had been geared up for a no-holds-barred fight; he wasn’t sure how to proceed in the face of immediate surrender.

Chad considered the question briefly before a blade of bone extended from his forearm. With a single slash, Chad severed something in the Sim’s neck and the unkempt man went tumbling forward. “Killing without need is not heroic, but we can’t risk him attacking us or starting things up when we leave. Paralysis is our best option, and I was careful with the spinal nerves I cut. Or what would be spinal nerves on a human. The point is: he’s out of the battle.”

Touching his earpiece, Vince quickly relayed the situation to Will. “Did we get him, is this our guy?” He didn’t have high hopes. This whole thing screamed “distraction” more than someone trying to wipe out the world, but it was worth asking.

“Since no one has passed down word that the test is done, I don’t think so,” Will replied. “That means Alice’s team has probably got the real one cornered. I haven’t spotted any other targets yet. All forces: converge on that team’s location. We’re running low on time and we have to stop the Sim before the ten minutes are up.”

“We should get moving,” Chad said. “We’re pretty far away, the odds of us making it in time are slim, but we might if we rush. At the least we can take out any Sims we see approaching to back up the ones under attack.”

“Yeah, that’s probably right.” Vince’s eyes lingered on the still slumped-over Sim. Moving as quickly as he dared, Vince walked over and hefted the Sim into a position with his back against the wall. “Sorry we had to hurt you, even after you surrendered. At least you’re still alive, though.”

That done, he rejoined Chad and the two of them took off in a dead sprint, racing out the museum doors in no time. It was a pity they didn’t linger a bit longer. They might have noticed the other figures entering the museum from the other side, Sims who quickly rushed to their downed comrade’s location.

That was the trouble with teamwork; it cut in both directions.

211.

Alice was scary.

That wasn’t really news, and hadn’t been for years now. If anything, Violet was among the first to realize that when they had their mid-air tussle during the sophomore final. All the same, it was eerie to watch Alice raise her hands, face pinched in concentration, and send every Sim on the ground shooting up into the air. Dimly, Violet thought she made out a few crunches from way up high, although that may have just been her imagination. Big blasts of energy Violet could deal with, same as she could handle people who could punch through cars. But to just watch a battlefield be wiped out like that, no screams or chances to fight back… it was unnerving. Once Alice hit the real world, Violet had a hunch that a lot of crooks would take to wearing parachutes as fashion accessories pretty regularly.

“So far… so good.” Alice’s words came out terse, and her hands shook a little. The area she was affecting with her power was huge, easily the biggest she’d done in any of these fights by a healthy margin, and the effort was visibly taking a toll on her. She was still able to talk, at least. She walked forward under her own power, albeit at a plodding pace. “Amber… your turn.”

The words had barely left Alice’s mouth when the huge section of the wall around the second floor blew open, leaving a massive crater easily large enough for them to walk through. Unfortunately, the fact that it was on the second floor meant walking wasn’t an option, and Alice seemed in no position to try flying the group.

“Can you get us up there?” Amber asked.

“Have to. You need me. Otherwise, you’d go up too.” Alice gritted her teeth and started forward, her feet wobbling a bit as they left contact with the roof. She had a point; if they entered the area without Alice’s protection, the gravity would affect them just like the Sims. No wonder she’d said she couldn’t help with whatever they found: Violet was amazed Alice had the concentration to do even this much. Once they were inside, they were on their own.

Traveling to the hole in the wall was a brief, somewhat terrifying affair. Violet, at least, had the knowledge that if Alice slipped up she could semi-fly around and save herself, but Amber would be in a much more vulnerable position. Thankfully, nothing went wrong as they made their approach, all three walking through the air on the unseen gravity field Alice was weaving, until they finally touched down on the dull gray carpet of the building’s interior. There were no Sims around the entrance, which wasn’t a great shock since they should be pinned to the ceiling, but Violet positioned Alice behind her all the same. From here on, it was up to her and Amber to finish the job. Alice had done more than enough; time to prove that they could make a difference as well.

*             *             *

“Oh dear.” Chad stopped running, holding up a hand for Vince to follow his lead. Tapping his earpiece, he spoke to Will in quick, clear tones. “Will, can you sweep the area south of 19th for me? I’m hearing a big group of Sims moving in what I suspect is the same direction as us. If they’re not on the same path we can swing wide, but if they’re backup for the target it might be more prudent to handle them now.”

“One moment.” Will’s voice was soon followed by a buzz overhead as one of his drones swept the sky. This time, it was interrupted by a sound like something crackling and then a soft thud as it smashed into a building. “They’re going the same way, and they spotted my drone. Second one I’ve lost so far. Alice has a reversed-gravity field around her building, but since we now know they have at least one blaster, I’m not sure how that would impact their ability to strike from a range. Can you two intercept the gang before they arrive?”

“Can and will, Will.” Chad faltered, his accidental wordplay tripping him up. “I mean we’ll do it, if that’s what helps the most.”

“Seeing as neither of you can fly through an area of manipulated gravity, I’d say you’d do the most good by stopping potential threats before they arrive. Stay ready for new instructions, though, we’re down to the wire. If anything goes wrong, it will be all hands on deck.”

Vince waited, but no more guidance followed. He turned to Chad instead. Lowering his hand from the earpiece, Chad nodded to the southeast and then met Vince’s eyes. “You should be aware; I hear a lot of them. This won’t be an easy fight with just two of us.”

“The fate of the world is at stake, I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Together, they ran off toward the group of migrating Sims, each hoping they’d be able to help in some small way before their time ran out.

*             *             *

All of the indoor Sims had not met an equal fate. The heavier ones had smashed through the tile ceiling, pinned under the sturdy floor of the next level. Others were still in sight, twisting and turning to try and see what was going on below them. A few had managed, through luck or effort, to face downward toward the ground. Those Amber picked off as they made their way through the halls. Violet wasn’t sure any of them had ranged abilities, but they might, and even if they didn’t they could still raise a ruckus, so she didn’t protest Amber’s methods too hard.

The biggest enemy they were facing was time, unfortunately. Not much was left, and Alice’s slow pace made searching each room a longer task than it needed to be. When they finally came to a large office with thick wooden doors and sounds of movement from the other side, it filled all of them with hope that they’d reached the final step of their trial. Amber looked to Violet, who looked to Alice, who was sweating visibly from the strain of manipulating gravity over such a large area.

There was nothing to say, really. They knew they had to bust in, and it was clear that Alice couldn’t hold this much longer. It was time to act: all they could do was stay on their toes and trust their training. There wasn’t enough time to try anything else.

Carefully, Violet positioned Alice directly behind her and then dialed up her own body’s density by several degrees. Given the way Amber liked to knock, there was a good chance this was going to come with collateral damage.

“Ready?” Amber stood, hand outstretched, waiting for her cue.

Violet took a deep breath, scanned the area one last time for any danger they might have missed, and then nodded. Her head had barely finished moving before the door exploded inward, spraying flecks of wood all over the hall.

212.

Although it was Amber who opened the way, Violet led the charge inside. With her density turned up she could function as a strongman, and that meant she needed to draw any potential fire before any waiting Sims could attack her team. She bolted through the still-falling pieces of debris that had once been the door and scanned the area.

Four Sims were inside, waiting for them. One was a short man with energy crackling from his eyes and hands, which were clutched together as though in prayer. Given the amount of juice he was putting out, this seemed like the best bet for what Will had spotted, and that meant he was their nuclear threat. Unfortunately, the other three Sims were standing in her way, all of them still on the floor. Glancing down briefly, Violet noticed that they’d drilled in climbing hooks and rope, lashing themselves to the ground. Had they climbed down while she and the others made their way in, or were they like this from the start? It was a question she’d deal with when the fight was over; first she had to clear out this room.

Leaping toward the nearest Sim, a woman in full business attire who seemed to be rippling with muscle, Violet threw a punch that would knock out a regular person and hopefully knock a Sim with enhanced endurance off-kilter. The woman took the blow without so much as a blink, grabbing Violet and flipping her onto the carpet. It was a good thing these floors were reinforced or Violet would have gone slamming through it. As it was she left a sizable dent in the ground before scrambling back up just in time to miss an electrical blast from one of the other guard Sims.

These were tougher than the usual robots and seemed to be smarter as well. Violet could still beat them; she hadn’t made it this far for nothing. It would take time, though, and time was becoming a more and more limited asset. Glancing at her watch, Violet saw that they’d just passed the nine-minute mark since this mad scramble of a test began. Less than a minute left meant they didn’t have time to play nice. Much as Violet disliked the killing aspect of the job, in that instant she looked at the situation as if it were real, if the lives of everyone in the world were at stake, and Violet realized she had it in her to do what was necessary. Even if these Sims had been real, she’d still have to wipe them out.

“Amber, blow the heads off anything that’s not me. I’ll clean up the rest.”

Without waiting for confirmation, Violet leapt forward, snagging the Sim who’d thrown her in a grapple. She wasn’t trying to actually throw or submit the Sim, however. Violet just needed a grip to put the other side of her power to work. Because she didn’t just impact her own body; she could change the density of other things too. Usually, she only worked with inanimate objects, but today was a special occasion. In the span of seconds she’d lowered the Sim’s density by more than half, and that made snapping its limbs only a minor effort. She tore it apart, taking the head as soon as she had a clear chance, trying hard not to think about the spray of viscera that would be coming in place of electronics if this were real.

When the task was done, Violet looked around to find the other two standing Sims in smoking heaps. Clearly Amber had taken her instructions well. Honestly, she was always a little too ready to kill for Violet’s tastes, but in moments like this, it was a trait that paid off. With less than a minute left, they had a clean line to the Armageddon Sim.

Not wasting a moment, because who knew how many they even had left, Violet leapt toward the sole Sim remaining. She jumped so high that part of her accidentally left the bubble of normal gravity that Alice was holding around them for an instant, disorienting herself. What had been a leap turned into a fall as she struggled to regain her sense of direction. Violet managed to right herself just in time, angling her knees forward and cranking up her density as high as possible before impact.

She slammed into and through the last Sim, cleaving him into messy halves from the weight of her landing. Due to their positions, she could see his face for a few moments before his power went out. It was haunting, watching the last twitches as the crackling energy faded away. Realism was all well and good to a certain extent; she just wished they hadn’t programmed the Sims with death expressions. That felt like taking it a step too far. Still, the job was done, and Violet was cheery as she tapped her earpiece to make the report.

“Will, our target has been taken out the hard way. What’s the status, did we pass?”

“You got the last one? That’s good but… strange. I thought there would be an announcement when we won or lost. They’ve said nothing though, and our time…”

Violet could see for herself: the seconds on the watch were piling up. Before her eyes they officially passed the ten-minute mark. She braced herself for an announcement, telling them there was some other threat that they’d missed. It would suck, but she felt like as a whole the class had put on a good showing. Even if it was a failure, it was a failure they could take pride in. And yet, as the big moment came and went there was nothing, not so much as a peep from Dean Blaine either way. What was going on?

“I don’t get it.” Will might have been talking to himself at this point, it was hard to tell. “We had a firm time limit, and we hunted every suspect I could find, why isn’t Dean Blaine interrupting this test with… oh for fuck’s sake. Interruption. The Sim needs ten uninterrupted minutes to set off Armageddon.”

“What does that mean?” Violet asked. Amber and Alice were staring in from the outside of the room, the latter looking like she might be sick from the strain of keeping the huge gravity field in place.

“It means that you killed your target, and Roy’s team killed their target, but Chad and Vince told me they neutralized their target. I’ll bet that means incapacitation, knowing those two. Vince or Chad, can you confirm?”

“Chad… crippled him.” Vince sounded out of breath, like he was mid-fight even as he took the time to reply.

“One moment.” It was strange, standing in the office amidst the electronic corpses they’d created, waiting for Will to tell them what to do next. “Drone has confirmed that we’ve got a new target back on the east side, most likely our museum Sim once more. These Sims have been working together the whole time: I’ll bet they have some units that are the equivalent of healers. Alice’s team, I know you just had a fight but you’re our fastest option. Can you get across the city in time?”

“Me? Maybe,” Violet replied. “There’s no chance Alice is flying anyone though. She looks like she might puke in the potted plants. We thought this was our last push so she put everything she had into it.”

“Vince and I are still pretty far east; we gave up moving toward Violet’s team in order to cut off a gang of reinforcement Sims. Unless anyone is closer, we may be the best option.” Chad sounded as calm as usual, though it wasn’t quite as comforting this time around. The pretend stakes were a little too high for just a voice to soothe anyone’s nerves.

“Then break off Sim engagement right now and run that way. I’ll try to crunch the numbers and give us a new time estimate, but I’ll be guessing at best so you have to hurry. Violet, take to the sky and try to meet up with them. There’s still a chance to pull this off yet.”

213.

“Disengage from the Sim fight” was easier said than done. There had been twenty of the damn things, and even after several minutes of fighting, Vince and Chad had only halved that. They could have gone faster if they were killing indiscriminately; however, since they’d thought their job was to delay, both had stuck to non-lethal options. Now, suddenly the fate of the world was back in play, and it was on them to deal with it – partly because they were the closest, but also because it had been their mistake that kept the world in danger. If they’d gone for the kill then this whole thing would have been over with time to spare. Maybe there was a lesson in that, although it wasn’t one Vince felt like dwelling on in the moment.

Not while there was work left to be done.

“Do we run?” Vince yelled over to Chad, who was sliding his bone blades into the pseudo-spine of another Sim.

“They’d chase us, and that would only make the battle we’re running toward harder. Do you have enough electricity to stun all of them? That could buy us enough time to get away.”

Vince would have felt more comfortable if he’d had a little extra juice on hand, but they didn’t really have the time to talk over every option. Better to just try and then figure out something else if it failed. Backing up to get as many targets in sight as possible, Vince took a careful breath, charging up his electricity as fast as he could, and then let fly a torrent of bolts. Using a scatter-shot wasn’t as precise as aiming – it was uncomfortably akin to what his power did before he learned to control it – but the upside was that he could hit a larger number of enemies at once. The air crackled as bright blue light seared through it, some bolts hitting only the ground but most smashing into a Sim.

He didn’t get all of them; these units were better than some of the older models they’d fought. But at least seven of the remaining ten fell to the ground, momentarily stunned. Before Vince could speak, Chad had darted over behind one of the three still standing and cleaved its head from its torso. The man was a blur, tearing through the last three Sims like a whirlwind of bone and death. When Chad stopped worrying about striking with mercy, he was a whole other level of terrifying.

“Let’s go,” Chad called as the last Sim’s head crashed to the ground. Go they did, sprinting away from the Sims, some still recovering while others were permanently swept off the battlefield. “Will, do you have a destination for us?”

“Not yet, our target is being moved,” Will replied. “Just head east for now, and I’ll give you more precise directions when you get closer.”

“How are you holding up over there?” Vince asked. He couldn’t imagine how they’d have done this without Will, and he dearly hoped Shane and Thomas were keeping the team’s most important asset safe.

“We’re fine. Things are little bumpy, but I’ll be here to guide you until the end.”

*             *             *

While not traditionally a fan of lying, Thomas could see the value in Will’s falsehood. The others had enough on their plates; they didn’t need to split their focus worrying about something they wouldn’t be able to help with.

The truth of the matter was that a lot of Sims were heading their way – somewhere between forty and fifty from what Will’s drone had picked up, with others potentially joining the mob as it moved. The more Sims Shane killed, the more seemed to hear the distress calls and start heading their way. He’d done an incredible job so far: horrifying, but still incredible. But this was too much to ask of any one student. When that mass of Sims arrived, not even Shane would be able to hold the line, no matter how much he insisted otherwise.

“Shane, just hang on for a few more minutes,” Will called through the dome. “I’ve reached out to everyone who was nearby and they’re on their way. Selena’s group will be here in about two minutes, with Roy’s people not far behind. If you can last that long, you’ll have help.”

“Tell them to take their time; I don’t really need the assistance. I’ve got this.” Shane sounded confident on the other side of the dome, but Thomas could see the worry in his eyes. This fight had been draining, and no one had taken on more Sims than Shane. He had to be feeling it, but he was still planted in the alleyway, refusing to give an inch. Thomas might be able to help out a little bit when the action started since he could make the dome grow appendages to swing about, but focusing on defense would limit him greatly. Shane was going to need help; it was just a question of if he’d be able to hold out until it arrived.

The clacking of keys was almost melodic as Will directed his remaining drones across the battlefield, trying with all his might to gather a little more information to help the others. Without throwing so much as a single punch, Will had unquestionably proven himself the MVP of this trial, win or lose. They needed him, and would until this was over. Thomas and Shane had to make sure nothing got to Will, or else the whole thing might very well be done.

“Finally!” Will clapped his hands and rubbed them together, reading the data on his screen with a triumphant grin before tapping his earpiece. “Chad and Vince, I’ve got good news. The Sim has stopped running and holed up in a location. Let me zoom in a little closer with my drone and I’ll get you details. It looks like the building is on 20th Street, across from a courthouse. You’ll know it because it’s a… oh come on. Haven’t they taken this far enough?”

Thomas couldn’t quite make out Vince or Chad’s reply, but he watched as Will closed his eyes and drew in some deep breaths before responding. “Because it’s cruel. Because it’s unnecessary. And maybe because it’s something that’s come up before, if I’m honest. It just sucks is all. The building you two are heading toward is an orphanage, complete with what look like Sim-children who are trapped inside with the bad guys. To save the world you have to fight your way through a building full of orphans, because apparently whoever sets these tests up is more sadistic than I realized.”

Through the dome, Thomas could see the first of the giant group of Sims step into view, causing Shane’s shadows to stir. As he watched more of them appear it occurred to Thomas that for someone so smart, Will probably should have caught onto the staff’s sadistic streak much earlier than this.

214.

“An occupied orphanage. Really. Even for Dean Blaine, that feels a touch over the top.” It was a testament to Chad’s cardiovascular system that he could speak so clearly while still running at a full sprint through the city streets. Vince could keep pace thanks to years of training, but making conversation during the run was a little more than he could manage.

It wasn’t until they slowed down, their destination appearing at the edge of their view, that Vince was finally able to reply to Chad. “It’s not sadism. It’s punishment. You and I had this guy dead to rights; the trial should have been over with time to spare. Instead, we did a sloppy job with the capture, assuming that just because we didn’t see any allies the Sim didn’t have any to call on, and because we didn’t secure him properly the world is still at risk. Those orphans would still be in danger, whether the Sim holed up in there or not. All of that because we didn’t take a little extra time to make sure our target was cut off from any help.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it is punishment for the fact that we left him alive. Killing is the only way to permanently neutralize a target; if we’d done it he could have never threatened anyone again.”

“But he gave up,” Vince pointed out. “I’ll accept that we made mistakes today, and if the class fails the test then the blame rightfully should be on us. I’ll never believe that killing a person who has no willingness to defend themselves is the right thing to do though.”

“I’ll admit it rubs me the wrong way as well, hence why I didn’t chop his head off.” Chad glanced toward the orphanage, still too far away for Vince to see clearly, and let out a resigned sigh. “Yet the world remains in danger, and the fault for that lies on us. My sense of morality has had to grow and evolve since starting our education here; this may be one more aspect of it. At the very least, are we on the same page for this fight? No more second chances.”

It was slow and begrudging, but Vince nodded his acceptance. Things were different this time around; they probably didn’t even have the time to be gentle if they wanted to. With no accurate idea of when the clock was restarted, they were flying blind. All they could do was stop the Sim as fast as possible, which almost certainly meant going for the kill over the capture. They gave the Sim a chance to end things peacefully, and he’d used it to fool them. That was all the mercy they could afford with the world in the balance.

“He’s not alone this time. I can make out three adult Sims standing near the door, and we’d be idiots not to assume more were inside. Our best bet is probably to stick with the same strategy: you go at the front hard while I slip in unnoticed and try to execute the target.”

“Won’t they know you’re coming as soon as they see me?” Vince asked. “We just used the same tactic; they’re bound to expect it this time.”

“Whether they expect it or not is irrelevant,” Chad replied. “The point of stealth is not to be able to slip past people who aren’t expecting you; that’s a relatively simple skill to learn. No, the point of being adept at stealth is to slip by an entire room of people looking specifically for you by sneaking right behind them. Trust me; if you can hold out on the front, I can make it inside.”

“Chad, I know you’re not really one to overestimate yourself, but are you sure? Bet the world on it sure?”

This time, the response was delayed as Chad took another long look at the orphanage. “I may fail. That’s possible no matter what the mission or opponent is. Life takes unexpected turns, and it’s always possible my abilities won’t be enough. However, if we both try to storm the front then they know where we are and can figure out how to deal with us. By getting inside I can take them out one at a time, sowing uncertainty and panic. Nothing is guaranteed, but I truly believe this is our best path to victory. That said, you may have the harder job this time. We don’t know how many Sims are in there or how powerful they are. You might charge the front only to find yourself staring down an army.”

It was possible, Chad was certainly right. And while plenty of the Sims went down like cannon fodder, the ones in this trial so far had been a little tougher. If this was the final boss fight, the guards probably wouldn’t be pushovers. And that was without even taking into account that they had an entire building of innocent civilians to hide behind, which would definitely make the fight even more complicated.

“How long do you need me to keep their focus so you can get inside?”

Doing mental math faster than Vince could ever dream of accomplishing, Chad swirled a few numbers around his head and came up with a figure. “Two minutes, minimum. One for careful approach, one for infiltration. After that, I’ll have a whole building to work in.”

“Then I’ll last for at least two minutes, army or not. No matter what you see or hear, don’t worry about me. Just focus on the task at hand.”

Chad smiled, a surprising expression in a situation as grim as this one. “Of all the things I thought to concern myself with, the idea that you wouldn’t prove capable to the task never crossed my mind. Are there any other questions, or are you prepared to start?”

Vince could think of a dozen more ideas or plans that might be worth discussing, however he brought up none of them. They could spend all the time they had left standing around, tossing out ideas that might ultimately prove slightly better than what they were planning yet would never have the chance to be tested. Planning was for when there wasn’t a clock bearing down on them, threatening the end. Today, a rough idea and action were better than comprehensive planning and delay. Win or lose, at least this way they had a chance to try and save the world.

“I’m ready when you are.” Stretching his arms, Vince uttered a phrase he would have never expected to say in the entirety of his life. “Let’s go storm the orphanage.”

215.

Thomas’s teeth were gritting as he focused everything he had on keeping the dome intact. This gang of Sims – this army, really – was smarter than the previous ones. They were keeping their distance, testing the defenses, and only sending in a few small groups at a time. Some had even set up on other buildings’ roofs and started sending ranged attacks toward Shane and the dome. Individually, each strike was tough, but combined they were starting to test the limits of what Thomas’s energy could endure. While he was holding strong for the moment, eventually he’d get worn down. When that happened, Will would have no protection from ranged attacks.

“Wow, they are really coming after us.” Will glanced up from his console, toward the orange barrier that he wasn’t able to see through. “There are a ton of them out there. You’re not going to be able to hold out for long, are you?”

“I’m not done yet,” Thomas said, nearly spitting the words as he endured yet another round of ranged assaults hitting his dome.

“But you will be soon. And perhaps I’ve done all I need to. Maybe we’re better off if I close up shop and we flee to a safer location.” Will’s hand started toward the top of the console, clearly intent on shutting it down.

“This guy has slipped past our people once already. Until he’s down for the count, we need you. Don’t worry about the Sims out here, that’s for Shane and me to deal with. You just focus on guiding Vince and Chad to the one trying to blow up the world.” Thomas didn’t feel as hopeful as he sounded, but he said the words anyway. Being stalwart in the face of hopeless odds was part of what Heroes did, and it wasn’t like they were beaten yet. So long as he and Shane were still standing, there was hope. Granted, he didn’t know how things could turn around, but supposedly there were others coming. Once they arrived, the options would widen considerably. Thomas just had to hold out until reinforcements appeared, and he was determined to do just that.

He would keep Will safe until victory, reinforcements, or a brain hemorrhage arrived.

*             *             *

“That is a fucking lot of Sims.” Roy didn’t quite let out a whistle, but it was close as he peered from the alley toward the swarms of Sims converging on Will’s location. “Do we go in swinging?”

“No, the ones on the ground aren’t the real issue. Our big problems are the Sims shooting down at Thomas’s barrier.” Alex pointed up to the nearby roofs, where occasional blasts of energy could be seen firing off toward the bright orange glow of the dome. “If we can take those out, Shane can probably keep holding the alley.”

“Wait, Shane’s been holding the alley by himself? I assumed Thomas was pitching in too.” Camille was somewhere between impressed and doubtful as she surveyed the thick crush of mechanical bodies once more.

“Every now and then when one gets close, but Shane hasn’t let many come near enough for Thomas to even hit,” Alex told her. “This might be the first time he’s gotten a trial that played to his strengths. But not even he can deal with all these enemies sniping them, so we need to get rid of the ranged attackers. I can levitate us to the roofs, but they’ll probably start fighting back as soon as they spot us, or double down on trying to break Thomas’s dome.”

“So you need a distraction?” Roy asked.

“Less distraction, more target. We need someone to make too much trouble for the ranged Sims to ignore so that they have to start going after that threat instead of us or the dome. It won’t be a very pleasant job, since the brunt of a Sim army will be attacking you.”

“You can stop selling, I’m already in.” Roy gave his bat its usual test swing as a big grin slipped across his face. “Hershel may be the smart one, but I’ve got a PhD in kicking up shitshows. If you want trouble, there ain’t no better Super you’ll find to cause it. Just give me the word and I’ll get this party started.”

“I guess whenever you’re read–”

Alex didn’t even finish the sentence before Roy hunkered down in a squat and then leapt into the air, letting out a squeal of what sounded like excitement in the process.

He flew forward without any real trajectory, over the heads of the Sims who were turning to stare at the lone figure barreling through the sky. When Roy landed, he came down right in the center of the Sim formation, crashing onto a couple of units who crumpled into broken electronic bits under his boots. One swing of his heavy bat knocked all of the nearby ones away, and with a little bit of breathing room Roy decided it was time to address his audience.

“Hey there, shitheads. My name is Roy, and I came here to get revenge on every fuckin’ clock radio that ever woke me before I was ready. Y’all can line up orderly for your ass-kicking or come all at once, it makes no difference by me.”

While the Sims were thrown into chaos, Alex and Camille snuck away from Roy’s launch point, making their way toward the ranged Sims’ roofs. They’d asked for a distraction, and Roy had damn well delivered, but that was still a lot of opponents, even for him. If they didn’t hurry, Roy might go down before the job was done, and once that happened they’d have a much more difficult task ahead of them.

If Roy was worried about losing his fight with an army, it didn’t show as he leapt toward the nearest group of Sims, raining down blows that shattered artificial limbs and sent more than a few Sims limply to the ground.

“Maybe y’all think this is a voluntary thing, but you’re wrong. I’m here to fight each and every one of you fuckers, so fight back or don’t, it’s all ending the same either way.”

Whatever momentary shock had rippled through the Sims, it wore off as they watched Roy ready for another attack. The three nearest him lurched into action, two taking swings while another’s hands glowed with electricity. They all connected, although the ones who got into melee range paid for it with their limbs. It was enough to push Roy slightly back; as he came to a stop he lifted his bat and gave them the widest smile he could manage.

“That’s more like it. This might be fun after all.”

216.

The first blast came seconds after Vince stepped into view, striking nearby concrete and exploding on impact. It was easy enough to avoid, but the closer he got, the tighter his windows for dodging would be, especially since he had to focus on offense for at least the start of the attack. If he didn’t make himself look like a credible threat then the Sims wouldn’t focus on stopping him, and that would make things harder on Chad. Fire danced along his hands, building as he dashed forward, ready to burst out with a single thought. Vince drew as close as he could, dodging more and more frequent blasts until he finally caught sight of a Sim peering out from around a corner, visibly taking aim.

One moment, one shot. Vince didn’t hesitate; in his mind part of him was already back at Lander East, trying to strike full-force in the span of seconds. His hand whipped upward in a blur, and the column of heat that burst out from his palm was as thick as an arm. It roasted through the air, hitting the Sim dead on and melting through most of its head before the body fell backward, out of view. First Sim down, countless unknown to follow.

Another volley of shots rained down from the second floor of the orphanage, and Vince realized with a shock that not all of them were energy-based. Rubber bullets bounced off the concrete, flipping through the air and throwing some sort of liquid from their tips as they spun. Poison, probably, something meant to paralyze and replicate the loss of a limb when struck. Were some of the Sims supposed to be human, and this was their defense? Maybe, or maybe not. Supers could use guns too; there was no reason they wouldn’t give them to some Sims without ranged powers. Either way, Vince had a hunch he didn’t want to take any of those bullets.

Scanning the top floor to make sure there were no children near the attackers, Vince swept a torrent of constant flame across the windows, forcing the attacking Sims to either pull back or get burned. A few caught fire, their clothes going up even as they jerked away, but most seemed unhurt. He needed to do something faster, something that would buy him enough time to really work in.

Mentally tallying his energy assets, Vince ran through his options. He had plenty of fire left, as well as a good deal of kinetic, but his electricity was running low after the last fight. There were a few bits of Thomas’s energy from the last time they sparred, though that was running near empty, and a good deal of light he still had absorbed. Another flash bomb might be the best way to blind them, but to pull it off he had to get as many of them looking at him at once as possible. It wouldn’t do to burn his stockpile and only stun half of the Sims. He couldn’t just spray fire into the building either, not without risking the lives of the kids.

But then again… they didn’t know that. Although he wasn’t confident in his skill with it, there was a technique he might be able to use that would get the Sims’ attention and give him the chance to blind them without risking a single civilian in the process. It was a new method, for him anyway, and knowing he was on unfamiliar ground made the idea scary. Then again, it was nowhere near as terrifying as the idea of burning a bunch of children. Vince set his resolve. He was going to do it.

Vince was going to try and bluff.

“You cowardly assholes hiding in a building with a bunch of children? You think that’s going to keep you safe? Well, news flash: I know what you’re doing in there. I know that if I don’t stop you those kids still die, along with every other person on the planet. So if I have to choose between one smoldering orphanage and an entire world being annihilated, I’ll take the first.” Vince was a touch surprised to notice how much lying had led to him emulating Nick, although upon reflection he realized it wasn’t that much of a shock. After all, Nick was the best liar Vince knew, and he really wanted to sell this fib.

The fire around Vince’s arms was intensifying, growing brighter by the second. They had to see it, to feel the warmth from all the way over there, to believe he was serious. “The good thing for us is that I don’t have to set foot in there to stop you. That Armageddon Sim of yours needs ten minutes to focus, right? I wonder how well he’ll focus with an inferno coming down on top of his head. Last chance, you bastards. Come out peacefully, or I’ll roast the lot of you. You’ve got until the count of three.”

Bold as his voice sounded, Vince was actually shoving down his nerves as fast as he could. This was going to be the hardest part. He’d been working so hard on switching energies, on building up power in the span of seconds. If he were trying this with fire, it wouldn’t have worked. Ditto for electricity. They both demanded too long to gather and concentrate. Kinetic he could have managed, that much he knew. Light… light was among Vince’s newer tools. He didn’t know if he could pull this off or not using light, but it didn’t matter. Vince would make it happen, force it too with every ounce of determination he had, because failure wasn’t an option. He had to succeed, that was all there was to it.

“One.” Vince fired off a few rogue blasts, missing the orphanage by a decent margin but making his presence felt. The counter could come at any time; he had to start dialing off of fire. This was his last bit of theater to make sure they took the threat seriously.

“Two.” From the windows, Vince could see twitching, hurried movements of Sims getting into position to stop him. Any moment now. He took a deep breath, let the fire recede, and pulled up every bit of light he could muster.

“Three.”

Many things happened at once. The criminal Sims sprang up out of hiding, almost all of them holding smaller, child-sized Sims up in front of them as cover. Bastards. They’d known he was planning something and were using kids as shields, trusting he wouldn’t attack. Trouble was, they still wanted to shoot at him, which required aim, and all Vince needed was for them to glance in his direction at the right time. All of that fired through Vince’s mind in the split-second of the Sims rising up from their hiding spots, and he came to an instantaneous conclusion.

Vince would probably never be the kind of man who could burn down an orphanage, even if the entire planet hung in the balance. It was just a step too far. Temporarily blinding a few children, on the other hand, was a price he was willing to pay if it meant saving the world. Vince released all the light that he’d gathered in a massive flare, one that lit up the entire block. Instantly the sounds of clattering guns and cursing Sims filled the air, he’d gotten them, or at least most of them.

There was no small amount of satisfaction in Vince’s expression as he lined up a shot on a second-floor Sim, one that had dropped its child-shield in surprise. He’d managed to pull off his bluff, now it was time to press the advantage. If he was quick and precise, Vince could cut their numbers in half before their sight recovered.

217.

The approach was the hardest part. Between the nearest building and the orphanage was a ten-foot area without cover, and crossing it meant being completely exposed, if only momentarily. Given enough time and materials, Chad could have created some alternative methods of entry; however, with the clock bearing down on them, his only choice was to sprint across the open area as fast as possible. The chance came when Vince started yelling about burning the place down. Several of the Sims repositioned themselves, bracing for an attack from the front while letting their focus toward other directions wane. In their moments of distraction, Chad took his shot.

His legs were a blur as he bolted along the concrete, moving as fast as he physically could without causing unwanted noise. In seconds he was across the gap, through a window and in the orphanage. He’d done a good job with the timing, but not a perfect one. A lone Sim had spotted him, more by chance than skill, so Chad didn’t slow down as he entered the room. Bounding across it, he struck the Sim in its neck before it could make so much as a peep. Two more blows and it was down for the count; Chad’s focus on speed and stealth had lessened his capacity for delicate work. This Sim would definitely be counted among the dead. Chad had a hunch it wouldn’t be the last before their work was done.

Artificial voices spat out yelps of simulated pain as Vince let off some massive attack. Peeking out into the hall, Chad saw the majority of Sims near the front of the building rubbing their eyes and stumbling about. A light-based attack then, and what a perfect choice it was. Distracted enemies would have been enough – with partially blinded ones Chad would encounter virtually no resistance. He slipped along, steps no more than a whisper, listening closely to chart the locations of everyone inside the building. The majority of bodies were clustered together near the front of the orphanage, split fairly evenly between the top and bottom floors. Two rooms farther away were filled with Sims. The room on the ground floor seemed to contain most of the orphans, corralled to keep them out of the way until they were useful. The room on the second floor housed four bodies, with one standing and three pacing.

A Sim, still rubbing its eyes but slowly recovering, turned around to look at the stairs. A moment earlier and it would have seen a flash of white as Chad vanished from view. Instead, it found only an empty staircase. With no concerns from the rear to defend against, the Sim followed the lead of the other units and turned its attention to the silver-haired Super who was holding fire in his hands again.

*             *             *

Stealth had not been as integral a part of Camille’s training as one might have expected. True, since her ability worked best when she had the element of surprise it seemed like a natural fit. The problem was that no matter how good she was at sneaking around, sooner or later someone would spot her, and if all she had in her skillset was the element of surprise then she’d be sunk. So it was that Camille had made stealth a secondary concern in favor of working on her melee skills. Knowing how to fight, dodge, and land a blow meant she was useful whether or not she got the drop on her enemy. All of that said, she found herself extremely grateful for the time she had put into working on moving silently: it was paying huge dividends in this fight.

Pressing two fingers to the neck of a Sim, she watched as it powered down seconds before getting off another blast on Thomas’s dome. Some ways off, on another rooftop, she saw Alex make a brief gesture with his hand a second before the nearest sniper Sim slumped over in a heap. It was going slower than she might have liked, but they were definitely making progress. One by one they were taking out the ranged threats. It felt good, like the class was carving out some progress. She just wished it was half as showy as what was going down on the ground.

Between Shane and Roy, the Sims were taking a beating. They outnumbered the humans – and considerably at that – but that was actually working against them at the moment. Shane, tucked behind his alley entrance and shredding any who dared venture close, could only be reached by means of bottlenecking down to individual attackers, while Roy was bounding and leaping around the battlefield too erratically for the Sims to take any sort of formation. The bulk of their bodies blocked any of them from getting a line of sight on Roy as he smashed about, not to mention that the chaos made it hard for them to tell where he was at any given moment. Then again, even if they did manage to get close to Roy, it wasn’t like the hard part was done. His bat swept through the air freely, tearing through any Sim who dared get within reach.

What was all the worse, at least for the Sims, was that Roy kept driving and leading bits of the mob toward the alley, where Shane’s shadows made quick work of them. Camille genuinely wondered if those two could win this fight on their own, numbers be damned. If they had more time, she might have gotten to find out, but she could see more white uniforms appearing at the edge of the group of Sims. Brittany, Selena, Adam, and Rich had finally made their way across the battlefield to help, and with four more Supers, the fight was about to take a decidedly sharp turn against the Sims.

For now, all that mattered was holding out and keeping Will safe enough to work. Camille made her way down the fire escape, choosing speed over silence this time, and moved toward the nearest sniper’s building. It might not be as impressive to watch, but she had a job to do, one that people were counting on her to accomplish. Flashy or unseen didn’t matter: the only way they were going to win was by everyone completing their tasks.

That was how teamwork was meant to function, and that was how they’d try to win.

*             *             *

Chad was nearing the door, hand outstretched, when Will’s voice caused him to stop in his tracks.

“Chad, where are you?”

“Second floor, approaching the back room with several Sims lying in wait.”

“Shit, I was afraid of that. I think it’s a trap, Chad. They’re trying to bait you in. I just had a drone catch sight of two Sims sneak out a side door of the building. One was carrying the other in her arms, and the man being carried was throwing off some high-level energy. They’re trying to trick us again.”

“How far and how fast are they moving?” Chad asked.

“Quick, but not impossibly so. From where you are, I’m not sure you’ll be able to catch them.”

“Then that only leaves Vince.”

“You want him to try and chase those two with most of the Sims from the orphanage attacking him?”

“If you have any other ideas for how to potentially save the world, I would love to hear them.” Chad waited, shifting his position back toward the stairs. He wouldn’t be as eye-catching or scary, but he could still try and draw some attention to help Vince escape.

“Give him all the help you can,” Will said. “Something tells me this one is going to get messy.”

218.

As a general rule, Vince liked to think that anything was possible. It was a philosophy of hope, one that he considered important, especially in a job like Hero work. However, he found that optimism tested as Will handed down the order to abandon the fight he’d picked and take off after a pair of fleeing Sims. Maybe if he still had enough light for another flash, but he’d burned out his whole supply and taking time to gather more was too risky, especially with his target getting further away with every step. Still, turning his back on a bunch of pissed off Sims wasn’t really an option; it was taking all his skill to dodge their attacks as things stood.

Most of the Sims had come pouring out from the orphanage once the light cleared from their eyes, trying to take Vince on in close proximity. At the time, he’d been glad to see them charge, it meant less Sims for Chad to sneak past. Now, it was an issue, as anywhere he ran they’d be able to follow. Not to mention that several Sims were still in the orphanage, peppering him with ranged attacks when he showed an opening. Surviving this was hard enough, escaping it skirted the lines of impossible. But if he didn’t succeed, then the world ended, or it would if this were real. So Vince asked himself, if it was a probable death for him or a certain doom for the world, which would he pick?

Summoning as much fire as he dared next to an orphanage, Vince released a blast of flame that went out in all directions from his body. Several Sims got scorched, others darted back in time, but the bottom line was that they all gave him a few feet of breathing room, and that was all he’d really wanted. Vince took off in a dead sprint, following Will’s directions to where the escaped Sims had gone. He gritted his teeth, preparing for the barrage of ranged attacks to rain down on him. Surprisingly, the few that came were wild and half-aimed.

Vince risked a glance over his shoulder to see what was going on. It was hard to make-out precisely, but from the chaos inside the building it looked like Chad was tearing his way through the Sims that had been shooting, a blur of bone and circuitry as he felled Sim after Sim. It was a heartening sight, which Vince dearly needed in light of the other development he noticed. All of the outside Sims had recovered from his bout of flame and were on his tail, gaining ground faster than he was comfortable with. He could throw more fire to stall them, but that would slow him as well as take away his ability to absorb any shots they fired, and he was already fighting to catch-up. Speed was the best option, so he pumped his legs for all they were worth.

It was a valiant effort, however the pounding footsteps made it clear that the Sims were gaining ground. He was going to have to do something, or they’d overtake him. Vince scoured his mind, and hit upon a thought. The only way to get clear and catch up with his target would be a strongman-leap, but between higher buildings and longer blocks he'd have to go higher than he'd ever dared try before. Usually he risked a broken leg or ankle from a botched landing; if he messed this one up he'd be out of the fight for sure. An all-or-nothing situation probably wasn’t the best time to test something else new, then again, this way he’d go out trying. That beat accepting failure by a wide margin.

Just as he was gathering his concentration, Vince heard a familiar yelp of excitement fill the air. It wasn’t coming from the Sims, though, nor was it from the orphanage, or even the street. That noise had come from above, and Vince temporarily shelved his plan in favor of running as hard as he could for the next several seconds. He was going to need some distance on this one.

“Violeeeeeeet Bomb!” That was all the warning the Sims got as Violet, her density cranked up to incredible levels, came plummeting from the sky like an avenging comet. She slammed into the center of their group, crushing several and sending the rest flying through the air from the force of her landing. Violet herself was unharmed, hopping to her feet and wrapping those dense hands around the nearest Sim that was still moving.

“You couldn’t have told me Violet was coming?” Vince asked.

“She must have been flying over my drones. If I’d known she was so close I’d have sent her after the targets instead of you,” Will replied.

That still might have been a good idea, except that now all the Sims were focused on her. Violet didn’t look particularly worried, if anything there was a touch of glee on her face at the fight she’d picked, but it would take too long to explain things and get her airborne.

With a deep breath, Vince took aim and steeled his nerves. He could do this. He’d proven the concept with the long fall that night in May; it was all a matter of execution. Of course, if he failed his legs would be utterly shattered and the Sims would definitely escape. But they were so far ahead by now, that would happen anyway. Better to roll the dice, a slim chance at victory beat none at all.

Vince dropped into a squat, gathered up as much kinetic energy as he dared, then sent all of it through the bottoms of his feet. He blasted off from the ground, mimicking the high-altitude leap-technique that so many strongmen favored. As he whipped through the air, torn between feeling exhilarated and terrified, he noticed his toes were cold. One look told him why: he’d blown the boots clean off his feet. Well, hopefully that wouldn’t hurt the landing. After all, launch had been the easy part.

Vince’s momentum began to slow, and his rise gave way to the inevitable fall as he readied himself for the next part. As he came hurtling down to the ground, Vince pointed his feet forward and concentrated for all he was worth. He struck the pavement, absorbing the kinetic energy of the landing that should have turned him into squashed student. With as little pause as he could manage, Vince took that energy and put it right back into his feet, blasting off again to cover more ground. Risking his limbs, possibly his life, on every jump wasn’t an ideal situation, but he was covering a lot more ground than he could by running.

Within four leaps, he’d caught sight of the targets. By the time he landed from the fifth jump, he was close enough to make out their faces. Sure enough, the one being carried was the guy from the museum, clutched in the arms of a strongman-type Sim that was running without pause even as Vince gave chase.

Rather than go high again, Vince opted to take a page from Roy’s playbook. He launched himself forward in a nearly horizontal leap, whipping across the street and slamming into the pair of Sims. Vince absorbed the energy of the impact for safety, but now that he was in striking distance running was no longer an option. A huge blast of fire scorched over both Sims, forcing the woman to set down her ally and face Vince as a threat. Understandable though the tactic was, it didn’t change the fact that Vince had more than enough kinetic energy left to take her out of the fight. One firm punch to the torso sent her careening through the wall of a nearby building, stunning her at the least. With the guard gone, that just left Vince facing off with the Armageddon-Sim.

This time, there was no pretense of false surrender. The Sim stood in place; hands still clasped together, the energy between them glowing brighter and brighter. Vince realized with a shock that the Sim wasn’t trying to fight him; it was trying to finish the chain reaction. How close was the ten-minute mark? There was no way to know, and Vince couldn’t take any chances.

Just as the light started growing brighter, Vince closed the gap between them. There was no time for being gentle; he simply punched the Sim’s head with enough force to knock out anyone short of Roy. As it turned out, that was more than plenty. The mechanical skull burst into pieces from the blow, flying all over the road. The Sim’s body fell backward, hands still together, energy pulsing between them.

Was he fast enough? Was it done? He didn’t like that the light hadn’t faded. Maybe he’d missed the deadline, and the reaction would happen no matter what. Unless… he stopped it. Vince put his hand forward, trying to feel this new energy, to find a way to steal it. Before he had a chance, it began to flicker and wane, until fading out completely.

“With ten seconds to spare, you all have successfully stopped the threat of Armageddon.” Dean Blaine’s voice echoed through Vince’s earpiece, a welcome intrusion as he announced their victory. “Congratulations to everyone. When you’re finished changing and showering, there are a lot of impressed Heroes out here anxious to congratulate each one of you.”

219.

“I have to say, I did not expect to be paying up. Nobody beats the Armageddon trial; this should have been the easiest ten bucks I ever made.” Jeremiah’s hands dove into one of the many pockets on his unassuming costume and produced a folded bill, which he handed over to Titan.

“Not nobody,” Titan objected. “There are a few classes who’ve pulled it off.”

“Maybe a few, but it’s few and far between,” Granite said. “Classes that beat this test are rare.”

“So tell us, oh legendary Titan, was yours one of them?” From the smirk on Jeremiah’s face, Titan had a sneaking hunch he already knew the answer, even though that shouldn’t be possible.

Accepting his prize, Titan tucked it away carefully before answering. “We came close. Put on a show worth being proud of. What about you?”

“My year? Heavens no. Most of that class was all muscle and no thought; they stumbled around like useless cinderblocks until the timer ran out. Actually, that fight was where I first got the idea for a team comprised entirely of Subtlety Heroes. It got me thinking about how much we could have done with only a few more competent minds on hand.”

“Seems to me this class did pretty well with just one Subtlety student doing recon,” Gale pointed out. “Maybe Will’s better than you were at that age.”

To their surprise, Jeremiah didn’t immediately swat the idea away. “You may be right. Obviously we have different talents, but it took me a while in the field before I settled into the role of leadership. Will took charge the moment he realized that he was the one best suited for it; that takes guts. Guts and a lot of faith in the people around you to pull off what you tell them to do. I’m a little surprised about that part, too. I’d heard the rumors about this class, but they really didn’t hesitate for a moment when it came time to deal some heavy hits. Most classes see those numbers and get momentarily bowled over.”

“My class sure did. I had to fly around, blasting half the Sims away from the battlefield until people got their act together. Nearly cost us the trial.” Gale took a sip of her martini, putting a nice flourish on the sentence and letting her words sink in.

“Hang on, you beat your Armageddon trial?” Titan asked.

“I’m going to pretend I’m not hurt by the amount of surprise in your voice, and yes, yes we did.” Gale set her glass down, her cheerful expression a clear indication of how deeply she was savoring her moment of triumph. “We were quite an adept little unit, and our Subtlety people had some solid talent. And on that note: Jeremiah, did you see any that caught your eye? Alice might be spoken for, but I don’t think anyone has won over the invisible girl yet, and I suppose Will is technically up for grabs as well.”

Jeremiah nodded, eyes lingering on the screen as the students made their way out of the combat chamber. “Tempting as Will is, there’s a conflict of interest there, one I don’t have the spare time to overcome. I did see a few who interested me, though. Figured I might take a page from Gale’s book and try a cross-specialty internship, see what happens if I give a meat shield some critical-thinking skills.”

“Any particular meat shields catch your eye?” Although Granite asked the question, they all noticed that Titan leaned in a bit closer to hear the answer.

“A few potential candidates.” Jeremiah hopped out of his seat and motioned to the door where other Heroes were already starting to exit. “Nothing I’d want to discuss until I had the chance to speak with them and shake their hands in person. Which means it’s time for us to head down to the mixer. If we hurry, we may even beat the usual lineup at the bar.”

*             *             *

Dean Blaine was sweating as he fell back into his chair, announcement made and trial officially finished. He felt drained, far worse than he did after a fight or workout. Coordinating this trial was always a bear, and the longer it went on, the harder things got. With so many Sims on the field, there was potential for anything to go wrong, and he had to position the professors strategically as the fight locations changed in case a student needed saving. By the end, he’d had to leave the observation room and join Dr. Moran to handle things more directly. Still, it was all worth it to make that announcement at the end. Nobody could say the kids hadn’t earned this win, either. They’d gotten the same parameters as every other HCP class, and they’d pulled it off. Even if it had put more fuel on the Class of Nightmares fire, at least now there was tangible evidence that they were the kind of nightmares who could be relied on to get things done – even if they did cut it a little closer than he might have liked.

“Do you need healing?” Dr. Moran was staring at him, and with a start Dean Blaine realized he hadn’t moved since collapsing against his seat.

“I’m fine, thank you. Just feeling a bit ragged. Things got rather dicey toward the end there.”

“Yet the students handled themselves just fine. I have to admit, even I thought the day was lost when Chad and Vince let that ‘healing’ Sim retrieve our Armageddon unit. Nick or no Nick, luck seemed to be on their side today,” Dr. Moran said.

“Perhaps. Personally, I’m more inclined to give this victory to skill over luck; however, they did have a few things break their way. Regardless, they won, and that should make things easier for a lot of them. Few classes beat this trial.” In the years Dean Blaine had been working at Lander, he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen a class stop Armageddon, and in each of those instances he would say without question that luck played a pivotal role.

Reaching across the keyboard, Dr. Moran hit a few buttons and the screens started to grow dark. “Very few, if I remember the numbers accurately. The Heroes will be excited to congratulate the kids and see who doesn’t already have a mentor. You should get down to the mixer before the students do. I’m sure they’ll feel better seeing a familiar face when they walk in.”

After what he’d just seen them do, Dean Blaine couldn’t imagine the sort of situation that would manage to faze that group, at least when they were working together. But Dr. Moran was right. His job wasn’t over just because the testing was done. Taking a moment to mop his brow with a handkerchief, Dean Blaine rose from his seat and smoothed out his suit.

“How did the famous Class of Legends do on this trial?” Dr. Moran asked. “Just out of curiosity.”

“We passed it, of course. Had three minutes left to spare. But you know, I’ll say this much.” Dean Blaine finished with his suit and gave his tie the smallest of adjustments to make sure it was perfect. He had an image to maintain, and a tiring ordeal was no excuse for a slovenly appearance. “I don’t think we were nearly as creative as these kids. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they just had fun with that life-or-death trial.”

220.

The great and terrible thing about the Midwest was that it had space: long, near-empty stretches of highway with little more than a sign telling drivers that there would be another town in a hundred miles or so. And if that “town” turned out to be nothing but a gas station, a stoplight, and a burger joint, then a traveler should just be grateful there was any food to buy at all. Should one turn off the highway and venture down the farm roads, they might quickly discover how spoiled they were with luxuries like road signs and gas stations. For some, this place was an oasis, an unspoiled area of nature and quiet away from the hustle and bustle of modern life. For others, it was a prison, and the moment they could they fled to a bigger city, talking about their small town as though they’d escaped purgatory itself.

For a few, however, the vast amount of empty space was camouflage, providing enough distance from prying eyes and ears to permit for covert meetings between wanted criminals, even ones so hunted that there were Heroes actively searching for them at any given moment. Such was the case on this day when Crispin and Sherman suddenly appeared outside an abandoned farmhouse. Neither had gone so far as to wear a mask, nor coats since spring had finally begun to claim victory against the chill of winter, but they had donned hats and sunglasses. There should be no way anyone would spot them so deep in the nothingness of the Midwest, but Crispin was not a man to take needless chances, especially when he was already taking so many necessary ones.

“You’re sure they won’t be able to find me?”

“Scarf assured me they’ve got someone on staff who can thwart Supers with tracking abilities. And given that historically Globe has been mobile enough to storm a prison while still eluding capture, it seems likely she was telling the truth.” Sherman felt nervous, more than Crispin seemed by a long measure, although that wasn’t surprising. Crispin was adept, smart, and had a power that would always make him useful. If this went bad, Crispin would probably find a way to survive like he always did. Sherman, on the other hand, would have failed at his job, and would no doubt be dismissed. All that was assuming he even survived.

“I still don’t like the fact that you never got a name.” Crispin was already trudging through the grass, sun high overhead as he made his way to the barn.

“I never pushed for one,” Sherman reiterated. “They were willing to give in other areas, so it seemed best to pick my battles. We were allowed to choose the meeting place, and that’s a big one.”

“So big that I worry why they would turn that right over to us without more protest.” Craning his neck, Crispin scanned the area, searching for potential ambushes. “How are you feeling, by the way? Topped off adequately, or do you need more charge? There’s a chance we may need to leave in a hurry and I can’t have you falling short.”

Even though Sherman’s body was practically humming with power, he was almost tempted to request more. Crispin’s ability was a thing some would call intoxicating – those who didn’t fully understand it, anyway. Alcohol could never match the feeling of what he offered: to be at one’s absolute best; to feel the full breadth of potential realized… it was more than drug-like. It felt like Sherman was the pinnacle of what he could ever be, the true best version of himself. The sensation was nearly impossible to turn away from once it had been tasted. However, he had to think practically. Letting Crispin juice him up in the open like this was too risky. They didn’t need the other group knowing about Crispin’s contingency escape plans.

“I’m feeling fine, sir. As though I could teleport a whole mountain. No one short of Zero himself could stop me from getting us out of there.”

“Let’s hope so. I strongly dislike that we don’t know Globe’s power, or the abilities of who he’s got with him. Too many variables.”

“Scarf assured me that the only ones at this meeting would be Globe and anyone required for transport or safety. If we see more than three people inside, I’ll take us out of here immediately,” Sherman promised. “This is supposed to be a simple meeting between the bosses. Once you two are comfortable doing business with each other, we can go back to using proxies.”

Crispin kept on trudging through the grass, drawing closer to the barn. His neck swiveled, scanning his surroundings constantly, but nothing appeared. Either Globe had hidden his treachery too well to be spotted or he was playing things on the up-and-up. Finally, they arrived at the large sliding door on the barn’s front.

“I must say, as inconvenient as this all is, part of me is glad they were so firm about a meeting,” Crispin remarked. “There aren’t many people in the world who understand what it is to be in my position, and even fewer who’ve earned the spot while giving Heroes a black eye. I managed the first successful attack on an HCP campus, and Globe pulled off the first successful jailbreak from the Super-max facility. In a way, he and I have much in common. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to discuss such matters with him. The trouble is, I have worries about trusting anyone who is similar to me.”

“We can still leave.”

“And go where? Back to the box I’m forced to live in for my own safety, where I can read reports of more and more of our few remaining assets being brought down?” Crispin shook his head. “No, I’ve had enough of that. Growth requires risk; that was true when I created the Sons of Progress and it’s true now that I’m burying them. We must take chances, Sherman, if we hope to succeed. At the very least, I don’t have to worry about Globe being in league with the Heroes. I daresay his is the only head they’d like to see mounted more than my own.”

With that not-so-reassuring declaration, Crispin took hold of the barn door and slid it to the side, revealing a decrepit interior blanketed with hay. Interestingly, someone had brought in a pair of couches, a coffee table, and a small array of refreshments. Standing at the far end of the barn, away from the door so as not to seem like she was lying in wait, was Scarf, who still wore her trademark face-covering in spite of the heat. She and Sherman exchanged brief glances, but soon his eyes were drawn to the man sitting on the couch.

Red coat, bandaged left arm, and surprisingly charming smile… there was no doubt this was either Globe or a shape-shifter who’d done an excellent job at assuming his image. He waved to them, rising from his seat as they entered.

“Sherman, I’ve heard great things about you, nice to finally meet you in person. And Crispin… words can’t express how glad I am that you accepted my friend’s invitation.” Globe nodded his head, and the door behind Sherman and Crispin slid shut. A lot of rumors pegged Globe as a telepath, so this wasn’t especially alarming, though did feel a bit theatrical.

“Both of you, please come in and have a seat. We have so much to talk about.”

221.

Terrifying and exhilarating as that test had been, Vince found that his stomach wasn’t settling just because it had ended. The reason was easy to guess: he still had important work left to do. While pretty much everyone else seemed to be at least zoning in on a mentor and a name, Vince was floundering. He’d gotten offers, thankfully, although none of the Heroes had really stood out to him in terms of what kind of education they’d offer. If push came to shove he could just pick one, but an internship felt too important for that selection method. His goal today was to meet as many of the new visiting Heroes as possible and see if any of them felt like a fit for his potential mentor. Even if it wasn’t one who’d made him an offer, he could still try to win them over. Vince was not a man who shied away from working for the things he wanted.

At least there were plenty of options; the mixer was packed with costumes and masks. Dean Blaine hadn’t been kidding – this trial really did produce a huge turnout. This was the best shot Vince would get to meet a mentor, so he was determined to make every moment count. From the second he stepped through the door, he was greeted by masked faces congratulating him. As the one who’d dealt the final blow, it wasn’t shocking that he’d receive a fair bit of the praise, but he was by no means the only one.

Shane was absolutely mobbed by people. Vince wasn’t sure exactly what had happened, but from what he’d pieced together in the brief time they had while they changed, Shane had effectively guarded Will while managing to slaughter every Sim that even stepped close to him. Truth be told, Will might have appreciated a little more of that backup now as he was swarmed by Heroes trying to shake his hand or compliment him. Despite not throwing a single punch, Will was unquestionably the MVP of this fight, and he’d damn sure earned it. Violet, Roy, Thomas, Chad, and Alice were all getting big crowds too, and even the students who hadn’t necessarily been in the spotlight were shaking a lot of hands. It was a group win, and everyone that watched it was in high spirits as they celebrated the accomplishment.

If he’d had the time, Vince would have liked to tell a few of his friends how well they did too, but he was busy chatting with everyone who approached, fighting hard to remember their names and keep smiling politely even as he began to feel overwhelmed. Thankfully, a huge Hero that Vince didn’t have to fake a smile for soon approached and handed him a bottle of water.

“You just had a big fight and you’ve been talking non-stop; you need to hydrate,” Titan said. It was a relief to pause and greet Roy and Hershel’s father, even though Vince knew he should be schmoozing every minute. But years of constant training had taught him a few lessons, one of which was that it was okay to take an occasional break for recovery. At this point, he certainly needed it.

“Thanks.” Vince cracked opened the bottle and drained half of it in a single chug. “How did we look on screen?”

“Good. Strong. Coordinated and determined. Will made things worlds easier than most classes had it, but without everyone executing his orders, victory would have slipped through your grasp. You all are improving fast; I barely recognized any of you from the summer.”

With one more gulp, Vince finished his water and tossed the container into the nearest trash can. “Hopefully that stays true. Maybe next time we won’t cut it quite so close.”

Titan opened his mouth, no doubt to say something reassuring, but before he could speak a much less physically imposing man in a costume covered in pockets appeared from behind him, tossing Vince another bottle of water without waiting to see if he would catch it. “You didn’t really cut it all that close, not the first time. If you’d taken out the Sim in the museum then I’d say you might have set a new record for time.”

Vince didn’t blush only because he’d had similar thoughts since first finding out that they’d screwed up. Interestingly, despite all the gabbing he’d been doing, this was the first Hero to bring up the fact that he and Chad let a much easier victory slip through their fingers. “Yeah, we botched that part pretty bad. Thankfully the rest of the team was good enough to get us a second shot.”

The stranger cocked his head a few inches to the side. “Interesting. Most students in this situation would have come up with an excuse for that mistake.”

“You should do your research more thoroughly; Vince is a good kid who knows when he needs to improve on something. And for the record, I don’t consider showing mercy as a failing; you just need to account for the threat having allies.” Titan patted the stranger on the back, inadvertently pushing him slightly forward. “Vince, let me introduce Jeremiah. Please, excuse his lack of diplomacy; he does it full time at work so he barely uses the stuff in his personal life. Jeremiah, this is Vince Reynolds, a fine young man and a friend of my sons.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” Vince shook Jeremiah’s hand even as the Hero waved off his formality.

“No sirs or titles or anything like that – never suited me to use, so I can’t very well expect them from other people. And it’s nice to meet you too, Vince. That’s quite a power you’ve got, you know. Might be one of the most versatile I’ve seen in years. I assume you’re going the Close Combat route?”

“It seemed a natural fit,” Vince confirmed. “And so far I’ve been doing well at it.”

Titan snorted. “Don’t be so humble, this isn’t the place for it. You’re here to impress, remember? Vince was selected as one of Lander’s Intramural representatives, that’s how well he’s doing at his major.”

Taking a step back, Jeremiah looked Vince up and down theatrically, like he was evaluating a horse he might place a bet on. “An Intramural contender, a multiple-energy absorber, and a talented hand-to-hand fighter. That’s quite a package. What lucky Hero scooped you up as their intern?”

“Oh, no one yet. I’ve got some offers, but I’m trying to learn as much as I can to find a good fit.” Vince’s reply came quickly, almost as a reflex, unsurprising since he’d said the same thing to nearly every Hero who’d talked with him so far. It was a response Nick had coached him on, a polite way of saying he was in demand but could still be won over by someone with the right things to teach.

“Perfect,” Jeremiah replied. “Because you know, when I watched you fight out there, I actually thought you would be an ideal candidate for something I want to try.”

He leaned in conspiratorially, an effect that was somewhat diminished by Titan’s shadow looming over both of them, and motioned for Vince to do the same. “Tell me something, Vince: what do you think about interning under a Subtlety Hero?”

222.

“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? I don’t think we have any sodas, but Joan can zip over to the nearest town and be back in a few minutes.” Globe was more pleasant than Sherman had imagined he would be. Years of working with Crispin and his mercenaries had conditioned Sherman to expect that power leant itself to an aloof and prideful attitude. Yet despite his fearsome reputation and mysterious ability, Globe seemed downright cheerful. Crispin took a seat on the opposite couch. Sherman chose to stand, however. If Globe was the only one sitting, the couches were clearly intended for leadership.

“I’m sorry, Joan? Is that the name of your mysterious aide?” Crispin nodded to Scarf, who began to unwind her signature facial covering as soon as he pointed it out. She looked rather mundane, purposefully so, like she styled herself specifically to blend in as much as possible.

Globe didn’t seem irked by the comment; he went ahead and poured himself a mug of coffee, adding a few sugars. “Yes, that’s Joan. I’ll have to ask you to forgive the masking and theatrics, but men in our position can hardly be blamed for exercising prudence. Keeping my allies’ names unknown protects them, as well as me. But now that you’re here, I don’t think we need such measures anymore. It would be disrespectful of the goodwill you’ve shown with your attendance.”

“I’m glad you recognize the importance of this meeting, and how much I’ve risked by attending. But you are a man of means, Globe – a man who can’t seem to be caught, even as he traipses about cracking open jail cells and then vanishing without a trace. I could use those means, since my own situation has become a touch… confining. Sherman, tea.”

Instantly Sherman complied, pouring his employer a cup of tea and lemon just the way he liked it. Globe and Joan both watched the process quietly, neither pointing out that the tea and cups were closer to Crispin. Perhaps they read it as a power play to show Crispin’s control over his people, but whatever its intention, it didn’t bother Sherman. He liked being depended on, especially by a man as important as Crispin.

“So you want to move about freely again, no doubt to restart your organization, or maybe to build a new one using the lessons you’ve learned. But what then, Crispin? How does one top the first successful attack on an HCP campus?” Globe asked.

“Oh, I have some ideas. With enough force and the ability to augment a Super with brainwashing abilities, it might be possible to co-opt an entire senior class. Imagine that: ten fully-trained, Hero-grade Supers suddenly turning against their own school. After pulling one off, I’ve also got some ideas for a more successful campus attack. And then there are the rumors – unsubstantiated so far – regarding Powereds and… well, let’s just say that one has the potential to change everything if managed properly. You’ll forgive me if I’m light on the details. This is a new friendship.”

“Those are some interesting ideas; I especially find the brainwashing one fascinating.” Globe’s eyes briefly darted to Sherman before he continued. “But there is one thing I have to correct you on: this is not a friendship, Crispin. Not at all.”

Sherman looked to Crispin, waiting for some kind of signal that it was time to go, but none came. Instead, his employer nodded in agreement. “You’re quite right, Globe: this is business and nothing more. I’m glad you’re not one of those sentimental types who has to dress up what we do with familiarity.”

From the rear of the room, Joan coughed softly. It was a small gesture, yet Sherman took note of it all the same. Something had shifted – the room felt off, even if he couldn’t pin the circumstances just yet.

“I couldn’t agree with you more. What’s happening here is business, pure and simple. A balancing of accounts, if you will.” Globe set his empty coffee mug down, his smile dimming slightly.

This time, Crispin gave the signal. Whatever vibe had shifted, he felt it too. It was time to get out of here. Sherman focused his will and pushed them through space… except that it didn’t work. They were in the barn, across from Globe and Joan. Sherman tried again, and again, to no avail. Were they blocking him? But how? With Crispin’s enhancement there shouldn’t be a teleporter in the world who could anchor him, and neither Globe nor Joan was a neutralizer. Was there a third Super somewhere unseen?

“Sir, we seem to be stuck.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I can’t have you leaving before our meeting is done. There’s so much to get through, and I really do need you present the whole while.” Globe rose from the couch, stepping around the coffee table. Sherman tried to get between him and Crispin but found his body unwilling to move. He was rooted in place, which meant Crispin almost certainly was too. “I’m not sure if you’re a religious man. I was never much of one myself, but my mother insisted we attend church enough that I have a basic understanding of how it works. On the off chance you are, I would encourage you to think of this as a confession, a moment to cleanse your soul in the eyes of God.”

Circling the couch, Globe now stood directly behind Crispin. His left hand extended, fingers touching the top of Crispin’s skull. “You know, people have called my ability a ‘God Field’, but that’s an overstatement. I’m not a god. I’m still limited by my own perceptions and understanding. If I don’t know how to do a thing, then I can’t cause it. And free will is an element I’ve never been able to overcome, not that I’ve tried much. So I can’t force you to say anything, Crispin. But I can tell when you lie, and I can punish you for it. Let’s start with something simple. That brain-washing idea: that wasn’t theoretical, was it?”

“Are you going to torture me now? I expected more than this from a former Hero. First you deceive us into coming and then you threaten me with pain unless I answer your questions.”

“Ah yes, because we are clearly the first people in history to use falsehoods as part of a sting operation. Besides, I don’t think I’ve told you a single lie in the brief time we’ve talked. Now Joan, on the other hand, is an expert on tactical deception. Joan, did you lie to get these men here?”

“I did,” Joan replied, no hesitation in her voice.

“Well then, maybe Crispin is right. You’ll have to be punished for that. No dessert at dinner tonight, and I’m making key lime pie, so it’s a good one.” Globe winked at her, and Sherman felt his heart sink a little deeper. “As for your accusation of torture, I’d never stoop so low as to threaten another person’s well-being like that. In fact, I’m not going to hurt you in any way if you resist. You, on the other hand, might not be so gentle with yourself.”

“What does that even mean?” Crispin demanded.

“It means I’m not going to do anything more than replay some of your memories. The worst ones, the bits buried deep inside. I’m going to show you your demons, Crispin. Because you’re not wrong about us being similar in more ways than I’d like. And there is one thing I can say with absolute certainty regarding men like us.”

Globe leaned down, close to Crispin’s ear, and all but hissed out the next words. “We have a lot of demons.”

223.

“I guess the honest answer is that I haven’t. Thought about it, I mean.” Vince glanced to Titan, waiting for reassurance that this was some sort of joke they were about to let him in on, but the huge Hero simply returned his gaze with a confused look of his own. Whatever Jeremiah was up to, he apparently hadn’t brought Titan in on it.

Jeremiah nodded, clearly unsurprised. “And who could blame you? After all, what strapping, ass-kicking, name-taking fighter like you would want to learn from one of us shifty types? The assumption is that you should go learn under a Hero who can teach you to punch that little bit harder, strike just a tad faster, and so on. It’s the default, the way things tend to work, and I certainly don’t begrudge you for thinking along those lines. I’m just pitching something a little different, if you’re interested enough to hear me out.”

“Of course I’d be willing to–”

“Hang on.” Jeremiah held up a finger to silence Vince before he could finish. “When I say hear me out, I mean that seriously. I know you’re in mingle-mode, so you’re being as polite as possible, plus I’m a friend of someone you respect. But this isn’t a ‘listen for the sake of it’ kind of situation. If you’re not interested, then that is completely fine. No offense, no hard feelings, none of the droll crap. Take a moment to consider if this is a proposal you really want to listen to, then tell me to keep going or fuck off.”

It was a strange reply to Vince’s acceptance, but Jeremiah was rapidly revealing himself to be an unusual man. Still, he was a Hero, and one who hung out with the likes of Titan, which meant Vince had to assume the man knew what he was doing. So… Would Vince ever learn under a Subtlety Hero? It was hard to imagine what he’d get from it. No one had to tell Vince he lacked the talent for the sorts of things Alice and Nick could do. Even being subtle in quotidian manners was a trial for him; trying to do it at a professional level was a joke. He would be throwing away his internship, wasting years attempting to learn skills that would always be out of his depth. What upside was there?

Just as he was about to decline, a memory flashed in Vince’s mind, one from the beginning of sophomore year. Nick’s scavenger hunt, specifically. Before they’d even known what Subtlety classes really were, Nick had put together a lesson to teach them about thinking tactically instead of pushing ahead with brute force. Because of that, and a dozen other bits of advice and teachings through the year, they’d ended up a much stronger team. In fact, when he really looked back on it, Vince realized that he already had been trained by someone skilled in Subtlety. True, Nick never got Vince closer to being good at lies or trickery; nevertheless, he had managed to make Vince think with strategy and expand his understanding of possibility. Nick sharpened Vince’s mind when most of his formal instructors tended to drill him on speed, power, and reflexes.

“I’d say my interest depends on what kind of teacher you wanted to be,” Vince replied at last. “If you wanted to try and teach me to be a Subtlety Hero, or a hybrid Hero with multiple disciplines, then I’d politely decline. On the other hand, if you want to try and teach me to use my head better than I do, then that’s something I’d listen to.”

A fleeting look of surprise darted across Titan’s face, though Jeremiah seemed unfazed by the response. “There we go. I had a feeling you could put it together if I gave you a little shove. You’re an interesting man to watch fight, Vince. You’ve got power in spades, and clearly you haven’t shirked your training, but the way you think is just so linear… you’re predictable. Or at least, that’s what I thought until I saw you bluff the Sims. That was creative, unexpected, and most importantly of all: effective.”

“I, um, I was just sort of trying to think of what one of my friends would do,” Vince admitted.

“Nothing wrong with that. You took the tools of another and made them your own. But while your physical toolbox is huge, I think you’re under-stocked in the mental equivalent.”

Titan loomed a little closer into their conversation. “Jeremiah, you could stand to be less blunt.”

“Why? Do you believe Vince doesn’t know that most of the others are better at strategy than he is, or that they think and process more quickly?” Jeremiah asked. “Let me assure you, he probably knows that better than anyone else. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have bothered hearing me out. It’s like you said: Vince is the type to know when he’s got a weakness. He wants to improve. Pretending a limitation isn’t there doesn’t do him any favors.”

Turning back to Vince, Jeremiah clapped him on the shoulders and looked him dead in the eyes. “The good news is that you do have potential, my boy. That stunt with the bluff was good. And in the past, you’ve pulled the occasional rabbit out of a hat when the pressure was really on.”

“How do you–”

“Titan, you know better than to ask a Subtlety Hero how they learned something,” Jeremiah said, cutting him off before his speech could be derailed. “My point is that there is a working brain in there, Vince, and you’ve proven it a few times. The trouble is that you tend to lean on your wits only in moments of last resort, when your physical strength has failed or fallen short. I don’t blame you; if I had your ability I’d have relied heavily on raw power too. Now the question is whether you want to keep shoring up the place where you’re already strong, or try and build on the spots where you’re weak.”

“So you think you can teach me to fight like a Subtlety Hero?” Vince asked. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was entertaining this idea; it should have seemed ridiculous, shouldn’t it? Except that less than an hour ago he’d let an Armageddon Sim slip through his fingers, and then nearly gotten pinned down in front of an orphanage. Not because he lacked power, but because he had trouble figuring out how to best use it. This time he’d pulled things out in the last minute. Next time, when the stakes were real, he might not get lucky.

“Depends on how you mean that.” Jeremiah released his grip and resumed his casual stance. “I’ve seen your transcripts and assessments – and don’t bother asking how, Titan, we’ll talk later – and you’re… well, you’re probably never going to be the quickest person in the room. You don’t have the makings for Subtlety in its classic sense, and no amount of teaching will change that. However, what I can do is make you a better version of you: smarter, wilier, more dangerous. You have good instincts, Vince, and a natural intuition when you get out of your own way. I can refine that, teach you how to trust it, expand your mental toolkit. Everyone else who offers you an internship will teach you to hit harder. I’ll teach you to hit smarter.”

Had he… Jeremiah couldn’t possibly know that’s how Nick had phrased his type of education back in sophomore year, could he? Staring at him, so unassuming and easy-to-miss in this crowd of powerful people, Vince wasn’t sure he’d put anything past the man. That was a scary thought, but also an intriguing one.

“I’d like to consider what you’ve said today,” Vince replied. “Or were you hoping for an answer?”

“Nah, if you tried to give me one so soon I’d know you hadn’t really understood what I was offering. Take your time; I’ll keep the spot open for you. There’s only one other student I wanted to offer to train, and I do get two intern positions. Speaking of, Titan, let’s go refresh our drinks and then get in line. Looks like it’s going to take us a while to get a turn talking with Chad.”

It took a few seconds for his words to click, but the instant they did Titan and Vince both felt their eyes bulge as they stared at Jeremiah. When they spoke it was in near-perfect unison. “What?”

Jeremiah chuckled softly and snapped his fingers. “Damnit! Why didn’t I think to have a video camera out for that?”

224.

“Let’s start with brainwashing. You went to that well pretty quickly when pitching ideas, with the surety of someone who knows it can work. I wonder, Crispin, if you’ve ever employed such a technique before.”

It didn’t escape Sherman’s notice that despite talking to Crispin, Globe was looking at him. Strangely, there was no fury or anger in those eyes, not like what he’d seen when Heroes had gotten near him and Crispin before. No, Globe was looking at him with sadness – maybe even pity.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Crispin spat out.

“Not a lie, so that’s something, but unfortunately not an acceptable answer either. You’ve done horrible things, both in person and by using people to carry out your will, and I need to know how much of it is on you entirely.”

Globe paused, flexing his fingers slightly. “I originally learned how to manipulate brain chemistry like this as a therapy tool. Going back to past events, gently and with a friend, can offer closure, especially in my former line of work. Sometimes you need to see that there was nothing anyone could have done to change an outcome; other times you need to see your failure and accept it so you can grow. Either way, I learned that memories are powerful, dangerous things. And I suspect a man like you has some truly awful ones festering in the back of his mind.”

Another flex of the fingers and Crispin’s eyes fluttered shut. He began to twitch, slightly at first then more vigorously. A sheen of sweat appeared across his face as it twisted into an unfamiliar expression. Was that… fear? Sherman had never seen Crispin show fear before, not once in their years together. Just when it seemed that Crispin was about to cry out, his eyes popped open and darted around the room. The sound of his heavy panting was all that filled the barn for several moments.

“How did… how did you know…”

“I didn’t know anything,” Globe replied. “You’re the only one seeing things. To watch along with you I’d need another Super to bring me in. That’s a power I haven’t learned to replicate yet. All I’m doing is digging for the things you’ve buried deepest. That was the one closest to the top, by the way. The next one will presumably be worse. So then, how do you feel about the brainwashing question? Up for an answer?”

It was a valiant effort, but Sherman knew Globe was wasting his time. Crispin was a stalwart, unwavering man of incredible conviction. Unless Globe grew suddenly comfortable with actual torture, Crispin would never crack, not just from seeing his own memories replayed.

Sherman was, not for the first or last time that day, wrong.

“A few times. Never for anything on a grand scale like I proposed; I was still trying to find a Super who could produce lasting results. It’s hard, though: the human mind is a naturally resilient thing. Most can’t keep control for longer than a day, and pushing someone past their moral lines fractures the hold more quickly. Even with my enhancements, eventually the subject’s mind would either break the conditioning or crack entirely. I always kept them as assistants so I could chart how long the effects lasted. Sherman is the longest success so far; he’s been in my thrall for nearly five years.”

“What?” That… that couldn’t be true. He’d been with Crispin for that long, sure, but he’d never met any Super with brainwashing abilities. Sherman had come over to the Sons of Progress after hearing Crispin speak, his words touching the burning spark of revolution in Sherman’s soul. Together, they were going to pave a new world, one where those with power never had to be ashamed or fearful of the humans who were their lesser.

“See, even now he’s fighting the truth.” Crispin nodded in Sherman’s direction, and suddenly Sherman’s knees went out from under him. Before he could properly fall, Joan was there holding him up. This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be right.

“Can you free him?” Globe asked.

“I’m not the one who altered his brain, so no. And before you ask, the Super I used is dead, so they can’t either. If they were still around, I’d have put more Shermans into production years ago.”

Joan put her head just above Sherman’s shoulder so she could look Crispin in the eyes. “Bullshit. If the Super was dead then he’d be free.”

“If a Super breaks the pavement, then dies, does the pavement reform?” Crispin shot back. He was recovering, feeling bolder again. That was probably not going to end well, and despite all that he was hearing, Sherman still felt concerned for his employer. “The reason Sherman has lasted this long is that the Super didn’t just exert influence, they remodeled Sherman’s mind itself. New memories, new feelings, all formed physically in the neural pathways. The Super could never have managed such a feat on their own, but they had my enhancement increasing their potential. You see, that’s what I bring to the table: entirely new possibilities. Imagine what you and your people could do with someone like me in your corner.”

Trapped, exposed, and utterly helpless, Crispin was still trying to turn the situation to his advantage. Sherman felt a swell of admiration for his employer, followed immediately by a sense of disgust for himself. Where were these warm feelings coming from? Crispin had just admitted to using him as a puppet, yet his brain continued to tell him that he should support the man no matter what. Slowly, gently, Sherman began to weep as the confusion overtook him.

“I’ve seen what you do with your power.” Globe released his grip on Crispin’s head and walked around to the other side of the couch, hunkering down to look him in the eyes. “You hurt people. Use them. Corrupt them, or control them if that fails. You gather an army to slaughter children. And do you know the worst of it? If I handed you over to the DVA, it would only be a matter of time before they made you a deal. Enhancers are so rare, and you’re so powerful, it would be inevitable. They’d start using you, a little at first, only in emergencies, then more and more over time. With every use, you’d get more leverage, until you were either free or living someplace so nice it would be a moot point. The right thing to do would be to kill you, right here and now, for all the pain you’ve caused.”

“Then why haven’t you done it?” Crispin snapped.

“Because I don’t think it’s my place. You have no idea how close you came to making it my place, Crispin. If things had gone a little differently that night in May, if that boy’s luck hadn’t kept so many safe, you might have accidentally killed my son. Had that happened, this would be a very different, very brief, conversation. But you didn’t, so I’m not the one who wants your blood the most. I’m going to hand you over to a Hero, Crispin. One of the few good ones. One I know I can trust. One with more reason than anyone to want you dead. He gets to decide whether to tear the worthless life from your body or turn you over.”

Rising from his crouch, Globe walked behind Crispin and set his hand back on the man’s skull. “Eventually, that is. He gets you eventually. First, you’re going to tell me everything I need to know to finish off the last of the Sons of Progress. Every agent, every ally, every asset. It’s all going to be torn down. The world needs to see what happens to those who fuck with the HCP.”

225.

Roy was talking to a big shifter who’d been hanging out with Gale, Titan, and the guy with all the pockets. Not far away, Titan and the aforementioned pocket-loving Hero were standing in line to talk to Chad, leaving behind a stunned Vince who seemed uncertain of what to do next. Alex had been in deep discussion with a woman wearing a dark cloak for almost ten minutes, and Violet was getting ample attention from various brawlers for her daring move at the end of the trial. Camille, Alice, Thomas, Shane, all of his friends were being courted, celebrated for the amazing show they’d put on during the trial.

Yet Will was only making small talk, watching all this happen from the side of his eye. True, at least a dozen Heroes had been waiting for him to walk through the doors to say how great a job he’d done, and even more had come by as the mixer progressed, but none of them seemed interested in Will as an intern. They just wanted to compliment his performance and chitchat. It was confusing and vexing, as it had been through the year. Apparently Subtlety Heroes rarely showed up to these things; if they were in attendance, they hadn’t spent a lot of time talking to Will. He couldn’t figure out the issue. He was consistently putting on quality demonstrations of his skills, but walking away with lots of praise and minimal offers for his efforts.

“Hey drone-guy, you were awesome out there.”

As soon as Will identified the location of the voice, he straightened his back slightly. Gale was the leader of an established team, and she had already made an internship offer to a Subtlety student; if there was ever a Hero to impress, she was near the top of the list.

“Thank you, ma’am, but I just relayed information. I couldn’t have done anything without my team.”

“Couldn’t have done anything?” Gale cocked a slight eyebrow, even as her mouth allowed a smirk to peek through. “Humility is good and all, but this is a meat market. Not the place to undersell yourself. Take some credit, you sure as shoot earned it. Trust me, I’ve run many an unexpected search mission, and I can say with surety that your class would have been dead in the water without you.”

Will shook his head. “They’re not helpless, and I certainly wouldn’t count them out without me. I will say that my contribution made things happen faster, though. Faster, and hopefully with less casualties.”

“Good man. You know where the line between taking credit and selling out your teammates is. That’s an important skill, especially when it comes to dealing with the media,” Gale said. “So, passed over again, huh?”

“Beg pardon?”

Shifting her body so she was standing next to him, looking out at the gym, Gale swept her hand over the mingling crowd. “Everyone wants to tell you how good you did, but nobody is sticking around to talk details on an actual internship. Seems to happen to you at almost every one of these things.”

He hadn’t expected her to catch that. Well-known or not, Gale’s reputation was one of skill and brute force, not keen observation. Will took the new information into account and mentally adjusted his appraisal of her. “I suppose I don’t seem like a good fit to any of them.”

“I doubt it’s that. Well, okay, actually it probably is that,” Gale amended. “But not for the reason you’re thinking. Subtlety Heroes tend to have their own ways to pick interns, and every one of them is different. Not many even show up to these things. Jeremiah only tagged along because he got some wild idea about applying Subtlety teachings to martial Heroes, and you’re not a good fit for that. Don’t worry, though; I’m positive you’ve caught the eye of a few people. Like your drones in the sky: just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t watching.”

“You seem to know a lot about Subtlety Heroes, given your own role in a team,” Will pointed out.

Gale responded with something between a nod and a shrug. “Part of what it means to be a leader; you need to understand as much as you can about every member of your team. You should keep that in mind, when you form your own squad.”

His eyes lingered on her for a moment. Will had never told anyone he had considered leading a team one day. Was she fishing, or had Gale somehow sussed that out? “What makes you think I’d be in a leadership role? It’s not one we traditionally fill.”

“I saw the way you took charge in there. You’ve got leadership potential, and you don’t seem like the type to let potential go unused,” Gale replied. “It’s your life, though. Do what you want. My point is you shouldn’t get too discouraged by this part of the process. It’s the way these things tend to go. You’re on people’s radars. After the shit you’ve pulled in these trials, how could you not be?”

It was exactly what he’d been hoping to hear, which made Will immediately suspicious. Still, Gale was a Hero who didn’t disregard Subtlety users; she had one on her team and was even taking one as an intern, plus she seemed to be in good standing with Titan, who had never given any of the students he helped train reason to distrust him. Gale was probably trustworthy, but even that only meant that she believed she was being honest, not that her words were necessarily accurate.

“Thanks. I’ll keep my chin up. Can’t say I don’t envy Alice, though. Her power got her an internship locked down with a legacy team in an exciting city.”

“Yeah, well, we all have to walk our own paths.” Gale leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I didn’t get a good internship offer until my last month in the HCP. People kept thinking my power was best suited to recon rather than engagement, and since I was in a heavy-hitting class, my martial skills didn’t stand out too much. I wasn’t top of the class, selected for Intramurals, or any of that stuff.”

“So what happened?” Will asked.

“I kept showing people what I could do, and eventually someone with a few thoughts in their head saw a trial and recognized my potential. That’s the thing to keep in mind: most classes don’t have your kind of buzz. No cool nicknames, no traumatic trials-by-fire, no experimental students. For most of us, getting noticed by the right person is the tough part, but you lot are set in that regard. The Class of Nightmares, dumb name or not, is on people’s minds. I promise you, the people who can appreciate what you do are paying attention. Just keep showing them why you’re worth watching.”

“Thanks.” Will paused; now that the conversation had fallen into a lull he wasn’t sure where to take things. “Any other advice you’d like to offer?”

“Make sure your costume has comfortable shoes,” Gale replied immediately. “People are going to tell you that they can add padding or insoles to the boots to make them feel better, but it’s crap. If they aren’t comfy from the start, reject them until you get a good pair.”

“Comfortable shoes? That’s your advice?”

This time, there was nothing restrained or subtle about the smirk creeping across Gale’s face. “You just played a key role in stopping an Armageddon-Super. I think you’ve got the rest of this stuff well in hand.”

226.

Dean Blaine was ready to relax. It had been a very long day given the trial itself, the mixer, and of course the endless parade of Heroes wanting to talk shop or get some inside information on the more junior classes. By the time his work was finally over and the last of the guests was off campus, it was well into the evening. He stopped at a fast food place on the way home, honest with himself that he was too wiped to cook, and walked in his front door armed with a plan to gorge himself on burritos with a side of scotch.

That plan came to a screeching halt when he saw the figure tied up in his living room. Someone had broken into his house, no small feat given the level of security, and left a bound man behind. Was it a message? A threat? Were they even really gone, or was this a trick to make him drop his guard?

With a thought, Dean Blaine extended the area of his power-nullifying bubble and stepped forward carefully. Halfway across the room, he recognized the face of the man sitting there, and suddenly concern for his well-being was the last thing on Dean Blaine’s mind.

Crispin, the head of the Sons of Progress, had been delivered to Dean Blaine bound, gagged, and helpless. He’d had this fantasy so many times that for a moment Dean Blaine wondered if he’d fallen asleep at his desk. But no, this was real. This was happening. His dearest dream had just come true.

First things first.

Dean Blaine made sure the blinds were drawn, which they were. That done, he took his dinner into the kitchen and set it on the counter. It would need to be reheated when this was over, but that was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Just before he headed back to the living room, Dean Blaine went ahead and poured himself that glass of scotch. No matter how things went, this was a night worth celebrating. He grabbed a few other items too, tools that might not prove necessary but would be good to have regardless.

Looking at Crispin more closely upon his return to the living room, Dean Blaine noticed a small parcel resting in the man’s lap. Carefully, he unwrapped it, finding a note, a flash drive, and a digital recorder tucked away inside. Setting the recorder to the side for the moment, he read the note aloud, pacing his floor as he did so.

“Good evening, Blaine. I can’t tell you who this is, and even without my name, you should burn this when you finish reading it. Crispin’s memory has been purged, so even if he wanted to reveal who captured him, he won’t be able to. Everything you need is on the tape recorder, and there’s a backup on the flash drive just in case. You should listen to it, even though it’s hard. There are pieces that concern you – and people at your school – directly. Crispin won’t wake up until you strike him; we set pain as the trigger to end his trance. No one knows he’s there. Tomorrow, at seven in the morning, everything on your back porch is going to disappear and never be seen again. Probably end up in a volcano somewhere. Whatever winds up out there is up to you. We trust your judgment. This is my way of saying thanks for being willing to believe in old friends.”

Dean Blaine read the note twice more before going into the kitchen and lighting it on fire. Then he took his drink and the recorder to his home office where he began to listen. Some time later, Dean Blaine emerged. He grabbed his phone and sent one email, a message informing Ralph Chapman that they would be having a meeting in the morning. His glass was empty by then, but he decided to leave it that way. A few sips was enough for now. What came next demanded a clear head.

With more force than was necessary, Dean Blaine slapped Crispin across the cheek. All that kept him from turning it into a real punch was the fear of knocking him back out immediately, and that was no good. Crispin had to be awake for this. It was only fitting.

Slowly, the bound man’s head bobbed as he mentally staggered back to the world of the waking. As his eyes pulled themselves open, he got a good look at Dean Blaine and let out a low, resigned, groan. “You.”

“Me,” Dean Blaine agreed. “Somebody must really hate you, Crispin, otherwise they’d have killed you outright instead of delivering you to me.”

“I don’t know how you got me out of my bunker, but let’s skip the bluster. I’ve dealt with Heroes before, I know you don’t resort to torture,” Crispin said, gradually regaining his faculties.

Dean Blaine’s response was to reach down, grab one of Crispin’s hands, and jerk his little finger so hard and fast there was barely time to hear the bone snap. “First, I am not a Hero anymore. I retired a long time ago. Second, different Heroes have different skillsets, and different lines they’re willing to cross. Third, and most important of all, you stormed onto my campus and murdered innocent people, killing one of my students. You have no idea what I’m capable of doing to pay you back for that.”

To his credit, Crispin didn’t scream or even whimper from the injury. He simply stared at Dean Blaine with growing hate in his eyes. “Pay me back? I took one of yours. One. You and your people have completely torn everything I built down to the ground. And for what? Because I’m trying to get our kind to stand instead of bow, to rule instead of serve? You know we’re stronger than the humans, you know that means we’re meant to be above them, but you’ve let them subjugate us instead. They use our own kind as tools to beat us down; I just wanted to show people a better way.”

Dean Blaine let him talk, allowed him to say his piece. The worst part of Crispin’s words was that they weren’t mad ramblings. He was right, in some ways. Supers were stronger, faster, and more capable than humans. In nature, it would mean they were the superior version of humanity and should take their place at the top of the heap. Plenty of people believed that; some Heroes even discussed the idea from a philosophical point of view. But the problem was that they weren’t wild animals competing with raw strength. Empathy, kindness, mercy, love, these too were human traits – traits that Supers shared. That was why Dean Blaine believed in a future of mankind and variant humans living together peacefully.

Though perhaps the world could do with at least one less Super.

When Crispin paused for a breath, Dean Blaine responded. “You talk a good game, even now.” Carefully, methodically, Dean Blaine took off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “But there’s a problem with your logic, Crispin. You didn’t attack the Heroes. You didn’t try to start a fight with the people you claim to hate. You went after a school, attacking people who are mostly human and barely more than children. That is not the act of a brave or righteous man. If you wanted to take a stand, then you’d have taken it against people who could fight back.”

“I attacked a problem at the root,” Crispin countered. “So what if humans died? They’re not good for much else as far as I can tell. And despite what you may think, I do mourn the loss of one of our people. I’m sure she was–”

The crack from Dean Blaine’s fist striking Crispin’s jaw echoed through the house. “You do not get to talk about her.” He resumed rolling up his sleeves, the task nearly done. “You killed a child, Crispin – by your machinations, if not your hand. True, she was one of many who died that night, but she was special. She was one of mine. One of ours. I have buried so many friends over the years, and too many students. But that’s the job. That’s the life we chose. Even at their funerals, I have the comfort of knowing they died doing the job they dedicated their lives to. They went out making a difference. She didn’t get to make that choice yet. Not officially, although in her final moments she damn sure showed what it was to be a Hero. You took that from her, and you took her from us.”

Kneeling down, Dean Blaine was now looking Crispin dead in the eye. They stayed like that for a long moment, until finally Dean Blaine spoke. “Tell me you’re sorry.”

“What?” The word was slurred through Crispin’s cracked and already swelling jaw.

“Tell me you’re sorry,” Dean Blaine repeated. “Tell me how much you regret it. How tortured you are over what you’ve done. Make me believe that there is some level of decency in you worth saving.”

Crispin said nothing, merely stared back at the Lander dean with naked animosity in his eyes.

“Good. That makes this easier.” In a motion that could have been missed with a blink, Dean Blaine wrapped his hands around Crispin’s neck and began to squeeze. “Every day. Every day since you killed her I’ve had to go look at that woman’s name carved in stone and know I failed her. Every day I think about how it was my job to keep her safe, to keep all of them safe, and I fell short. It’s my fault. Your goon may have killed her, but she’s dead because I wasn’t good enough at this job to protect her.”

Crispin’s body was beginning to spasm. His eyes started to bulge, every part of him silently screaming out for air. But the ties on the chair were well-done, and none of them gave as he struggled.

“You are the worst kind of monster, and the world will be better off when you’re gone from it. That’s what Heroes have to do sometimes. We eliminate threats so they can’t cause problems for others in the future. My hands already have so much blood on them, it doesn’t seem like any more should matter.”

Crispin’s pale, sun-deprived skin was beginning to turn blue. Dean Blaine watched him carefully, waiting for the moment when Crispin knew, with absolute certainty, that he was going to die. When it finally came, when the moment of the inevitable finally struck Crispin, Dean Blaine savored it. He’d been waiting so long to see that helpless expression, and it was better than he’d dared to dream. Then, just at the edge of no return, Dean Blaine released his vice-like grip. He watched as Crispin took hacking coughs to fill his lungs with air.

“Every day I have to try and make peace with the fact that I failed her. But killing in Sasha’s name wouldn’t make that better; it would be spitting on her legacy. So I’ll let you live, Crispin, because that’s what a Hero is supposed to do, and Sasha Foster was certainly a Hero. Make no mistake, though, there is no reprieve in your future. If you think your power will be useful enough to earn you some semblance of freedom, think again. I’m making sure the DVA throws you down the darkest hole they’ve got. And if anyone approaches with an offer to make things better, you turn them down. In fact, you run screaming in the other direction. Because if I get even a whiff of you leaving your cell, I’ll use every connection and favor I have to get in there with you.”

He leaned in, stopping only a few inches from Crispin’s tear-stained and still panting face. “And if I have to go in, I’ll make sure to finish the job.”

227.

Getting a late-night message from Dean Blaine wasn’t an entirely uncommon occurrence for Ralph Chapman. The man worked the hours of an HCP educator, which was to say no one knew when he slept and just assumed he survived on five-minute naps. But usually, the messages were clear and direct, relating to something that the Lander dean felt needed addressing. This morning, Ralph had woken to something more cryptic: just a brief voicemail instructing him to be in Dean Blaine’s office the next morning. No context, no explanation, only a naked demand of Ralph’s time. Even that wasn’t too strange, though; Dean Blaine could often get caught up in his job and occasionally spaced on niceties.

No, the worrying thing had been his tone. There was something in it, something impossible to place yet unmistakable. Dean Blaine’s voice had been teeming with danger and bloodlust, with elements of fury poking their heads through. None of it was obvious, but for anyone who’d held a position like Ralph’s, noticing such nuances was a necessary skill. That didn’t mean those feelings were directed at Ralph necessarily; they might have been felt toward whatever cause inspired him to send the message. Still, Ralph would feel better when this was over.

As he made his way through HCP’s underground campus, Ralph took note of another curious detail: there were no other DVA agents around. Usually at least a couple could be spotted in the early morning, attending to their various tasks before the students showed up to crowd the hallways. Today, however, there was nary a peep. The whole place felt deserted, like Ralph was the only one here. A knot of tension in his gut grew bigger; something was definitely off. Carefully, eyes peeled for some sort of trap or ambush, Ralph made his way to Dean Blaine’s office and lightly knocked on the door.

“Come in, Ralph.”

No hesitation: he’d been waiting for Ralph to arrive and knew no one else was going to knock. With a deep breath and a resigned sigh, Ralph pushed the door open and made his way inside. Dean Blaine was sitting at his desk, dealing with paperwork, and Ralph’s tension deflated a bit. This was the first bit of normalcy he’d seen since getting that message, and it reassured him that things were fine. Taking a seat, he dropped his briefcase to the side and got down to business.

“Late night calls and demands to show up at your office, I assume something big is going on?”

Dean Blaine looked up from his papers and all of Ralph’s easing tension came rushing back even stronger than before. There was a look in those eyes, something that hinged between blind rage and controlled hatred, none of it boding well for Ralph Chapman. If it came down to a fight, there would be no contest; he was a government paper-pusher going up against a trained Hero. Even if he’d had a gun or a knife, the odds were monumentally stacked against him.

“Do you like what you do, Ralph?” Despite the glare in his eyes, Dean Blaine was calm, which somehow made things feel even worse.

“I feel like I have a job that provides a necessary public service, and I enjoy the daily challenges, so yes, I do,” Ralph replied.

“Not the job. Well, not exclusively the job. I’m asking about these witch hunts you go on. Targeting Mr. Reynolds, for example, or any of the other Heroes you’ve set your sights on through the years. Do you like tearing people down?”

“Vince Reynolds is a child to whom nature handed a nuke with no instructions. I don’t apologize for treating him as a potential danger, and as much as you all protest, I think deep down you know I wasn’t wrong to worry. As for the ‘others’ you have alluded to, I built my career on going after Heroes who used their clout and connections to avoid proper justice. Yes, Blaine, I do like that. I like knowing that there are standards, laws that even the mighty Heroes have to answer to. I like that our protectors are accountable. And I don’t feel the need to defend that to an HCP dean. We’re done here.”

Ralph started to rise, expecting Dean Blaine to jump up and stop him. Instead, he observed Ralph’s every movement, waiting until he was out of the chair and halfway to the door before speaking.

“If you leave this room right now, you’ll probably make it as far as the lifts, or perhaps even above ground, but no farther.”

“Are you threatening a DVA agent?” Despite keeping his voice calm, Ralph could feel sweat breaking out along his back as his mind cast back to those empty halls. This whole thing had been planned from the start.

“Of course not. That would be impractical and dangerous. But once you leave this office, you won’t be a DVA agent anymore. I’ve already spoken at length with Graham DeSoto about you. He’s a former Hero, you see, and keeps odd hours by nature. Your fate is entirely in my hands. So you either sit down and we talk, or you leave. About three seconds after you pass through the door, the order will go out for your arrest. The only question is whether your fellow agents will reach you before my staff does, and if it’s the latter I can’t imagine you’ll be handled gently.”

There was no chance Blaine was bluffing. Regardless of whether he had the authority to make good on his threat or not in the long term, he’d absolutely have Ralph brought down hard the moment he was out of this office. “Arrested on what grounds, exactly?”

“Graham and I talked about that a bit too. There are some conspiracy charges that will be easy to make stick, as well as perjury, but we both think that with a strong lawyer and a little detective work we might be able to get you locked up for treason. After all, the HCP is a government facility, and you knowingly worked with Nathaniel Evers, who was instrumental in the attack on Lander last May by the Sons of Progress.”

Ralph Chapman had only seconds to make a choice he knew would impact the rest of this life: try to lie and deny, or admit the truth and see what Blaine was after. The mere fact that he’d called this meeting (rather than busting down Ralph’s door in the middle of the night and beating him half to death) meant that there were options other than prison. But that would likely depend on Ralph’s willingness to play ball. If he tried to weasel his way out, those options might vanish.

Slowly, Ralph Chapman walked back across the room and took a seat in the same chair. He’d tried to leave so quickly he hadn’t even remembered to grab his briefcase. “Mind if I ask how you know?”

“Last night, Crispin, head of the Sons of Progress, was captured, and on his person was found a tape of him making a full confession. And I do mean full. Your involvement was just one interesting tidbit he let slide. That’s where the other agents are, by the way. Processing someone like Crispin is an all-hands-on-deck situation. All hands that we can trust, anyway.”

Dean Blaine was still composed as he spoke, even if the look in his eyes was getting progressively more and more dangerous. He closed the folder full of papers on his desk, set his pen aside, and gave Ralph Chapman his full, undivided attention.

“Now then, let’s get down to business and talk about your future, Mr. Chapman.”

228.

Globe stood as Clarissa entered the room; he’d been waiting to hear what the result would be. No sooner had she caught sight of him than she shook her head, causing unexpected relief to bloom in Globe’s chest. “He didn’t do it?”

“That, or he found another way to dump the body. Given what we offered, it seems like a good bet that Crispin is still alive and kicking, probably under a battalion of DVA custody.”

Despite all the ways he knew it could go wrong, all the potential pitfalls letting someone like Crispin live left open, Globe smiled. It was comforting to know that the Blaine he’d spent so many years training with, the Blaine he’d trusted to educate his son, was still in there. Sparing Crispin couldn’t have been easy – the temptation had been hard enough for Globe, and he didn’t bear the weight of loss or responsibility that Blaine surely did. Yet he’d let him live all the same. It wasn’t hard to find joy in knowing that his old friend hadn’t been taken over by his darker urges.

“We left it in his hands and he made his choice. All we can do now is respect that and hope the DVA proves me wrong,” Globe said. “If nothing else, I’m hoping Captain Starlight has seen enough to know the danger of working with someone so toxic and will keep Crispin locked away in the darkest, deepest cell they have.”

“Maybe. But even he isn’t going to be able to uncover every snake in his midst. Not without help, anyway.” Clarissa pulled out her phone and swiped over to a calendar app. Every entry on it was blank, but it still displayed a timeline of the upcoming weeks, and that was all she really needed to see. “George has been saying he’s close for a while now. If there’s any way you can push him along, this is a good opportunity. We’ve got someone at the top willing to listen to us. If we can find the proof and start things rolling soon, before anyone with split loyalty can cozy up to Graham, we might actually have a shot at getting the truth out there.”

“The most we can do for George is support him,” Globe replied. “He’s been working tirelessly, but the task is supposed to be impossible. Accomplishing it, even in a matter of years, is an astounding feat. Hopefully this present, and all the work that comes with it, will buy us some breathing room. If we can stop worrying about being found for a few weeks, George can focus on cracking the encryption. Maybe that will lead to the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for.”

Clarissa looked dubious at his optimism, an expression Globe was well-accustomed to seeing. For most of their time together, she’d been the realistic counterweight to his idealist nature. Working together, the two of them had always been a little faster, a little smarter, and a lot better than they were alone.

“You think it will go that well? My money says once Crispin tells the DVA he was captured by Globe, it will set off alarm bells all across the department. They’re going to want to know why you captured a fellow fugitive, and they’re definitely going to hassle Blaine about why we dropped Crispin off at his door.”

“It occurred to me that might be an issue.” Globe thought back to when he’d had his hands on the monster who had attacked Lander. There was a technique he took little joy in knowing and less in using, but this had been one of the few occasions where he deemed it necessary. Besides, not killing Crispin outright had taken a lot of self-control; there was only so much left to stay his hand on other methods. “I made sure our involvement won’t come up, at least not to anyone other than Blaine and Graham.”

“Oh? And what did you do to ensure that?” Clarissa asked.

“Let’s just say that Crispin can’t tell something he doesn’t know in the first place.”

*             *             *

Graham read the report once more, noting every detail and filing each away for further consideration when he had some free time. There wasn’t a lot there aside from the main thrust of the report. It didn’t surprise him, not really. No one stayed on the run as long as Globe had without learning to cover his tracks. More than anything, it filled Graham with a sense of loss. If everything Blaine said was true and Globe was innocent, then they’d been robbed of one hell of an asset. The fact that this little stunt probably didn’t even scratch the surface of what he could do made it all the more galling that he was stuck in the role of an enemy, rather than the ally he wanted to be.

“So he got wiped, huh?”

“Sort of.” The agent sitting in Graham’s office, the man who’d delivered the report, squirmed in his chair. “It’s not like what we see when Emerald Hydra handles an HCP failure or anything like that. It’s more like – and I’m quoting our medical team so forgive the speculation – but it’s as though someone destroyed the neural pathways in his brain where the last few weeks of memories were stored, then immediately healed them to prevent lasting brain damage.”

“Wouldn’t that bring back the memories?” Graham asked. Things had gotten so complicated as more and more powers came along. He missed the old days when strong punches and big blasts were the chief threats.

“No, sir. The tissue is fixed, but the arrangement of electrical impulses we think of as memory was lost. It’s a hard wipe; not even someone like Hallow could repair it since all of the actual damage has already been healed. There’s nothing physical to fix. He’s got no idea how he wound up in Dean Blaine’s home, every telepath on staff has confirmed that.” More squirming. This guy was going to have to learn to spit things out or end up reassigned. Graham didn’t have time for dawdlers. “On the note of Dean Blaine, sir, Crispin’s account of how he was treated upon discovery is a little worrying. Perhaps we should order a psych evaluation for Blaine.”

“Dean Blaine has one of the most educated, experienced psychiatrists in the world at his school, one who specializes in Heroes and the burdens they face. I assure you, he’s in good hands. As for the rough treatment, he didn’t do anything that can’t be healed. Given what Crispin did to Blaine’s campus and the body count his attack left behind, I’d say Blaine was a picture of control. Most men I know would have done far worse. I should add that Crispin’s capture, every detail including who found him and the condition he was in, has been deemed extremely classified until we learn more. So I wouldn’t spend too much time worrying about Blaine, and I certainly wouldn’t turn those concerns into gossip if I were you. Clear?”

The agent was settling down a little, despite Graham’s firm tone. “Perfectly so, sir. If I may be so bold as to ask, do you have any theories about what happened?”

“Plenty.” Graham didn’t consider this a lie, because while he might know who delivered Crispin to them, he still had no idea how Globe had pulled it off. The man was wily, powerful, and dangerous – and hopefully on their side. “But for now all I care about is putting the capture to good use. Are we ready to move on the remaining Sons of Progress?”

“A task force is assembled and will deploy within the hour. If we hit the chief targets at once, we can get them all before they know we’re coming.”

Graham set down the report and rose from his desk. As the head of the DVA, this wasn’t the sort of thing he planned to sit in his office and wait to hear results on. He was too old to be in the field, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still be in on the action. “Take me to the room where they’re coordinating everything. I want to watch this go down with my own eyes. It’s about time these bastards paid the bill for what they’ve done.”

229.

“I’m surprised you haven’t just killed me outright already.” Ralph was scared, terrified really, but he’d been in bad spots before and knew there was no sense in losing his head. Dean Blaine had him dead-to-rights; panicking or begging wasn’t going to change that.

“It was tempting. Very tempting. You’ve made some serious errors, and I won’t pretend your love of tearing down Heroes wouldn’t add an extra level of joy to destroying you. But for all your faults and failures, you did come through when it mattered. When those kids were on the verge of throwing their futures away, you gave them another choice. That act – and that act alone – is why we’re having this meeting, Ralph. Because under it all, part of me suspects that you might not be all bad. I think you’re a damaged man who takes his pain out on what he sees as justifiable targets, a man who makes poor choices to chase his goals, and a hypocrite who holds others to a high standard of law while excusing his own actions. In short, I think you’re a piece of shit. But there’s a large gap between that and a man who would knowingly allow a school to be attacked. So tell me, right here and now, did you know Nathaniel was going to come after Lander?”

There was no way to tell if any telepaths were listening in; Dean Blaine might have forgone his negation powers to allow Ralph’s mind to be probed. Whether they were or not was largely irrelevant. It had been clear at the outset that Ralph’s only hope of making it through this was brutal honesty.

“No,” Ralph said. “But I knew he would do something. That’s why I had the forms ready, in case the kids were compromised in public. I never imagined he would try to assault Lander directly. It seemed crazy to think one nutjob would be able to pull off something like that. That was before I knew about the Sons of Progress, of course.”

“Of course,” Dean Blaine echoed, his tone dry and harsh. “I will give you the benefit of the doubt that you didn’t think Nathaniel would go after our campus. Given that no successful or even nearly successful attack on an HCP had ever occurred, it would have been unthinkable. Even my fellow deans and I never truly imagined it would happen. But you knew he was after Nick Campbell, and you knew he was escalating his attacks. You are culpable, Ralph. Your hands are stained with the blood of those we lost.”

For the first time, Dean Blaine moved from his chair, rising smoothly to his feet. Ralph started to mirror the move, but a withering glare made him sink back down into his seat. Methodically, every step chosen with intent, Dean Blaine made his way around the desk until it was to his back, with Ralph seated only a few feet away from him.

“Right now, Graham DeSoto is listening to and evaluating the confession of Crispin. He is carefully determining which parts will be deemed classified and which will be used as evidence. There’s a lot to sort through; it really was an extensive recording. The portion mentioning your and Nathaniel’s dealings, however, is unique. Nothing in it is necessary to the case of Crispin or the dismantling of the Sons of Progress. If he marks it as classified, then you’ll survive. If he doesn’t, your career is nothing but ash. But as I said, he’s not the one making that call. I am. Funny how many people seem to trust my judgment these days, even as I find myself second-guessing so many of my choices.”

“What do you want from me?” It was time to cut to the chase. Dean Blaine had demands, clearly, so better to get them into the open and start negotiating… assuming Ralph could manage enough leverage to negotiate at all.

Dean Blaine leaned forward from his desk, looming over Ralph. “If I asked you to recant every testimony you’ve ever given, free or reinstitute all the Heroes you’ve punished for their mistakes, unmake all that you’ve done, what would you say?”

“I’d say you should call your goons to come grab me, because I’m going to jail.” Ralph wasn’t sure if this was what Blaine wanted to hear or not, but he’d decided on brutal honesty and that was the tactic he was going to use. “My mistakes are my own, and I’ll pay for them if I have to. That doesn’t change the fact that I took some reckless, dangerous people out of positions of authority. I’m never going to give ground on that, so if it’s what you want then let’s save the time and get me a cell.”

“Dangerous people? You mean like Mr. Reynolds,” Dean Blaine replied.

“No, I mean real, proven threats. And you can hate me all you like for leaning hard on Vince, but we both know I could have leaned harder. More importantly, the world at large isn’t going to be nicer than I am. You can all act like having a villain dad and a dangerous power constrained by an experimental procedure doesn’t make him any different all you like. The world won’t see him that way. At least now he knows that, and he’s ready for it.”

“Such a noble act on your part, turning the screws on a scared student.” Dean Blaine paused, examining Ralph – every freckle on his nose and every drop of sweat on his brow. “You’re still a piece of shit, but at least it seems like you have some integrity. I’ve been looking over your record for a good chunk of the night, and while you’ve been too enthusiastic at times, I can’t say you don’t choose appropriate targets. And believe it or not, some of us agree that Heroes need to be held accountable. With our abilities, handing over unchecked authority on who lives and who dies is dangerous. I know firsthand how tempting it can be to abuse that power.”

Slowly, Dean Blaine straightened back up and walked over to his side of the desk, retaking his seat. He slid the folder before him over to Ralph and motioned for him to open it. With little other choice, Ralph complied. He’d barely revealed the pages within before Dean Blaine began to explain what he was looking at.

“That, Agent Ralph Chapman, is a full confession of everything Crispin implicated you on. There are currently two options before you. Sign it, and I tell Graham to deem both the document and that part of the recording classified. Refuse, and we prosecute you the hard way. Although I don’t think it will really be that hard, given the recording of Crispin and the one from this office.”

Scanning the pages, they seemed to line up with what Dean Blaine said they were, not that he really could have slipped something much worse in there. “Then what? You own me for the rest of my life? You make me back off when one of your buddies screws up and I start sniffing around?”

“You’ve got the part about me owning you right,” Dean Blaine agreed. “The rest, not as much. To be blunt, the Hero system needs retooling. Corruption has taken root: it’s time to start yanking it out. Doing that will require the right implement. Someone with a reputation for being stalwart, for chasing a case no matter how unpopular it may be, someone accustomed to being hated. I want you to do what you’ve always claimed to devote yourself to, Ralph. I want you to find and expose those who have used their power to circumvent the law. Only now, I’m going to guide you to better-hidden targets.”

“You expect me to believe that? You clearly hate me, Blaine. There’s nothing subtle about it. So why would you be willing to work with someone you detest?”

For a moment, Dean Blaine broke eye contact, and Ralph caught the first sign of something other than fury in his gaze. It was… sadness, and regret. Guilt, maybe? When he turned back, most of it was gone, though a few traces still lingered.

“Yes, Ralph, I’m willing to work with someone I detest. You made mistakes that led up to the attack on Lander, but I failed to keep my students safe. You don’t deserve the finality of a jail cell, just like I don’t deserve to forgive myself for that failing. We’re going to try and atone for our mistakes together. We’re going to take the hard path of effort and pain to try and make this world, and our Hero system, the littlest bit better. Because while redemption may not exist, we can at least make sure those people didn’t die in vain. We will force ourselves to push on in their memory. You can refuse to sign and be done with all of this. You can have the peace of a jail cell. Or you can prove that you truly believe in the shit you spout and cowboy up to try and help us. You’ve made plenty of bad choices already, don’t let this be another.”

With a grunt of effort, Ralph leaned across the desk and grabbed a pen, then wrote his name on the blank at the end of the confession. Dean Blaine nodded and pulled the folder back, tucking it carefully into his drawer.

“Welcome to the side of the Heroes, Ralph. Tread carefully from here on out, because we’ll be watching you. Closely.”

230.

By mid-afternoon, the news was on every station and splattered across the internet: The Sons of Progress had officially been fully dismantled following the capture of the group’s leader. Reactions were largely positive, to no one’s surprise, although a few other fringe groups were treating the revelation as a call to arms to step up their own activities. These were subdued, though, as seeing the Sons of Progress entirely wiped out was enough to give even the most zealous of potential replacements pause. After all, the Sons had been so good they pulled off the only successful attack on an HCP campus, and it had taken the Heroes less than a year to jail them all in retribution. It was a good reminder that anyone who stood against the DVA and the Hero system should be prepared for war, because that was what would be waiting for them.

On Lander campus, classes were canceled. It was already close to the weekend, and the administration knew how powerful the announcement would be to their students. For so many who’d lost friends that night in May, this offered some sense of closure. It would never be enough to heal the wounds from those losses, but at least now they knew it was over. But in the HCP, classes went on as usual. Heroes didn’t have the advantage of taking time away from their job, and more often than not they had to learn to live without that closure.

Nevertheless, at the conclusion of the senior’s gym period that day, Dean Blaine was waiting for them with an offer for those who wanted to follow him. The entire class did so, taking the lifts down past all the other nooks and secrets of the HCP to the bottom floor where the stone wall filled with names lived. Sasha’s family had blamed this place for her death, and in their hearts no one was sure they were wrong, so they respected the wishes to stay away from her grave. This wall, and her name, was their place to mourn her. Even if her remains were elsewhere, this was the place most believed her spirit would dwell.

One by one, they went to the wall. Some spoke a few soft words of farewell, or triumphantly told her it was over. Others said nothing, at least not out loud. With Dean Blaine there, no telepath would know their thoughts, not that anyone would have been so crass as to listen anyway. Tears were shed by many; some even managed a few laughs in their turn at the wall, reminiscing on some inside joke that had been lost along with Sasha. There was no judgment; they all understood that they had to grieve in their own way. And that they each had to find a way to grieve.

Because as much as this moment was about Sasha, it was impossible not to notice all the other names written along the wall. All the former Lander Heroes who were already lost. Names alongside which their own names would dwell, one day. They might be the Class of Nightmares, but they were still mortal. Every one of them would die, and for some of them it would happen in the field. For those who remained, there would be more ceremonies, more tears and stunted laughter, more goodbyes that came too soon. This moment, in a horrible way, was part of their training. Perhaps the most important part. The ones who couldn’t learn to cope with this loss and grief would be torn apart by it.

It had happened to stronger Heroes before them.

*             *             *

Casper was not a man accustomed to waiting, but for once he didn’t make a fuss about it. There were few people with whom money couldn’t buy influence, and the head of the DVA was at the top of the list: partly because of that position, and partly because he was Captain fucking Starlight, the man whose merchandise never went out of style. His net worth probably dwarfed Casper’s own, and that was with all the charitable contributions he’d made through the decades. Thankfully, the wait wasn’t a long one. Graham DeSoto entered the room, still on his phone, barking a few brief orders before snapping it shut.

“Casper, good to see you again,” Graham greeted him.

“And you, sir. It’s always an honor.” He’d have expected the thrill of meeting a living legend to wear off after the first time, yet his hands insisted on being sweaty from nerves all the same. With a discreet wipe on his jacket, Casper shook the man’s hand firmly. “I also appreciate you using my real name. Some of the others insist on sticking to the old terms.”

“Nothing to worry about there. I’m a firm believer that those names are more than just fake identities we create to mask ourselves; they’re terms of respect. I’d never call a man who flies around selling his services by a Hero’s name.”

That was… not quite the reply Casper had expected, but he nodded anyway. It wasn’t as though Graham had said anything false. Casper knew what he was and what he did for a living, and he had no qualms about it.

“Since you’re clearly aware of how highly I regard my time, perhaps we can jump to the heart of the matter. What did you need from me? I can take you down a few more years if required.”

“Appreciate it, but I’m good as is. If I start getting younger at regular intervals, people will accuse me of trying to hold this position indefinitely, and that’s bound to get some folks riled up.” Graham dropped his phone into his pocket and then pulled out a slip of paper. “No, I asked you here because we’ve got a prisoner with no idea how he was captured because his brain was messed with. The popular theory is that it can’t be healed, but I figured I’d call in the best to try anyway, just in case.”

Casper had been wondering if this was related to the fall of the Sons of Progress, and with that one statement from Graham he could make a good guess as to who he was here to treat. “If I can’t heal them, they probably can’t be healed.”

“Probably?”

“There are always new Supers getting abilities; I’m not going to assume I’ll always be the best,” Caspar replied. “But for right now, I seem to be, so there is the matter of my fee. Reversing your age is one thing – I consider that an honor. However, I am running a business and I can’t come in for every person who needs a patch job.”

With a nod, Graham handed the slip of paper from his jacket to Hallow. “We’d never get approval to pay your fees directly; you know how governments are. So I’ve got another proposition. I called some friends who work for the IRS now and negotiated a tax break for you. Every time you heal for us, it counts as donating your time to charity, and you gain a healthy write-off. That work for you?”

There wasn’t much to read on the paper, but Casper scanned it twice anyway. It was less than he’d normally charge, but the fact that it would be coming as a write-off meant he obviously wouldn’t pay taxes for it. That made the offer more tempting. With enough healing, he might get his tax bill down to five digits.

“I’ll want to negotiate a standard amount before the next one, probably a little higher than this. For today, though, I have a question: am I about to go work on Crispin?”

“Technically I think I’m supposed to run you through a bunch of forms before disclosing that, but screw it. Yeah. He doesn’t know who caught him, and a lot of people are really keen on getting that information,” Graham said.

“And you?”

There was a slight pause while Graham DeSoto stared at him. “I think we just got a huge win, one that we desperately needed, and I’d really like to put it away. But we’ve got to at least try, so I figured it made sense to call in the best. If you healing him stirs up another bee hive, then it is what it is.”

Casper rose from the chair and set the paper on Graham’s desk. “I’m ready to see the prisoner when you are. Although I have to say, if his brain has been thoroughly wiped by someone who knew what they were doing, I’m not that confident about my chances of repairing the memories. So no charge for today. This one is on me.”

Something in Graham’s expression shifted. “A freebie? That’s pretty unlike you, Casper.”

“Maybe so,” Casper said. “But once, I went by a different name. A name that I earned at Lander, the place that bastard attacked. If I can do something to put an end to all of his antics, even just prove that he can’t be healed, then I will. I’ll do it for the pleasure of getting to see him caught and chained with my own eyes. That’s payment enough for this round.”

“Careful. You keep talking like that, I might slip up and use your other name.”

231.

It wasn’t often Roy heard from Professor Fletcher outside of class, so he was surprised to receive an email with instructions to head down to the training cells that morning. Things had been hectic since the final capture of the Sons of Progress, but normality was slowly reestablishing itself. Stirring an event as that had been, it didn’t change the fact that the students had new hurdles to climb and required constant training to stay on top of their game. Still, coming in on a Saturday was odd, and it wasn’t until Roy was in the hallway leading to the specified training cell that he finally got an inkling of what was going on.

That was because Roy could hear the explosions before he ever set foot in the cell, which was no small feat given how dense and insulated the walls were. From there it wasn’t hard to put together. There were few Supers in the Lander HCP who could cause that kind of ruckus, and only one that Professor Fletcher would want Roy to check in on.

He pulled the door open carefully, wary of potential debris, and paused to marvel at the utter destruction that lay before him. It looked less like someone was training in the cell and more like someone was trying to burrow out of it. Huge chunks were torn from the walls, cracks ran up and down every surface, and the floor was coated in chips of broken concrete. What made it all the more impressive was the fact that Roy knew they repaired these cells regularly, so odds were all of this destruction had been caused just that morning. Standing in the middle of the chaos, panting for breath even as her arms glowed with a fresh charge, stood Ashley Beck, so focused that she didn’t even notice the door open.

Before he could get her attention, Ashley launched herself at a wall. Her fists flew into the concrete, generating blasts as fast as she could summon them. Blow after blow rained down, carving out new divots, but there was something wrong. This wasn’t the controlled, focused sort of work he’d taught her to do. This was raw, primal, nothing but a torrent of fury being poured onto an innocent wall. When she finally stopped, she was gasping for breath, yet there was still a slight glow in both her fists.

“If this was a sparring session, you’d be in deep shit. Can’t afford to get so focused you stop paying attention to your surroundings, not even in training.” Roy closed the door behind him despite the nearly empty halls. Whatever this was, Ashley wasn’t going to want to talk about it in public, if he could even get her to talk at all.

Ashley’s head whipped around, and for a split-second Roy saw her shift her weight for a charge. When she realized who’d come in, the aggression slipped away. “What are you doing here? Did we have training scheduled?”

“No, you’ve had things pretty well in hand since Christmas,” Roy replied, walking around and surveying the remains of the room. “But someone tipped me off about a hooligan destroying school property, so I decided to come see what the fuss was. Turns out, it was you.”

She watched him for a long moment before offering a half-hearted shrug. “The cells are here to use for training, so that’s what I’ve been doing. Am I supposed to work on my power somewhere else?”

“No, you’re right; these cells are exactly the place for training. Problem is, I don’t see anyone here doing any training. All you’re doing is beating the ever-loving shit out of a wall. And while that would be fine if you were gauging your output or trying to experiment with a new technique, we both know that’s not what this is.” Roy arrived at the section of the wall she’d been battering when he walked in, running his hands over the craters. “Now I’m not the smartest guy in the HCP, but I know a thing or two about bottled up anger. Anything you might want to talk about?”

“With you?”

“Sure, if you like,” Roy said. “Or you can talk to Dr. Moran. Haven’t had a lot of need for her myself, but she’s helped a couple of my friends here and there, and she did a world of good for one buddy. Hell, I’m sure Professor Fletcher would listen if you wanted him to. Maybe even Dean Blaine, if he’s got the time. You get the point: there’re plenty of folks willing to listen, all you have to do is talk.”

There was a moment where he thought she was going to take him up on the offer, but then her eyes hardened and she shook her head. “Pass. I’m fine doing it this way.”

Roy found himself at a crossroads. He could keep being gentle and try to prod her into talking, or he could accept the answer and leave. There wasn’t much else in the way of options. Roy knew better than most how futile it was to try and make someone who didn’t want to open up talk about their feelings. It had taken years with his friends – and a few ass-whippings – before he finally understood that blind anger wasn’t enough to get by. Not in life, and certainly not in the HCP. At that thought, a new option popped into his head. It was, technically speaking, probably not an approved therapy method, but it had the possibility of working. That made it far and away better than either of the first two ideas.

“You think so? Well, I think you’re fighting like shit. Those movements were sloppy, and you’re so mad that you can barely keep your aggression in check. I saw you move for me when I walked in; that ain’t the kind of shit you can afford to give away. Now this is the part where you tell me how wrong I am, which is bullshit, and I’ve got things to do today. Why don’t we skip it? Instead, I’ll give you the chance to prove if you’re really as ‘fine’ as you think.” Roy shrugged off the HCP uniform jacket and tossed it into the nearest corner of the cell.

“Am I supposed to beat you to prove myself or some crap?” Ashley asked. “Because that’s crazy. You’re a senior in the Class of Nightmares. Confident as I might feel about my skills, there’s no way I’m going to be able to close that gap.”

“Never assume a fight is lost before you go into it, otherwise it will be. And no, I’m not asking you to beat me. I want you to hit me. Once. One solid blow on the face or torso, and I’ll leave you to your so-called training.”

Despite shifting her weight into a more offensive stance, Ashley didn’t look sold on the idea. “And let me guess, if I lose I have to agree to go talk to Dr. Moran?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want. Talk, don’t talk. Fight, don’t fight. I’m not your dad, it ain’t my job to guide you along to what I think is right. All I’m looking to prove is that you’re not doing yourself any favors by staying like this. After that, it’s on you to decide what comes next.”

Roy lifted his arms and gave the nod to signal that he was ready. “Now quit with the jawing, it’s a beautiful Saturday and I don’t want to spend all of it beating the piss out of you.”

232.

“It’s a little… aggressive… at least for anyone who catches the meaning.” Professor Fletcher lowered the page, looking over it to Camille, who was seated across the desk from him. Originally his plan for the morning had been to check in on how Roy was doing with Ashley, hoping the strongman could direct some of the fire burning in that woman’s belly. Fury certainly had its place in battle, but only when it was well-focused. That idea had been interrupted when Camille arrived in his office, form in hand, to submit her code name for official consideration.

“Good. I want aggressive.” Lifting her arms slightly, Camille motioned to her own body. “Given my size, I’m probably never going to be physically imposing to anyone. Not at first, anyway. But I decided that if I took a name with a clear capacity for violence, I could put people on edge. Make them uncertain of why such a small lady would have such a fierce name. And once I get into the field and start working, hopefully I can build a reputation of something to be feared, the kind of Hero that makes people surrender before a fight ever breaks out. I’m uniquely suited to hurting my enemies with enough precision to cripple them without ever quite crossing the line. Sooner or later, I think word of that will get around between criminals.”

“I can’t say you haven’t thought this through,” Professor Fletcher admitted. “But it’s also worth noting that as someone with healing powers, you have a built-in avenue to positive public perception. Everyone likes a Hero who can show up at hospitals and clear out the ER when time permits. You could make a persona that’s comforting to countless people.”

He was spot on. Camille had done her homework in the months leading up to this choice, researching the various healing Heroes through the years. And with a few exceptions, like Hallow’s move to the private sector, they were generally all looked upon favorably by the public. True, they never became big names like Globe, Titan, or Captain Starlight, but all of them held positive images that were treated well and moved merchandise. It was the smart, business-savvy direction to take her Hero identity. There was just one critical flaw.

“I don’t want to be loved. I want to be feared. Not by the people I heal, but by the ones who hurt them. I want the sound of my name to make the guilty sprint as fast as they can in the other direction. I want them to know, as soon as they see me, that all is lost. And I want the people they’re hurting to know that they’re going to be okay. While I get that this is an unusual path for a healer to take, it’s the kind of Hero I want to be.”

Part of Camille would always be that bullied child, harassed and hurt for the sin of being born different. No matter how much she grew, it was a part of her, one that she was slowly learning to draw strength from rather than regret. Because horrible as those times had been, they’d taught her an important lesson. Plenty of people tried to make her feel better, to heal her heart, but none of them had actually improved her situation. The only one who had was the silver-haired, wide-eyed boy who showed up out of nowhere and beat the hell out of her attackers. Comfort was important, kindness was vital, and showing empathy for those in pain was what made humans… human.

Still, sometimes the only way to make things better was to stand up and swing, to fight back until there was no one left standing. She knew firsthand what it was like to have a hero swoop in during the darkest moments, and that was a feeling she wanted to give to others. Camille was not training to give support or gentle comfort. She’d worked all these years to be an ungodly terror in the eyes of those poor souls who called down the wrath of a Hero. This was just one more step along that path.

“If that’s what you’re after, then this is certainly a good choice,” Professor Fletcher said. “Adrestia: she who cannot be escaped, goddess of retribution. A little obscure, which is probably why the name is still available, but it shouldn’t take a decent agent long to get the meaning out there. Before we make it official, I should ask: have you talked this over with your potential mentors yet? It’s the sort of image decision that might make a few teams wary of taking you on, especially if they’re trying to project a more family-friendly appearance.”

“I’ve only got two mentors I’m considering right now, and I made it clear to both of them when we talked that I wasn’t looking to go the usual healer route. Not everyone supported that decision, which is why I’ve narrowed it down to two. Both of them will be fine with this choice. And if they’re not, I can find a new mentor. On-team healers are never in short demand, especially ones who can fully negate injuries like me.”

Camille’s parents, both regular people with mundane careers, had never been able to help her much on the path to being a Hero, although they’d both tried. But there was one bit of advice they’d given that had proven valuable during her senior year: know your worth and don’t settle for less. Healers were always useful in the field. She’d held out until she found mentors who were willing to deal with an odd image choice in exchange for having someone on their team who could remove injuries almost instantaneously. Truth be told, there had been plenty willing to see past it, so she’d focused on picking ones that would give her the best education.

“That’s fine then, just wanted to be sure you’d considered all the ramifications.” Professor Fletcher read a few more lines on the page before finally setting it down. “I will add this much: if your goal is to be seen as terrifying to the wicked, then I think you’ll have ample success. When I first took over this position and saw that you were in Close Combat, I’ll admit I had my doubts. Good as you were at hand-to-hand fighting, your size and power seemed like they’d be difficult gaps to close. Then I saw you let loose on Hector and Allen during the capture the flag team trial, and you know what I thought? I thought that I was going to fight tooth and nail to keep you in Close Combat, because the potential you had was utterly terrifying. Not just the power itself, but how well you unnerved your opponents. Being hit is one thing; having your bones suddenly snap within your skin is fundamentally disturbing on a whole other level. While I didn’t imagine you’d go so bold with your Hero name, I’m glad you did. I think it will be a fine fit for you, eventually.”

“Thank you, professor.” Camille was blushing, though for once she didn’t feel bothered by the blood in her cheeks. She’d just received the kindest comment she’d ever heard from Professor Fletcher, and embarrassing as it was, she also knew this was a moment she would hold close to her heart for years to come. “I’ll do my best to make Lander proud.”

“On that point, I never had any doubt,” he replied. “Just take care of yourself, and if you graduate, don’t grow reckless. If you end up in a town with classmates, make sure you keep in contact with and lean on them. While I’ve never done Hero work, I still know the importance of having a good team.”

Professor Fletcher began to rise from his chair, signaling that the meeting had come to a close. Camille did the same, pausing only to shake her teacher’s hand once more. “Thank you, sir. For the advice, and all the years of training. I’m going to do all I can to walk across that graduation stage, though I don’t think I’ll get to make much use of the team advice for a while. Most of my friends have been looking toward Brewster or Port Valins for their internships. My potential mentors are in Kansas and New York.”

That drew a slight eyebrow raise from the older man as they finished their handshake. “Interesting. Was that by coincidence or design?”

“Fate, maybe,” Camille said. “I certainly didn’t try to make it happen, but I won’t be mad if it goes this way. Healers are usually thought of as part of a team more than of being capable in their own right. If I really want to be my kind of Hero, then a few years away from my support network will do me good. I leaned on the strength of others for too long. This will be my chance to see what I can do on my own.”

Professor Fletcher nodded with a quiet smile as he watched Camille take her leave. Easy as it was to overlook her amidst the powerhouses that were her classmates, he had a hunch that once they hit the real world, she’d make quite the name for herself. And a lot of bad people would end up deeply regretting the fact that Camille Belden had decided to walk the path of a Hero.

233.

Roy easily deflected Ashley’s attempt at a punch, slamming an open palm into her ribs, sending her flying across the cell where she thumped against the wall. While he certainly wouldn’t go full-out with his strength, Ashley was one of the more durable Supers he’d seen in the HCP, so some amount of force was necessary to deal with her. Otherwise, she’d ignore small blows and keep on coming.

Spitting curses under her breath, she leapt to her feet and charged right back into the fray. It was strange, watching her stumble, anger clouding her judgment. Roy couldn’t help but wonder if this was how Chad had felt during their first freshman year, seeing an opponent with so much potential unable to focus enough to use it properly. Then again, he might be giving himself too much credit. Ashley’s bout was lasting far longer than Roy had against Chad. The only thing Roy could take comfort in was the fact that Chad had been trying to teach a different kind of lesson.

Another wild punch that Roy could read from a room away. This time he swept her legs as he slammed her in the shoulder, sending her sprawling across the floor. She wasn’t quite as quick scrambling to her feet, which made it the best opportunity he’d seen so far to try and get the conversation going.

“If Professor Fletcher was in here right now, he’d laugh your ass out of the HCP.” Not the most diplomatic of openings, but Roy had decided on tough love and he wouldn’t do Ashley any favors with a half-hearted effort. “You’re near the end of freshman year, past the labyrinth trial. You’ve been fighting your classmates daily by now, so there’s no excuse for being so sloppy – unless maybe you can’t quite clear your head and focus.”

“Shut up.” Ashley was moving again, charging straight at Roy. It was a bold move; however, she had the misfortune of trying it against someone who’d specifically trained to make his charges as dangerous as possible. Part of that training meant understanding all the possible counters to the technique, and Roy employed a few of them himself by side-stepping her move and slamming a knee into her stomach. She dropped to the concrete, coughing and spitting but otherwise unharmed. The lady was tough; he had to give her that.

“Might have knocked the wind out of you with that one. Feel free to take a few minutes to catch your breath. It ain’t like the results will be much different from you attacking. I should have brought a radio or something down here to keep myself entertained.”

More coughing was her initial response before she craned her neck to stare up at Roy. There was nothing subtle about the anger blazing on her face, yet even as she glared at him, Roy could see her pushing other things down. He didn’t know what the rage was masking, though he could make a few educated guesses. The trouble was that Roy’s guesses were useless; the only way this helped was if Ashley was the one to talk about it.

“You’re a real big man, beating the shit out of a freshman girl.”

“First, don’t lean on the girl part. I’ve been in this program long enough to know there are plenty of women who can whip my ass up and down this whole campus. Second, I think we both know this isn’t about me or my ego, neither of which really need any help from stomping a freshman.” Roy hunkered down a little, getting closer to her eye level. “And lastly: you’re better than this. I’ve sparred with you enough to know what you’re capable of, and it’s worlds above the piss-poor display you put on here. See, you think anger makes you stronger, so you’re holding on to yours for all it’s worth. But anger alone won’t do shit for you in battle. You have to focus it, channel it, be in control, and that ain’t happening until you can own your rage. You have to be its master, understand it and accept it for what it is. I hope you learn that lesson, Ashley. Maybe you still need someone better to teach it, but I did the best I could.”

Roy rose back up and walked over to where he’d left his uniform jacket. In a smooth motion he scooped it up and slid it over his shoulders. “For your sake, try and think on what I showed you here today. If you don’t, I have a strong hunch this is the last year you’ll spend in the HCP.”

He turned, intent on heading back to the door, but Roy noticed Ashley’s head had lowered while he was getting his jacket. From across the room, he could just make out the small droplets falling from her face to the concrete below. Despite the initial urge, he didn’t rush over. Instead, he walked there slowly, taking his time so she could compose herself if she wanted to. When he arrived, Roy sat down next to her and waited silently. He knew too damn well that in these moments, it often took time to find one’s control.

“My sister was here last May.” The words echoed around the battered cell, hanging in the air like a dark mist. “She was human, came to Lander because they offered her an academic scholarship. She was… I won’t say the family favorite but definitely the golden child. Smart, moral, lots of ambition, all the things parents are inclined to be proud of. Me, not so much. I didn’t like the fact that being Super made people treat me differently, so I shoved them away. Made trouble. Nothing big enough to get me arrested, but plenty to make sure my parents saw me as problematic. Leanne was always on my side, though. Until the day she left for college, she tried to keep peace between me and our parents. Then she was gone, and things got harder. And then… she was gone.”

It wasn’t the exact story Roy would have guessed, although it did hit most of the notes he’d been expecting: the way she tightened up anytime someone talked about the attack on Lander, how green she was when she first got here, even the way she seemed so driven to rise up the ranks. Ashley had an axe to grind, probably into someone’s skull, and everything she did only served that goal.

“I’m sorry about your sister.” The words meant little, yet they were all he could offer.

“Thanks.” Ashley sniffled slightly and covertly tried to wipe her face on the back of her forearm. “I was keeping things in check pretty well until The Sons of Progress got arrested. I’m glad those bastards are behind bars, I am. But I wanted to be part of taking them down. I wanted to show them firsthand what they’d called down upon themselves. I wanted… I don’t know. It was a fantasy, I get that, a stupid power-trip revenge fantasy that was never going to happen. Still, it was something. It kept me going. Kept me connected to Leanne. Now it’s suddenly gone. This was never the life I wanted for myself, before. I’m not sure I’m a good fit for it, or it for me. I just feel lost. And even though The Sons of Progress are in jail, I’m still so damn angry, only now I don’t know where to point it.”

“That is a lot to deal with,” Roy said. “I’d give you answers if I could, but between you and me, I’m barely keeping a handle on my own issues. I sure as shit ain’t qualified to teach someone else how to deal with theirs. We’ve got people who are, though. If you want, I can walk you down to Dr. Moran’s office and make an appointment. Or we can sit here and talk. I will offer just one bit of advice, though, and technically I didn’t even come up with it.”

Roy wasn’t entirely comfortable with how much he’d found himself quoting, paraphrasing, or reflecting on the lessons that Titan had given him in childhood over the past year. It made clear just how much of who he was, and what he’d learned, had come from his father. All those years lost between them, and Titan had still had a visible hand in shaping his sons. But this moment wasn’t about him, or Titan, or their strained dynamic. It was about trying to give a little hope to someone that desperately needed it.

“My... trainer… used to say that revenge is a hard way to live. It’s like living with a fire in your stomach. As long as you feed it, you can keep it burning, but eventually it will torch you from the inside. If you want to honor someone, to turn their loss into something good, then you fight on for them. Some people start charities or causes in the names of those they lost. People like us who are only good at destruction, we can use that power to keep others safe. To make sure that next time some bastards come to a college with death on the mind, they find mean fuckers like us waiting to make them regret it. I’m not saying you should be a Hero. It ain’t for everyone, and there’s no shame in walking away. I’m just tossing out the idea that there might be other ways to honor your sister besides blowing up the heads of The Sons of Progress.”

Ashley’s head bobbed in a slight nod as she wiped her face again. “Other ways, sure. But will any of them be as satisfying?”

It took Roy a second to realize that Ashley was making a joke, or as close to one as she could get given the mood. He chuckled, then reached over and softly patted her on the back.

“You’d be surprised. I got a taste of what it was like to help people that night, to save lives that would have ended right in front of me, and it’s pretty damn satisfying.”

234.

“… and I told him I’d think about it. Which I have. A lot. And the more I turn the idea around in my head, the more I can see all the reasons I probably shouldn’t do it. Learning from a Subtlety Hero might not offer me the best possible education, and given the way people feel about that specialty, it won’t help with the suspicion I already get from Globe being my father. Then there’s the fact that I know almost nothing about Jeremiah’s team, what they can do, or how they operate. You know me; I’m not good at blending in or being subtle. What if I end up slowing them down or putting them in danger? Sure, Jeremiah said he wouldn’t try to make me a Subtlety Hero, but there’s bound to be some of that if I’m on their team.” Vince finally paused, taking a drink of water from the glass on Nick’s coffee table. “There are so many reasons why I shouldn’t take this internship.”

“But you’re obviously still thinking about it,” Nick noted. He’d been a little surprised when Vince turned up out of the blue, or rather when Jerome radioed in to let Nick know that Vince was approaching the apartment. Once his best friend was inside and seated, though, it became immediately clear why he’d trekked over on a Saturday afternoon. The poor guy was torn up over the internship offer, trying so hard to make the “right” choice that he’d twisted himself into knots. Uncertainty and doubt were Vince’s biggest weakness – he could lose himself for days when he wasn’t sure what the right next step was – but once he had a goal in mind the guy was damn near unstoppable.

“Yeah, I am,” Vince admitted. “Is that crazy? All these reasons not to take it, but I can’t shake the idea from my head.”

It was definitely crazy. Logically speaking, the cons outweighed the pros considerably. The rational move would be to thank Jeremiah politely for the interest then sign on with a beloved Hero who could lift Vince’s reputation past the point of suspicion. However, it was also plain to Nick that logic wasn’t really the thing on trial here. Vince liked the idea; he wanted to take the internship. This was him looking for someone who would make him feel like it was a good plan.

“Taking the internship with Jeremiah is a terrible idea.” Nick didn’t particularly enjoy watching Vince’s face fall at his words, but this was a necessary step to get the conversation to its appropriate conclusion. “Sorry, but it is. All the things you just listed are spot on, and there are plenty of other issues you haven’t considered. If you want me to tell you I think it’s a sound move, I have to disappoint you.”

“Oh.” Vince’s eyes wandered back to the coffee table, watching condensation move slowly down his glass. “Yeah. I knew that, I guess. I just wanted to see if there was some angle I wasn’t considering.”

Nick shook his head. “Practically speaking, no. You thought this one through pretty well. This internship is a bad idea. But here’s the caveat, Silver: a lot of the things you do are bad ideas. Refusing to quit believing in a guy like me even after I gave you plenty of reasons to walk away was a bad idea. Telling Dean Blaine that you were going to help people during the attack on Lander even if it meant you’d be expelled was a bad idea. Trying to throw away your memories to stay with me, taking on an amped-up Super by yourself, refusing to denounce your father who is a known criminal even though it would make your life easier: all bad ideas from pretty much any perspective. Yet in what must be the biggest ‘fuck you’ to logic and causality since my power came into existence, you’re still going strong. I don’t always get it, but over time I’ve learned to accept it. While you often don’t make smart choices, or rational ones, you make ones that feel right to you and that seems to be working out so far. So putting aside all the reasons why it might be a bad idea, what do you want to do?”

As seconds ticked by, Nick could see Vince’s doubt slipping away while resolve took its place. That was the real trick to managing Vince, giving him a way around his uncertainties. Once he had that, the guy could pretty much take care of himself. By the time Vince looked up at Nick, his face was almost set with determination.

“I want to take it. I know I’m not as smart as most of you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get smarter, that I can’t learn. In terms of where I sit right now, I’ve probably got as much raw power as anyone else in the class. What I don’t have is the kind of brain that always lets me use that power properly. Camille beat me with a simple trick during our winter final, and that’s not something I can afford to fall for when the stakes are real. I think Jeremiah can make me a better Hero.”

“Well, I certainly don’t want to put words in your mouth, but that sure sounds like you’ve got your answer,” Nick said. “I’ve never known Vince Reynolds to take any path except the one that leads to him being the best Hero possible. And for what it’s worth, your track record proves that you might want to listen to those instincts of yours, no matter what logic dictates.”

Vince let out a short, unexpected laugh. “It’s funny, Jeremiah said something like that. Told me I have good instincts when I get out of my own way.”

Nick’s assessment of Jeremiah’s analytical skills rose by a few degrees. It was easy to throw off Vince’s success as good fortune or him muscling through on raw strength. Recognizing his real potential took someone with more attention to detail. “If I’d heard nothing else about the situation already, that alone would make me think it’s an idea worth considering.”

“Thanks. I needed to hear that. I knew you’d be–”

The sound of the doorbell interrupted their conversation, and moments later the front door swung open as Mary strode through. She had a backpack over her shoulder that was visibly weighing her down but still greeted both of them with a smile. “Hey guys. Hope you don’t mind that I let myself in, this thing is heavy.”

“I keep that door locked,” Nick pointed out.

“And I move things with my mind, things like deadbolts. Truly, how will we ever solve this perplexing mystery?” Mary dropped the backpack to the floor and stretched her spine. “Thanks for agreeing to help with this project anyway. Vince, you take your time, I’ll go make some tea and get out of your hair.”

“No, it’s fine,” Vince said. “I think we pretty much got through what I wanted to talk about. I should go do some weekend training. You two knocking out homework?”

“My economics class wants me to create a plan for a mock business, and no one knows more about making a buck than Nick.” Mary mentally lifted the backpack over to the kitchen table, where it landed with a solid thud. “You’re more than welcome to stay, though. It won’t be fun, but it will be communal.”

“Thanks, but I think I’d rather fight Chad and Roy at once than try and wrap my head around that stuff. I’ll see you back at the dorms tonight.” Vince got up from the couch and paused to glance at Nick. “And thanks, Nick. This helped me out a lot.”

“Anytime. Unless I’m in class. Or on a date with Alice. Or in the restroom. You know what, let’s go ahead and just say most times so I’ve got some wiggle room.” Nick waved to Vince as he vanished through the doorway. From the window, he watched Vince walk down the stairs and head back to campus.

As he stood there, Mary quietly walked over to join him. “If you’re wondering, he bought it.”

“He’s Vince. Of course he bought it. He trusts us implicitly, which is all the more reason we have to keep him miles away from this,” Nick replied. “Now start getting things set up. The next Take Back Lander meeting is in a few hours and we’ve got quite a show to prepare for.”

235.

Will found it odd that he was nervous. Not that the nerves showed – he’d certainly had enough training to conceal his tension – but that they were there at all was perplexing. Given the stakes he’d grown accustomed to, the success and well-being of his team or classmates on the line, this shouldn’t be more than a blip on his mental radar. After all, if things went truly sideways then the most likely thing to be lost would be his future. Scary a thought as that was, it really didn’t compare when he imagined doing this kind of work with lives at risk.

Yet he was still a touch nervous as he made his way into the familiar den of Kennedy Dawson’s home. It was easy to know intellectually that his future was a worthwhile sacrifice if it kept the others safe, but emotionally the possibility still scared him. It wasn’t that shocking; not even Chad had been able to keep his feelings at bay forever. Some things were simply inevitable, and fear regarding his fate was one of them.

Despite that, Will looked the same as always: unsure, a little out of place, displaying the slightest hint of fear. He didn’t belong around these people – they’d sniff that out one way or another – so Will had chosen to embrace that obvious difference by seeming intimidated by Kennedy’s wealth. It wasn’t a hard sell; the opulence was striking, especially compared to the little he’d grown up with. Looking like a lower-class student out of his depth made perfect sense, and if anyone ever noticed that Will wasn’t quite on the same page as most of the group, they chalked it up to that blatant difference. Perfectly blending in was beyond him, but playing to people’s assumptions was the best way he’d found to work around the issue.

The meeting went normally for the first ten minutes or so, Kennedy checking in to see if anyone had gotten more mysterious emails since their gathering. To Will’s delight, many reported seeing strangers watching them, or even following from a distance. In truth, Will hadn’t organized any of that; none of them had received so much as a text from an unknown number by his hand. So unless Nick had suddenly gone severely off-script, the Take Back Lander members were simply being paranoid. The worry showed on their faces, too. The mere fact that they were no longer operating unseen had stripped much of their bravado. Kennedy, predictably, was the least bothered, conducting the meeting with her usual calculated charm.

Her only moment of noticeable frustration came when no one had any more information to report about their efforts to uncover HCP-student identities. There were plenty of excuses tossed about, some more legitimate than others, but the end result was plain: people were scared. Their secrets had been brought into play, however briefly, and no one wanted to be the brave soul who pushed things too far and saw just how serious the mysterious email sender was.

Nevertheless, that glimpse behind the mask was brief; within moments Kennedy’s face returned to the very essence of control. “Very well,” she said once the last failed report was made. “It seems we need to have another talk about whether or not we are all truly committed to the cause. I told you that this enterprise came with risk and potential danger, and we all agreed that those were worth the cost in order to keep standing up for our school. If your feelings on that have changed, then let us air them out right here and now, because these half-hearted efforts are getting us nowhere. I seem to be the only one who is actively working to gain interviews and uncover clues, the only one refusing to be cowed by a few disappearing emails with no overt threat attached. If you are willing to bend so easily now, I can’t imagine how you’ll fare when you face real opposition.”

At her words, the lights cut out. It wasn’t for long, less than ten seconds, and they came back on before anyone could even yank their phone out of their pocket to turn on a flashlight. But when the room was visible once more, it was different. Specifically, there was someone new standing in the center of it. He was dressed well yet plainly, an unremarkable off-the-rack black suit that Will knew it must have physically pained Nick to don. He wore nothing distinctive, save for a simple gray mask similar to, yet not quite the same as, the ones employed by the students during the attacks last May. While the room stared at the stranger in shock, he seized the moment, leaning in to take a deep bow.

“You’ll have to forgive the intrusion, but when someone offers up a juicy entrance line like that it feels criminal to let it go to waste. Much as I’d like to introduce myself, that would rather defeat the purpose of the mask. You’ll have to simply think of me as a Ghost of Lander. A bit theatrical, I’ll be the first to admit, but thematically sound enough to justify.”

This next moment was crucial. Will watched the crowd absorb the appearance of this stranger. He really hoped they wouldn’t do anything stupid, but already he could see that was a lost cause. Fear masquerading as anger was overriding their common sense; Tad looked as though he was about to jump up and rush the intruder. That couldn’t happen. If this got physical with a regular student, it dramatically changed the stakes and the situation. This was why they’d built in a contingency for the possibility, albeit one that Will wasn’t particularly fond of.

Leaping to his feet, Will stalked over to the Ghost of Lander looking as menacing as he could manage. “Listen, asshole. I don’t know who you think you are, but this is private property, and we’re not going to stand for it.” Rearing back, he took a wide swing at Nick’s skull. The punch never connected, instead Nick easily blocked it while countering with a swift, simple jab to Will’s nose. They’d talked it over at length, and much as they might have preferred to go with a staged punch, it had been decided that realism was more vital to the plan. Will dropped to his knees, clutching his face, before slowly inching back toward the nearest chair.

“Ghosts can’t trespass: they don’t exist in the first place,” Nick replied. “And if you want to search for proof of that, I ask only that you check the security system. You’ll find no record of me setting foot in this house. Your overeager friend did an excellent job of providing an example of why I’m here, though. In a word: reciprocation. He tried to throw a punch when I was content to keep things verbal, and in return I hit him back. The only difference you might notice is that my hit was much better.”

Nick whipped his head suddenly, locking eyes with Tad, who’d been easing up from his seat. “One could, if they were so inclined, compare it to a bunch of bastards hunting around for the secret identities of HCP students. Bumbling and inept as they might be, it’s clearly an attack. So if someone were to come along and hit back, someone far better at digging up other people’s secrets, what would that really be except simple reciprocation?”

“There’s one big difference in your example.” Kennedy was on her feet, looking the intruder dead in the eye. She was the least predictable element here; Will couldn’t properly estimate what sort of actions she’d take. Dealing with her was entirely at Nick’s discretion, a fact which had in no small part contributed to Will’s case of nerves. “What we’re doing is legal. What you’ve done is breaking and entering and invasion of privacy, and probably violates a few laws about hacking as well.”

“Ah, but there’s the rub. When you talk about legality, you talk about proof. You’ve got none of it. No emails to show, no footage to prove I was here, just the word of a group that has proven itself to be aligned against the HCP. Feel free to try and snap some pictures; you’ll find your phones unwilling to cooperate. Unlike all the video and soundbites I’ve put together – for you see, unlike you, I have heaps of proof. And if I’m pushed, people will know about your little clubhouse meetings, about you coldly discussing outing future Heroes. I imagine the press will have a good time with that. Heroes might be polarizing but people are more empathetic to mere students, especially ones who recently suffered a serious attack. I bet some of the people in your own families and companies might take such offense that they leaked personal secrets of yours. Well, the emails would come from their accounts, anyway.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Will noticed Tad starting to rise again. Damnit. He’d expected that watching someone else get swiftly handled would drive home that this stranger was dangerous, but some people were too dumb to take a hint. He tried to catch Nick’s attention as Tad rose, hoping dearly there was a way to cut this off before things moved to the next level.

As it turned out, he needn’t have worried. Nick had ample failings, but a lack of planning and preparation was not among them. Nick turned his masked face back to Tad, who met his stare and tilted slightly forward, clearly preparing to rush him. In the moment of hesitation, Nick made a simple gesture with his hand. From the wall, Tad’s chair shot out, bumping into his knees and catching him as an unseen force gently shoved Tad backwards.

“That was rude. Do you always interrupt people when they’re talking? Never mind, I don’t care about you enough to hear the answer. But as you can now hopefully tell, I’ve come to be heard. I would highly recommend you all keep your responses verbal. Otherwise…” The small part of Nick’s mouth that could be seen split into a chilling grin as he spread his arms and gave a casual shrug. As he did, many of the objects in the room lifted a few inches up, hovering there for several seconds before clattering back down.

“Otherwise, I think you already know my policy on reciprocation.”

236.

“This is hardly what I’d expect from a future Hero.” Kennedy was, somehow, still holding it together. Her eyes were locked on Nick, even as the rest of the room shrank back after that display of power. “Maybe we will look bad, maybe your sound files can tarnish our reputations, but don’t think the HCP will walk out of this clean. With all of us telling the same story, some people will believe us – enough to wonder what sort of Heroes-in-training use their gifts to shove normal humans around.”

Nick glanced over to her, never allowing the crowd as a whole to leave his sight for more than a few moments. Will could see esteem in that gaze; Nick had also noted her ability to stay cool. None of the respect made it to his smile, however – that was a far more theatrically wicked smirk than Nick would have ever affected without a mask.

“That might be true, if I were indeed in the HCP. But too bad, so sad, I’m afraid I didn’t make the cut. None of us did. So all you can really tattle about is the fact that the HCP keeps people like me, people who take these kinds of actions, away from being Heroes. Sort of proves that they’re doing the job right, don’t you think?”

“Bullshit.” Tad wasn’t getting out of his seat, the telekinetic display had cowed him, but he still had enough stubborn willfulness to talk shit. In an odd way, Will was slightly impressed. Given a different context, he might have called it bravery. “Why the fuck would you care about us going after HCP students if you washed out? You’re bluffing. A real HCP failure would want us to succeed, to get payback on the people who took their spot.”

In a flash, Nick was across the room, never touching Tad yet glaring down at him with enough force that it may as well have been a physical shove. “Whether you know it or not, you just revealed far more about yourself than intended. Don’t be surprised if no one in this room ever trusts or speaks to you again, you sniveling fucking worm. And since you don’t get it, let me explain using small words: just because I didn’t make it doesn’t mean I don’t have friends in the HCP. Unlike you, some of us are capable of seeing past our own self-interest. So when you mess with the HCP, you mess with our friends, and that is a very dangerous proposition.”

He whirled around, glaring at the rest of the room. Nick was pinging between charm and madness at a hectic rate. Even Will was not sure what to expect from one moment to the next. “Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be. You have no leverage, because I’ve kept all proof out of your hands. You have no recourse, because I’m not an HCP student so they can’t be held responsible for any of my actions. At best, you might be able to figure out who I am – I’ve certainly shown enough power to give you some clues – but the HCP drums out far more students than it keeps. If you think I’m the only one with loyalty, the only one who feels a drive to protect that place… well then, you’re pretty damn stupid, because I’ve been blatantly using words like ‘ours’ and ‘we’ this whole time.”

The last swerve of the sentence took the room by surprise. It had felt like Nick was building toward some threat, instead he had simply pointed out semantics. Odd as it was, Will saw the logic. It was the sort of unexpected tonal shift that kept the room off-center. As soon as they thought they could guess what Nick was going to do, he lost some of his power. By being wholly unpredictable, he left them in a constant state of uncertainty.

“Any other pointless questions? Do any of you want to appeal to my sense of morality, or maybe try to convince me that what you’re doing is right?” Nick actually paused, waiting to see whether they would try to debate him or not. “Good. Looks like there’s hope for this lot yet. One last thing: if you want to keep your little social club going, feel free. I don’t give a shit about you protesting or getting signatures or whatever you were up to before this. Fight the HCP all you like in the light of day. But when you try to do something as wicked as revealing students’ identities, you step into the shadows. That’s where you’ll find the real monsters, hungry and waiting. That’s where you’ll find the HCP’s cast-offs, the ones not quite moral and decent enough to be Heroes. Come if you like. Just be ready. The Ghosts of Lander certainly will be.”

Again, the lights flickered, although this time no one tried to scramble for their phone. A few seconds later, when they cut back on, Nick had vanished. Silence hung over the room for nearly a minute, until Kennedy finally pulled herself up from the chair.

“Well, that was quite a show. We should take heart though, this means we’re on the right trail. If we weren’t a real threat, the HCP wouldn’t be sending its thugs to try and scare us. Now if we keep pushing–”

“Are you crazy?” Tad had found his tongue again and was pulling himself out of the chair that Nick had appeared to throw him into. “Did you not see that shit? You could feel the crazy coming off of that guy. He covered every angle, had us pinned to the wall, almost literally. We know they’ve got a tech Super from the emails. Now a telekinetic, who is probably a telepath too. For fuck’s sake, Kennedy, this isn’t a fight worth picking anymore.”

“Perhaps we did get too ambitious with our efforts to uncover identities, but we have other options available. Despite his bluster, I feel relatively certain the HCP would care about one of their failures threatening other students. We can subject ourselves to a telepath as proof, even without video. Not to mention, this is our biggest lead yet. Think about it: we know that man’s power, height, and general build. If we can figure out who he is, then his social circle is almost certainly going to have HCP students in it.”

It was a good, logical plan. The problem was that Nick had stolen the room’s capacity for logic and replaced it with fear. Kennedy was making her first mistake, and it was one Will understood all too well. She was trying to reason with people, using thought instead of feeling. Sometimes that was the right move; however, against a manipulator like Nick Campbell, one first had to undo the emotional damage he’d wrought. Nick had scared them, taken away every idea of recourse they had. Until they were past that, no amount of good sense would break through.

Some people listened to Kennedy; others walked out without so much as a goodbye. That was the start of the exodus, but far from the end. One by one they all filed out, keenly aware that they had more to lose than to gain by going down this path. In less than five minutes, Will and Tad were the last ones remaining.

“Look, Kennedy, I don’t like Supers either, and I sure as hell don’t want to share a campus with them. But you want us to keep going on a wild goose chase, knowing it will piss off some really powerful people. If you want to go back to protests or something, give me a call. You made it too real with this identity shit. That guy is right; we stepped into a world we weren’t ready for. And I’m taking the chance to get out while it’s here.”

Tad strode out the front door without another word. Will rose to his feet, intending to give Kennedy a quick nod of farewell, but her hand fell on his shoulder.

“We should ice that nose, it’s starting to swell.” Despite having just watched her whole organization walk out on her, she gave Will a surprisingly caring smile. As he was looking at her, Will dimly heard Tad’s car engine fire up and his tires tear out of the driveway. Kennedy’s smile deepened at the noise. “And now that he’s gone, why don’t you tell Nick and Mary to go on home? We’ve got some things to discuss, and I’m sure they can’t be comfortable hiding in the bushes.”

237.

“I… wait… pardon?” Will stammered out the half-assed reply, mentally trying to cope with going from victory to discovery in the span of a few seconds.

“Never mind, I’ll handle it.” Kennedy turned toward the nearest window. “Mary, Nick, I’m sure you’re listening to my mind, if not my words. Will can explain later, but for now I’d like some privacy. I’ve stopped obscuring my thoughts enough for Mary to have a good idea of what’s going on, so I expect to not have to ask again. You’re not the only one who can be scary when they want to.”

There was a small rustle of movement from near one of the windows as two shadowy figures appeared. The shorter one gave a brief wave before they both walked out of sight. Seemingly content with the result, Kennedy’s attention returned to Will. “Come on; let’s go to the kitchen for ice. I wasn’t kidding about you needing some. And don’t you dare get that injury healed; it wouldn’t do for all your work to come apart just because one of those dicks saw you with an uninjured nose too soon.”

Will followed along, brain in overdrive as he tried to reassess the situation. He probably wasn’t in danger, since Mary would never have left if she’d seen violent thoughts in Kennedy’s mind. That didn’t mean he wasn’t in trouble, though; he’d definitely broken more than a few rules in this operation. Taking a deep breath, Will calmed himself. If he was busted, that was fine. He’d always been willing to pay the price if it meant keeping his friends safe. Take Back Lander and the identity-hunting enterprise was dead. The HCP seniors were as safe as they could be. If it cost him his spot, then so be it.

While he was mulling, Kennedy had produced a rag and some ice, wrapping the latter in the former and then handing both to him. Once he’d pressed the compact to his nose, she began to explain.

“To head off your first question at the pass, there is no Kennedy Dawson. Not really. We created her digitally and may have planted a few fake memories here and there. Nothing too personal; people can almost always catch those, and plus, if you set them far enough back people blame inconsistencies on the erosion of time. I stepped in at the beginning of the year as soon as we saw this little group form. The original plan was to do a quick infiltration and make sure they either disbanded or stayed on the straight and narrow. We’ve seen too many groups like this turn ugly not to keep an eye on them. Then you showed up to a meeting, and suddenly we had another opportunity.”

“Hang on; you were working against Take Back Lander? But you’re all that held them together,” Will reminded her.

“After I made sure we took as many polarizing stances as possible to drive reasonable people away. After I let the meetings grow cumbersome and pointless so that there was no sense of progress. After I whittled down the group to an ‘inner circle’ composed only of the least likable people we had to make sure any sense of relationship that might have formed never got traction. After I made us take up a course of action that would ensure we found virtually no empathy from anyone. Disperse a group too soon and members will take their passion and try to reform into something new. You have to make them hate the cause and everyone associated with it so they aren’t tempted to take up the fight once more. Again, though, most of that was because I had to shift to a long-term solution.”

“Right, and you did that because I was there.” Will was finally getting past the shock and thinking straight again. He’d have to work on this more; in the field he wouldn’t have the luxury of long recovery times. Being able to predict a lot of potential scenarios made him vulnerable when one came from left field. One more weakness to train. “So this was a test then? To see if I could handle dispersing Take Back Lander?”

“No, Will. This was a test to see how far you would go to disperse Take Back Lander.” Kennedy, since that was how Will still thought of her, suddenly had a very serious expression on her face. “To put it bluntly, you were on the bubble this year. We know about your past: your mother, your sister’s boyfriend, all of it. Some felt that you crossed the lines too freely, others pointed out that you’ve stayed within certain moral bounds. Subtlety Heroes are already under a lot of scrutiny, and every time one of us goes rogue it makes things worse. You’ve got talent, no one can debate that. What we didn’t know was if you had self-control. How far you’re willing to go as a Subtlety Hero matters, especially because you’ll often be the only one to keep yourself in check. So we gave you a test. We threatened your friends and waited to see how you’d respond.”

Carefully, Will adjusted the bundle of ice on his nose. “How did I do?”

“Like most of your past work, it went up to the line without quite crossing it. Having Nick punch you was smart; I couldn’t very well let it slide if you had him beat up civilians. And the part about letting them keep protesting legally was a nice touch. You made it about hunting identities rather than the group as a whole, more payback than oppression. Will, you’re a smart guy – too smart for your own good sometimes, but you’ve got a strained sense of morality and you’re still better with tech than people. My judgment is that you should be allowed to graduate, though you’ll need to intern under a Hero who knows your past and challenges. You need a watchful eye and a firm hand to make sure you become an asset to the Heroes, not a future liability.”

“A bit harsh, although I can’t say it’s an unfair assessment.” Will snapped to a new realization as the discussion turned to internships. “Wait, is this why I’ve gotten so little interest? Because I was being tested?”

“Mostly,” Kennedy confirmed. “Since I was the one willing to put in the work on vetting you, I got to call dibs. If I passed, then someone else could snatch you up, but they probably wouldn’t. Subtlety Heroes tend to have something of an honor system among ourselves. Plus, if I’d judged you to be a risk then there’s a good chance you wouldn’t have graduated.”

Will lowered the bag of ice and tentatively touched his nose. This whole situation had him feeling railroaded, like he had little say in the matter. The sharp jolt of pain helped bring him back to his senses. This woman might have been in charge of seeing how far he would go, but that didn’t mean he was obliged to intern under her. Both parties had to consent to an internship, even if the result was Will getting paired with someone as a leftover. Then again, he’d been impressed by her control of a room at every turn, and she’d definitely proven capable of deception. It wasn’t an idea he was entirely against, but there was still a major hurdle left to clear.

“If you want me to intern under you, I should probably know who you are first. Your Hero name, I mean.”

“Was wondering when you’d get around to that.” Kennedy held up her arms, and her entire shape rippled as a cloud of darkness formed around her. Seconds later it cleared to reveal a woman in a simple costume, her entire head obscured by a black mask. “The name is Misdirection, master of illusions and Subtlety Hero for Elemental Fury.”

“You work with Gale.” Will could have smacked himself in the face if not for the already wounded nose. “She more or less told me that people had their eyes on me. I just thought she meant in general.”

Another ripple of darkness. Misdirection vanished and a smirking Kennedy took her place. “Like I said, you’re still better with tech than people. That’s useful too, though, and it would be nice not to have to lean on Modus Operandi for all our hacking and gadget needs. I’m not going to be a gentle teacher, Will. I’m going to watch you like a hawk to make sure you don’t give in and start crossing lines. If you want to look for another Hero to intern under, I’ll give up my dibs and put you back on the market.”

Interesting an idea as it was, now that Will had figured out he had a choice, he found he didn’t want to exercise it. Misdirection was right; he did sometimes go too far when people he loved were involved: having a teacher who knew that and wanted to help him through it was his best shot at being a real Hero, not just someone who graduated with the title.

“I’ve got some friends already going to Brewster. Seems like as nice a place as any.” Will stuck out his hand to Misdirection. “If you’ll have me, teacher.”

She grasped it and gave a firm shake. “Don’t get overconfident; you still have to make the cut. But if you do, then a spot at my side is waiting for you. It’s the home stretch, Will, don’t fuck it up now.”

238.

There wasn’t much time left. Sure, in theory they still had a couple of months, but with every passing day the options grew fewer as other students locked their mentors down. Vince had accepted Jeremiah’s offer and was heading to Brewster, as was Will apparently. Chad might still be on the fence, but loads of others had gotten their futures set up. Meanwhile, Hershel and Roy were sitting on an offer from a respected strongman on a legendary team, unable to pull the trigger and accept.

Sitting at his desk, looking over Granite’s history, Hershel couldn’t find a single reason to decline the offer. The Hero had been great at his job for years; by all accounts he was tough, thorough, and careful. He’d already mentored one intern who was having a respectable career so far. Not to mention interning under Elemental Fury was a nice start for any Hero, given how well-known they were. It would offer him a solid education, a good boost to notoriety, and he’d even be in the same town as some friends. There was also the added bonus of being in the same city as Titan, so they could continue slowly repairing their relationship. Going with Granite was the smart, prudent move to make.

And yet… Hershel opened a new tab on his browser, pulling up the latest reports on Titan. The new incarnation of the Gentle Hammers was doing good work. Brewster didn’t seem to trust them entirely yet; there were more than a few articles questioning whether a fallen legend on a team of disgraced Heroes really had any place in their city. They were winning some people over – being publicly linked to Elemental Fury didn’t hurt in that regard – but there was still a long way up to go. Anyone starting out on that team was putting themselves in a PR hole. They’d be lumped in with those that many considered to be failures, and that reputation would extend to the interns as well.

Aside from the Gentle Hammers’ reputation, there was the more pressing issue that internships weren’t easy to terminate or transfer. If he and Roy were to intern under Titan, they would be pretty much stuck for two years. Yes, things were going well right now, however that was with everyone being careful and going slowly. Slapped on the same team, under Titan’s tutelage, there were countless ways for things to take a perilous turn. The relationship still felt fragile, like one bad fight could undo everything they’d managed. Hershel didn’t want that. Neither did Roy, even if he had more trouble admitting it. They finally had found some manner of peace with their father.

Hershel’s hands clicked back over to the tab with Granite’s information, but he wasn’t really looking at it. Instead, he was thinking about Ashley in that training cell, and Roy casually paraphrasing their father’s advice. Roy had come a long way in these last four years; it was hard to imagine the struggling relationship that the brothers once had. Much of that was due to their friends and teachers dragging him into adulthood. But there was no one, no teacher, no guide, whose words seemed to stay with Roy more consistently than the ones imparted by Titan. He’d been the lone soul who could get them over their limitation in sophomore year, he understood their power better than anyone else, he was the strongman among Heroes.

When things were scary, most people hoped for a Hero to appear. But when a Hero was hopelessly outclassed, they hoped for someone like Titan to show up. Roy had experienced that sensation for himself in May when defeat, if not death, seemed inevitable. As bad as that night had been, as scary as the amped-up Super had seemed, the minute he’d heard Titan’s voice he’d known without question that things would be okay. Because when Titan appeared, even gods grew fearful. Hershel and Roy wanted to be like that one day. Not just good Heroes, or even great ones, but nigh-unstoppable beasts of battle whose very presence could change the course of fate.

Granite was a fine Hero, and by all accounts a good man, but he wasn’t Titan. From the beginning, Roy had been consumed with surpassing their father, and even as the relationship mended that hadn’t changed. Hershel was with him, too. If they ever wanted to get out of the long shadow of Titan, Ettin had to be better than he was. Neither brother knew if such a thing was possible, since their power was different than his. But Titan seemed to think they could overtake him one day, and he’d yet to be wrong about their abilities so far. The thing was, if they ever wanted to do that, then the best path to it was by learning from Titan firsthand.

“I need to run.” Hershel closed the browser entirely and walked over to his closet, changing into workout clothes so he could go for a jog around campus. In the years since he’d had to start exercising, he’d taken to using running as a way to clear his head. Perhaps when he got back, he’d down a shot of whiskey and let Roy grapple with this for a while. The two of them would have to make the choice together, ultimately. If either of them was against the idea, then they’d intern under Granite. It wasn’t right to force the other into that situation. For his part, Roy still seemed uncertain, although he was beginning to entertain the idea of rolling the dice on a Titan internship more seriously.

In the end, it was a matter of pitting risk against reward. Working with Titan could go dangerously, powerfully wrong, but it also had the potential to make Ettin a better Hero. Learning from Granite was as safe as Hero work could get, and Ettin would come out well-trained… just perhaps not as well-trained as he could have been. Hershel wasn’t sure where they’d end up, only that they needed to make the choice soon. There was only so long left.

For his part, though, Hershel was leaning toward interning under their father. Yes, it was dangerous, but that was the nature of being a Hero anyway. And sure, he’d start with a PR demerit, but he was already a freak, a Powered turned into a Super. Once that leaked, he was going to be reviled by some folks regardless. If he was honest, Hershel almost felt more at home among the castoffs and the oddballs than the put-together legends. His time in Melbrook Hall had certainly prepared him for such company.

Stepping into the evening air, Hershel took a deep breath and began to run. For all the stress the choice was causing him, he was grateful to have it. There was a time when he and Roy would never have imagined seeing their father wearing the mask again, let alone considered learning from him. This was worlds better than what it could have been, and he made sure to stay thankful for it.

Being grateful for the good things, even when there was plenty of bad to be upset about, was just another of Owen’s lessons that he’d long ago taken to heart.

239.

For a moment, several of the students wondered if they had somehow forgotten about a Hero mixer. As they filtered into the gym, they found an abundance of men and women milling about waiting for them. The Hero idea was tossed out quickly, since none were in costume and few were in the sort of physical shape that Hero-work demanded. Dean Blaine stood in the center of the crowd, waiting patiently for his students to fall in line, which they all quickly did. A few noticed a familiar bald man among the sea of faces, and suddenly things clicked into place.

“Students, today we are holding a special session during your gym time, one that any of you with a decent memory should have been expecting.” Dean Blaine held out his hand, gesturing to the people scattered around the room. “As Mr. Nicolo was kind enough to inform you last year, agents are a key part of the Hero world. This is the time where you can meet, mingle, and see if you find one who feels like a good fit for you. Usually we hold these a little closer to Intramurals; however, protocols and schedules have been changed after last year. Those of you with no interest in an agent are free to train as usual if you’d prefer; not every Hero makes use of one. For those who would like to learn more about agents or find one to work with, please spread out and speak to as many as possible.”

Dean Blaine paused, glancing to the agents, who had all fallen silent and were watching him. He stared at them for several moments longer then coughed loudly. Finally taking the hint, several pulled laminated signs out from their briefcases and purses. Once that was done, Dean Blaine continued.

“Many of these agents have certain specialties or aversions. One might only work with advanced minds, others prefer male or female clients, and so on. I’ve asked those with such limitations to hold signs declaring them so that you can spend your time as efficiently as possible. Those of you who have a Hero name and image picked out, be prepared to discuss it at length, as your agent will absolutely want to know what sort of Hero they’re signing on to manage. Those of you without those aspects figured out, be aware that there is some limit on how deep you’ll be able to take the discussion. Also of note: while it is tempting to choose an agent located in the same town as your internship, do keep in mind that they are used to working with people all over the nation, so don’t consider geography to be a disqualifying limitation. Other than that, I believe the agents are capable of explaining themselves to you all, so start mingling.”

“Blaine, aren’t you forgetting something?” Lenny had sidled up to the dean’s side unnoticed, his stature and overall appearance allowing him to blend into a crowd easily.

“Ah, yes. As thanks for taking the time out to come speak with us last year, Mr. Nicolo has requested to chat with a few students before they enter the general meet-and-greet fray,” Dean Blaine said. “Who would you like to talk to?”

“It’s a short list, don’t worry.” Lenny didn’t so much as pull out a post-it note, he clearly had these names committed to memory. “Roy Daniels, Vince Reynolds, Alice Adair, and Shane DeSoto, let’s have a chat.”

There was some mumbling from the rest of the agents, although none of them were stupid enough to try and argue with Dean Blaine in his own school. This was a courtesy the HCP offered for the sake of its students; any agent who made waves would find themselves uninvited from the next year’s session.

“Those four, to Mr. Nicolo; the rest of you, find an agent and begin talking,” Dean Blaine ordered. No sooner had his words ended than the students broke off in different directions.

Vince, Roy, Alice, and Shane all made their way to the center of the gym where Lenny was waiting for them. He gave each one an enthusiastic handshake before motioning for them to huddle closely around him.

“All right, we’ve only got so long for this so I won’t beat around the bush here. I called you over because I’m looking to take all of you on as new clients. Now, you can go talk to the other agents if you want, I’m confident enough in my skills that I’m not threatened by some competition, but I do need an answer before you leave this gym so I can start everything moving. There’s a lot of groundwork to do with you all.”

“Wait, why us? You haven’t even heard our Hero names or anything,” Vince said.

Lenny snapped and turned his hand into a finger gun, pointing at Roy. “Ettin.” His hand moved as he motioned to Alice. “Legacy.” Another snap and the finger was aimed at Shane. “Styx.” The last snap and Vince was staring down the length of the finger. “And you, Mr. Reynolds, are undecided.”

“Styx?” Alice turned to Shane. “I figured you’d take your grandfather’s name. Why Styx?”

“A dark river that runs through the underworld felt like a good fit for someone wielding deadly blades of shadow. And it connects to Charon, which surprisingly made it more appealing than I expected. As for Captain Starlight… Angela earned that name, not me. Taking it without winning it feels wrong. Besides, with Grandfather in the public eye again, I think having another Captain Starlight out there would be confusing.”

“Tempting as it might be to manage such a legendary account, forging your own path is probably the right call,” Lenny agreed. “And I can work with Styx. I think you’ve got potential to go places, if someone manages you right. That power of yours is going to scare a lot of people, but scary can be useful in the right hands.”

“Okay, so I get why you’d want Shane, but I don’t even have a name yet, let alone a concept,” Vince reiterated.

“From what I hear, your name might be largely irrelevant given what you can do, but in the end it doesn’t matter what you pick – not so far as retaining my services go. An old friend asked me to look out for you three, and that’s what I’m doing.” Lenny lowered his voice significantly and motioned for all of them to come even closer.

“Sooner or later, word about you three is going to get out, and when it does you’re going to need someone with a lot of skill overseeing your image. Once the world finds out that you used to be Powereds, it’s going to be a goddamned shitshow.”

240.

Vince’s eyes had gone wide and he nearly choked on the words he worked to spit out. “You know about us?”

“He’s Titan’s agent.” Roy reached over and patted Vince lightly on the back, trying to shake him out of the shock. “Smart money says that’s the old friend who asked Lenny to take us on as clients. And Lenny ain’t the kind of guy who takes on work like that without knowing why.”

“If it makes you feel better, remember that agents have countless nondisclosure agreements in place, so even if I wanted to go public with that news I couldn’t,” Lenny assured Vince. “But from what I understand of the situation, your group was supposed to be a test case, meaning there will be more to come down the line. Sooner or later word is bound to get out. Any agent worth their salt would know to get out in front of it, would be ready for the story if not the one to break it. There’s only one shot at presenting you all to the public, and I’ve got some ideas to make the most of it.”

Shane held up a hand. After a few seconds of no one calling on him, he went ahead and spoke. “I can certainly see why Titan would want you watching over these three, but why did you call me over as well? I’ve never been a Powered.”

“No, you’re just the grandson of Captain Starlight, the current top of the class, and a guy wielding one badass power,” Lenny said. “This is still my job, scooping up hot prospects is part of it.”

“Shouldn’t you be going after Chad then? He’s the real top of the class; I only got his spot by a fluke.”

Lenny turned to see where Chad was, finally spotting him across the gym talking to an agent team from Buffalo. “First off, fluke or not, results still matter so stop selling yourself short. As for Chad, he seems like a great kid, and he’s a tough son of a bitch, but he’s got limited charisma. I have no doubt Chad will be a great Hero; my certainty in his ability to be a high-profile celebrity is lacking, though. You, on the other hand, have potential. Not to mention a power that I think most agents would mis-market, which makes taking you on all the more intriguing. I love a good challenge.”

“You’d better, if you’re looking to take on three former Powereds as clients.” Alice moved briefly from the huddle and scanned the room, taking note of all the men and women in business suits chatting up her classmates. There was no way to tell who was the best of the bunch and who was just hoping to milk some new graduates for quick cash before throwing them aside, not without proper research. In other circumstances, she might have called Charles to ask for guidance, but that was no longer an option. She’d either have to vet them all or put her faith in someone else’s judgment. Her eyes left the crowd and settled on Roy. There was no way to be delicate about this in such close quarters; however Lenny seemed the type to appreciate honesty. Maybe he wouldn’t mind. “Roy, you know Titan better than any of us. Do you trust his choice of agents?”

“She’s a blunt one. Noted.” Lenny muttered the words more with interest than annoyance.

“Only when I have to be,” Alice replied.

“Titan doesn’t always make the best choices, with life or career, but Lenny ain’t among the bad ones.” Roy paused to smile at the short agent, who returned the expression with unexpected sincerity. “He’s a good agent and a good man; he looked out for me and my mom when the scandal went down. Truth be told, I had already planned to spend this whole session trying to convince him to take me on as a client before he called our names.”

“Come on, kid. With your looks and power, booking you is a no brainer, even if me and Titan didn’t go back so far. I take it this means you’re signing on?”

“Hell yes,” Roy said. “It’s a damn honor.”

Sheepishly, mirroring Shane’s move earlier, Vince raised his hand. Unlike Shane, he didn’t wait for permission to speak up. “I’d like to sign on too. I trust Roy and Titan, if they say you’re an agent I could put my faith in then that’s enough for me. Besides, I have no idea what I’m supposed to be looking for in an agent anyway, so I don’t think I’d get anything from talking to more.”

“Show of faith appreciated,” Lenny replied. “Welcome aboard.”

The huddle was broken as Shane took a step away. “While I appreciate the offer, Mr. Nicolo, you’ll forgive me if I do meet with some of the other agents before making my decision. This is a large one, and as much as I enjoyed the summer training with Titan, I have to lean on my judgment above all others for something so important.”

Lenny gave a short nod. “I wouldn’t have pitched the idea if I wasn’t okay with it. Go, meet, schmooze. Just make sure any agent you talk to knows what you can do, not just your lineage. Our access to the Hero world means we get inside information, so pay close attention to what they made a point of committing to memory.”

“Sound advice. I’ll keep it in mind and get back to you before the end of class.” Shane turned and headed off to the nearest unoccupied agent, a tall woman who nearly seemed to trip over herself when she saw Shane heading her way.

“That kid is in for a lot of ass-kissing over the next hour.” Lenny moved in slightly, closing the gap that Shane had created and drawing the group in close once more. “Alice, you’re my last holdout. I need to end this so the other kids can talk to me if they want. You going to stroll around the room, or do you already know if I’m a good fit for you?”

“Ordinarily I’d be tempted to vet all my options, but since Roy and Vince have signed on, it makes the most sense to go with you,” Alice said. “If you can get us through the reveal, then we’ll be fine. If you can’t, then I’m probably sunk no matter what since I’ll get lumped in with any bad press from these two. But if you can pull it off and I choose another agent who bungles my reveal, then I risk dragging Roy and Vince down. The failure of any of us presents a high chance for the failure of all, so the soundest move I can make is to put all three of us in one person’s hands. Win or lose, we’ll do it together.”

Lenny lifted a single eyebrow. “I see someone lives up to the hype. No wonder you’re doing so well in Subtlety. It’s a pleasure to have you with us, Alice. I promise to do my best for all three of you. Four, if Shane comes back. In return, my request is that you always shoot straight with me. I can protect Heroes from a lot, but not if I don’t know what to watch for. You can lie to your shrink, your priest, and even yourself, just not to your agent. Everyone able to deal with that?”

The question was met with general mutterings of agreement, so Lenny broke out into a large grin and did another round of handshakes. “Great to hear. Now, you three should use the rest of this time to go train. People have high expectations for my Heroes, and I like to see them come out of graduation as strong as possible.”

241.

Something was off. She could feel it as soon as she stepped through the door of the house. Much of her time in the HCP was blurry, but some aspects of it were more deeply ingrained than mere memories. Jill trusted her instincts; she could sense the presence of strangers in her home. Mentally readying herself, she reached out to some of the security measures Will had installed throughout the house. Whoever had come here looking for trouble, they were going to find a fuckload more of it than they’d expected.

“Miss Murray, I’d ask that you please calm yourself.” From the kitchen stepped a short man in a black suit. She knew him; he was always with the Melbrook group, and they’d allowed Jill to retain memories of them.

“Mr. Numbers, right?” Her nerves weren’t soothed yet, nor did she move away from the security system. Familiar or not, this guy had still busted into her house, and that didn’t speak to pure intentions.

“That’s right, and the gentleman over in the corner is Mr. Transport.” Mr. Numbers nodded to the other end of the room, where a taller man in a very similar suit had stepped into view. “First off, let me assure you that we have not come to do you any harm. We simply needed a chance to speak with you privately, and this was the most expedient solution.”

From across the room, Mr. Transport piped up. “Plus your friends are going through a sort of recruitment today, so it seemed fitting to have this meeting.”

“A recruitment?” Jill’s eyes darted from one to the other and back, trying to wrap her head around the day’s sharp turn into the unexpected. Her afternoon plans had been margaritas and homework, not dealing with a pair of near-strangers conversationally ambushing her. “What does that even mean?”

“For them it means that they are talking with agents about their potential future as Heroes. For you, it means we would like to take a few minutes of your time to talk about a different kind of career path… one that is not quite so glamorous as Hero work yet comes with rewards all its own.”

Not entirely letting go of her connection to the house’s defenses, Jill set her backpack down on the floor and walked over to the couch, taking a seat. Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport moved closer, but stayed a healthy distance away, giving her ample space. Once she was comfortable, Jill motioned to the nearby chairs and the men sat.

“Look, I get that you probably didn’t mean for this to seem as creepy as it did, but you really need to work on your approach strategy.”

Mr. Transport shot Mr. Numbers a dirty look. “I told you we should have called ahead.”

“We find that people are often more receptive to new ideas when they aren’t prepared for them. Surprise opens up the mind,” Mr. Numbers said. “However, I do apologize for interrupting your day. If you’d like to put this off, we can come back another time.”

“No, you’re here, and I doubt this will take long. Let me save us all some trouble: I don’t want to be a Hero. It wasn’t easy to come to that decision, and I’m not going to pretend part of me doesn’t wonder ‘what if’ about staying, but every time I think back to why I left I know it was the right call for me. So I’m not interested in Hero work, okay?”

“We are keenly aware of your feelings, it’s why we came to speak with you.” Mr. Numbers pulled a card from his pocket and handed it to Jill, who took it carefully. “Full health benefits, 401k, paid travel, and the chance to make a difference. Plus if you turn the card over you’ll find your starting salary.”

Jill flipped it over and coughed loudly. “Heroes don’t make this kind of money.”

“Some do through merchandising, although you’re correct that their government salary isn’t nearly at this level. But we aren’t government workers, officially. We’re part of a company with government contracts, and we’re compensated appropriately,” Mr. Numbers explained. “The Hero system is as much about image as it is about action, Miss Murray. Those big, costumed battles in the public eye are vital to shaping the nation’s view of Supers, but such a system is not tenable on its own. There are other tasks to be handled, occasionally entailing the kinds of things that no Hero could ever be caught doing. Sometimes that means extracting hostages before a Hero can enter a scene; sometimes it demands we deal with information leaks in a forceful manner. Our job often varies, though two things remain constant: we work to keep the world safe, and we do not engage criminal Supers publicly.”

“That sounds like what Subtlety Heroes do,” Jill pointed out.

Mr. Transport shifted in his chair. “There is some overlap. Remember that the Hero system is a constantly evolving one. But there’s more than enough work to go around. Plus, Subtlety Heroes largely concern themselves with localized threats to their team or city. We take a broader approach, going where we’re needed. We also focus on human threats as much as Super ones, whereas Hero work tends to slant one’s priorities to the Super side.”

“You are a talented woman, Miss Murray,” Mr. Numbers told her. “Your power is exceptional, with a multitude of uses, and you had the incredible level of determination required to reach year four in the HCP. In the weeks to come, you should brace for interest from many parties. If the CIA doesn’t already have a plan to approach you, I’d be shocked, and the FBI won’t be far behind. Technology is one of the few weapons humans have against Supers, and you can control it. That makes you valuable.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have told me that I’m about to get wooed by a bunch of people if you’re trying to recruit me.” Jill looked at the numbers on the card again, making sure she wasn’t reading them wrong. She wasn’t. “Then again, you did come with one hell of an opening offer.”

Both men rose from their chairs, and Mr. Transport stepped over to Mr. Numbers. “Actually, the fact that you’re going to get courted is why we came now. We wanted you to have all the information possible when it came time to pick a path for yourself. See, Mr. Numbers and I didn’t have a lot of choice when we got recruited; we needed the company’s help. Ultimately it worked out fine for both of us, but we’ve never forgotten how it felt to be painted into a corner like that. Now that we get to do the recruiting, we make sure our potential employees know they have a choice.”

“I appreciate that, I do. But if I’ve got all these options coming my way, why should I pick yours? Tell me what sets you apart.”

“A multitude of things that we can get into at a later date, once you have had time to think things over,” Mr. Numbers said. “The key difference, however, is a simple one. Ours is the only job offer that can provide you the chance to keep watching over your brother, should he graduate. If you want to help Will, to be part of his Hero-life, then ours is the company for you. Think it over. We’ll be in touch, but next time we’ll call first.”

They were gone without another word, leaving Jill alone in her home with nothing but a business card and a lot more confusion than she’d been prepared for.

242.

By Dean Blaine’s standards, the agent meeting had gone well. He was always wary of that profession, having heard many a horror story from Heroes who had their images mishandled, but it was impossible to deny that some of them did make life easier on their clients. As an administrator, Dean Blaine never allowed any of the agents with unsavory reputations to set foot on his campus. Unfortunately, people who were respectable one year might slide down the moral scale by the next, leaving the students who had signed with them in the lurch. This meeting he considered good because nearly everyone had either found an agent they felt comfortable with or walked away with some solid leads.

It was no surprise that after traipsing around the room, Shane had ended up returning to Lenny. He was a smart boy, and no doubt took note of how many other students swarmed Mr. Nicolo the minute his initial group broke up. Even Chad, who was catching more than a bit of woo from the various agents, had worked his way through the line to have a talk with Lenny. To the man’s credit, he’d made no promises to anyone beyond his initial group of four, stating that he had to wait until he’d visited all the schools before deciding how many new clients to take on.

Dean Blaine was glad when the session was finally over, as he had plenty more on his plate. This evening he had to head to Washington for another meeting with Graham; he’d be back by morning for more school work. Technically he could take a day away from campus if needed, but that had always been a challenge for Dean Blaine. After seeing his school attacked, the very notion was preposterous. Even though part of him knew that sooner or later Lander would have to function without him present, that was a hurdle he was putting off dealing with until it was necessary, though that didn’t mean he wasn’t laying the groundwork.

Professor Baker was already waiting for him in his office. Punctuality was one of Ariel’s many admirable traits, as was preparedness. He saw that she had a pen and paper in hand, ready to take notes in their meeting. Hard as it was to imagine this school without him at the helm, the moments of readiness she displayed did help ease his fears. It wasn’t that he lacked faith in Ariel, or that he would have preferred to hand the reins off to someone else. It was simply that Dean Blaine had grown accustomed to walking with the weight of this school and its students on his back, and he was unsure how he’d step forward once it was removed.

“That was one of the better agent meetings I’ve had,” he announced, shutting the door behind him as he headed for his desk. “Be prepared for some of them to be less than cordial, or to try and sell students a bill of goods you know they won’t deliver. There are few who really last long-term in the job, but those that do are usually excellent resources for finding out which of their colleagues are worth dealing with.”

“Wouldn’t they try to steer you away from inviting any real competition?” Professor Baker asked.

“The new ones would, certainly. Those who have been around for a while have learned better. They understand the value in having an HCP dean trust them, and most of the truly established agents already have more Heroes wanting to be clients than they have spots to fill. For them, it’s about the quality of the client, not the quantity. Or did you not notice Mr. Nicolo playing coy?”

The scratch of a pen running across paper briefly interrupted them as Professor Baker scrawled quick notes. “I saw. So be ready for trouble and prepared to act. In that regard, historically you have them publicly thrown out of the building. Is that standard HCP procedure, or just you?”

“Sort of hard to say,” Dean Blaine replied. “It’s not exactly written down anywhere, but all the deans tend to take the same approach. Makes the other agents understand there are swift and immediate consequences for abusing our hospitality. When you’re the dean, you’ll be free to handle it in whatever way you deem appropriate.”

More scratching: a pleasant noise of preparation, and one to which Dean Blaine was well-accustomed by now. There was no easy way to train someone on the job of being dean for an HCP. While new deans would know the school and procedures from having worked as teachers, it didn’t change the fact that being in charge came with its own slew of challenges and tasks. The best method he’d come up with was the same one used by his own predecessor: allowing Lander’s next dean to watch his myriad of tasks, take notes, and ask questions. It wouldn’t be a perfect system – there were always unforeseen issues that popped up when one was running the show instead of watching it – but it should give Professor Baker a good head start. Besides, dealing with the unexpected was a core part of a dean’s job. If he thought she couldn’t handle that, he’d have never nominated her for the position in the first place.

“Probably won’t rock the boat my first year, but I may try a slightly gentler approach down the line.” Professor Baker looked up from her pad at last. “Letting one of the agents have an advanced crack at several students was an interesting move, I’ve never seen you do that before. Should I expect Mr. Nicolo to request similar treatment in the years to come?”

“I doubt it. He is nothing if not a man who understands the push and pull of favors. Even this would have been more than I might have permitted if not for the circumstances the three from Melbrook face. They will need a strong hand to guide them, and I’ve found few agents with a reputation like Mr. Nicolo’s. If there is an agent out there who can help them, he’s the most likely candidate.”

“Got it, so he knows it was a one-time deal,” Professor Baker said.

With some effort, Dean Blaine suppressed a snicker. “Oh no, I’m sure he’ll want to pull a similar move in the years to come. My point is that he’s wise enough to understand such things don’t come free. He’ll try to barter favors for the privilege, like coming to speak here again. How he makes it worthwhile is up to you to decide. Just remember: the man negotiates professionally and is renowned for it, so be ready to dig in for a long haggle.”

“I’ve been known to make some pretty good deals myself.” Professor Baker added a few brief words to the end of her page. “That’s all the questions I had on the agent session. What’s next?”

From within his desk, Dean Blaine produced a single page and slid it across the desk. “What’s next is that it’s time to take you downstairs. Your conditional approval has come through, meaning you now have clearance to access some of the more protected areas where only deans are permitted. Today I have a meeting with the heads of the other HCP schools to go over details for Intramurals, and I think it’s a perfect opportunity to make introductions. Not to mention it will let you see how much work goes into the task of coordinating Intramurals. I won’t be surprised if you withdraw your application for the job after we tackle that.”

“Somehow, I think I’ll find the inner strength to persevere.” Professor Baker took her pen and pad as she rose, heading to the door. “Lead the way, sir.”

Dean Blaine got up as well, motioning for her to leave and turning to firmly shut the door behind them. As he did, his eyes fell upon the empty office, his empty office… except it wasn’t really his, just like it hadn’t belonged to any of the deans before him. It belonged to the school and the person who headed it, which meant it was always on loan at best. One day, he’d come here and see Ariel’s version of the room, although deep down he knew he’d avoid that moment for as long as possible. Because when that happened, it would be the day he knew in his heart he was no longer the dean of Lander’s HCP.

Closing the door firmly, Dean Blaine set his sights on the hallway ahead. Sentimental musings could wait until he had the time to indulge them. For now, there was still plenty of work that demanded the dean’s attention.

243.

It had taken a lot more work to get this job than it should have. Anyone looking at the situation objectively could see that Sean Pendleton was the logical choice to fill the role: he had the least to lose if things went awry and the most training in how to keep his secrets even against other Supers. Yet Blaine had still wanted to take on this task himself, even if it put the opportunity to rise up the DVA’s ranks at risk. That was the trouble with Blaine, in Sean’s opinion; he was never as good at delegation as he needed to be. Be it back in their days as students, in the field, or working as the HCP’s dean, Blaine always tried to brave the worst, most dangerous jobs himself. It was respectable, in that no one ever felt like he was putting his own interests before others, but it was also annoying as hell when he refused to acknowledge that letting someone else take the risk had a higher chance for success.

In the end, it was scheduling that finally won the battle. Dean Blaine was in high demand with Intramurals right around the corner and the time required to get Professor Baker ready to take over for him. That wasn’t even counting all the meetings with the DVA over increasing security to make sure no one took a cue from the Sons of Progress and tried to strike when all the schools were gathered. As things stood, the dean of Lander simply couldn’t up and vanish for a few hours. It would raise too many questions, and at this point, suspicion was something they had to avoid at all costs.

The fuckup former prisoner, on the other hand, wasn’t nearly so essential to the HCP’s operations. True, if he went off-the-grid without notice and popped up in some other country alarm bells might go off, but Sean had been loyally serving his sentence as a professor for years now, which would likely diffuse concern. Beyond that, there was nothing inherently suspicious about where he was going. Over the past year he and Blaine had been reestablishing old friendships, and the connection with Clarissa was no secret. She’d even come to speak to an HCP class as a favor to them. So who was going to think much of him taking a day out of his weekend to go visit an old classmate?

A few people, probably. Sean had been in the Subtlety game long enough to know that someone out there was likely ready to call in a squad for recapture every time he took too long in the bathroom. But what mattered was how out of place the interaction might look, and that aspect he had minimized. Without cause, the most that would be spared to watch over him were some barebones monitoring personnel, and that assumed they didn’t just toss a bug on him and call it a day. That sort of thing might have been tricky to deal with under normal circumstances; however, today they had an ace up their sleeve. Anyone who tried to spy on Clarissa’s house was only going to see the two of them having a nice, boring conversation and trying to plan a trip for those that remained of their classmates – for that was the illusion that Globe would project around them.

Sean arrived a few minutes late, out of showmanship rather than necessity. He wasn’t known for being prompt, so there was no sense in making it seem like this meeting somehow merited particular timeliness or attention. After two knocks, Clarissa opened the door, scowl on her face as she ushered him inside and chided him for being late. They kept up the pretense for a few minutes, until she changed the topic toward refreshments. Sean paused, ostensibly thinking over what he would like to drink. Seconds later, a new voice spoke.

“You asked for a glass of whiskey, and Clarissa reminded you it’s barely eleven in the morning, so she’s going to bring you coffee instead. I can fill you in on more details before we leave.” From the shadows of an unlit hallway stepped a familiar figure, one that Sean had spent a long time expecting never to see again. He looked good, all things considered. Tired around the eyes, but that was always true of Phil. Otherwise, he seemed normal, like he could pass for a mundane stranger instead of legendary criminal. Except for the missing arm: that part gave him away.

Until this moment, Sean wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to say to his old friend. So much had happened in the time between their last meeting, so many losses and revelations. Ultimately, it turned out that no words came immediately to mind. Instead, Sean stepped forward and wrapped Phil in a strong hug. Phil returned the gesture, putting a good amount of force into the one-armed embrace.

When they finally parted, Sean’s tongue found itself moving once more. “When you busted George out of jail, you had your other arm back. I thought maybe you’d found yourself a strong healer.”

A touch of sadness flashed in Phil’s eyes. “No, I don’t think it’s a wound that needs to be healed. It’s the price I paid for taking my best friend’s life, and a daily reminder of what I owe in penance. I just create and manipulate a prosthetic one when I’m working. Practicality has to win out in those moments.”

“That sounds more like something I’d say than you.” Sean pulled fully away from the hug, putting some distance between them. It was good to see Phil again, but that didn’t change the fact that they had a lot to discuss. All he and Blaine were going on were the secondhand accounts of hallucinations conjured by a dream-walker. If they were going to build real trust, to work together to find Shelby and expose Charles, there were a lot of gaps to fill in. “Been up to anything interesting over the last decade or so? Adopt a kid, form a secret cabal of renegade Supers, maybe bust into the HCP digging for classified info?”

“All of it, and so very much more. Although I didn’t create my group, not really,” Phil corrected. “I just found them, gathered them, and discovered a purpose we could all work toward together. If anyone created them, it’s the corrupt people in the Hero system. I’m not the only one who has been wrongfully cast aside or hurt. However, I’d prefer to let them tell you their own stories in their time, it’s not my place to share another person’s painful secrets. Anything you want to know about me, though, I’ll be glad to answer. It’s the very least that I owe you.”

That was disappointing. Sean had hoped to leave here with more information about their prospective allies, but maybe he’d still get some tidbits about what they could do. Overall it wasn’t a huge loss; the big questions were all for Phil anyway. There was so much to understand, so many pieces to put together. The logical method would be to simply have Phil go through the whole story from his side. Prudent as it might have been, there was something more pressing on Sean’s mind, a question that had been burning in him for years upon years. There were days it threatened to destroy him, and times when it was all that kept him moving forward. Now, finally in the presence of someone who might have an answer, Sean found he didn’t have the self-control to take the logical route. His question would be asked first, or it might tear its way out from inside his chest.

“Do you know where Shelby is?”

Phil’s eyes darted briefly to Clarissa, then back to Sean. “No. And in a way, yes. We don’t have the geographic location or anything like that, but based on the small amount of intel we’ve gotten, it seems that she’s being kept in the same place the Powered treatment is being perfected. If we find my brother’s lab, we find Shelby.”

It was the answer Sean had expected, if not the one he secretly hoped for, and for the moment his question was soothed back into submission. “Let’s talk more about that lab. And the treatment. All of it, really. Bring me up to speed here; tell me everything that’s happened to the great and powerful Globe since he supposedly died.”

Clarissa turned toward her kitchen. “I’ve heard this story already, so I’m going to put on some coffee. Trust me, you’ll need it.”

244.

“Maybe we can pitch it as a reformation program. Like you’re showing me what sorts of heights I could aspire to if I stay on the straight and narrow.”

Mr. Numbers grumbled slightly under his breath, moved a bishop, and shook his head. “None of the higher ups want you aspiring to greater heights. They saw what you did with the limited power you had and don’t want you chasing more of it. Remember: you didn’t get cut from the program, you got expelled. That’s a large distinction.”

Convincing Mr. Numbers to hold his and Mary’s chess game at Nick’s apartment had been relatively easy; as a man who dealt in clandestine meetings, he understood the need to change locales when situations demanded it. The more challenging hurdle was the reason Nick had asked Mary to move the game: so he could try and talk Mr. Numbers into helping him see Intramurals. It was a sizable request and Nick knew it, yet he remained convinced it could be done if they just found the right angle.

“Go at it from the other direction then: make this a ‘scared straight’ kind of thing where you impress upon me the level of ass-kicking I’m in for if I try to mess with my old classmates.” Nick was seated on the couch while Mr. Numbers and Mary played at the dining room table, absentmindedly flipping through DVA bylaws regarding the HCP, looking for any avenue he might be able to exploit to gain entrance. It was unlikely he’d uncover much, but the whole idea was more or less impossible to start with, so an unlikely lead was still one worth pursuing.

“This would be a lot easier if you could just have Dean Blaine give you access,” Mary pointed out. She moved her knight into a new position, fully aware that it would be taken in the next few moves. After nearly four years of playing constant chess games with Mr. Numbers, she’d succeeded in learning to significantly prolong their matches. She never won, of course, but she took some measure of pride in the fact that her strategies had evolved substantially with him as an opponent.

From the couch, Nick let out a sharp laugh. “I’ve got a better chance of sneaking past the DVA and all the security on campus than making that happen. No way the dean can just open the door and let in someone he expelled and mind-wiped – especially not when every other dean and a big chunk of the DVA will be present. That kind of stunt would lead to questions we do not want to answer, particularly given where things are now.”

“The same could be said of any method you suggested,” Mr. Numbers said. “Even if we made it look like we used some sort of loophole or trick to force Dean Blaine’s hand, it presents needless peril. I think you know that; so that leaves us with the question of why you seem so intent on watching the fights. Your friends know you support them and would be there if you could, but your physical presence will ultimately change nothing. Why not simply let this pass and wait to hear how the battles shake out?”

For a heartbeat, Nick was almost tempted to tell them the full truth – that even he wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be there, that he never would have floated such a ludicrous idea normally. It was only a strange feeling in his gut that drove the thought onward, a hunch that refused to be ignored. A year ago, even a few months, he’d have dismissed it as sentiment manifesting under the guise of intuition. But things were different now. Nick still didn’t have complete proof of this expanded version of his power or any idea how reliable it might be, but it hadn’t steered him wrong yet. If some aspect of fate or fortune was urging him to attend Intramurals, then that was what he would try to do. It might end up being little more than a waste of time, but it was his time to waste, and he far preferred that to leaving his friends hanging if they needed him. That was a bit too cumbersome to explain to Mr. Numbers, though, so instead Nick fell back on a lie that still managed to be almost entirely true.

“Boredom, mostly. Class here has never been what I would consider a challenge, and I’m pretty sure I can smoke all my finals without having to crack a book. I’ve got my summer lined up doing volunteer work on a few small-time campaigns to get the networking mojo flowing. Obviously I’m out of the HCP so there’s no terror of graduation dangling over my head or big final tests to get through, yet those are things most of my friends are preoccupied with. Even the covert work has dried up since our allies decided to reach out to alternate information sources. This is my way to kill time: trying to find a method to wrangle myself a ticket to the HCP Intramurals so I can cheer on my friends.”

From the table, Mary spared him a brief glance. She knew the truth, only because Nick had found it was more effort than it was worth to hide his thoughts around her. That, and perhaps there was some part of him that found a touch of comfort in having a friend he didn’t need to explain things to, who simply knew the score at all times. Probably the first one, though… or that’s what Nick told himself anyway.

“Any non-criminal project that keeps Nick occupied is a good thing,” Mary said. “You know what they say about idle hands.”

“I beg your pardon. I work on my dexterity every single day; these hands are anything but idle. Want to see a card trick?”

“Pass.” Mr. Numbers had apparently decided to answer for the whole room – not that Mary was going to object – before sliding a pawn into position. A few more moves, and this game would be done, although Mary had put up an exceptional fight. “If you really want to get in, you’re going to need someone with clout to get you that invite. Not just HCP clout either; they need favors to call in from the DVA. You need the push of someone important enough that it’s not worth the trouble for anyone to tell them no.”

Nick mentally flipped through the number of people he knew who fit such a bill. “Too bad Alice’s dad isn’t fond of me… and is also an insane secret tyrant. Otherwise he might have been my best shot.”

“There’s a little bit of time left, maybe you can go make some new friends with loads of power they don’t mind casually throwing around for a near stranger.” Mary paused, moved a pawn of her own, and then resumed. “I realize that might have come off as sarcastic, but it wasn’t entirely meant to be. If anyone can do something like that, it’s you. I’ve watched people fly, punch through concrete, and turn into living fog, but you’ve still pulled off things I genuinely consider to be impossible. I mean, you’re dating Alice for goodness sake. This has to be easier than someone like you winning over a woman like her.”

“Hurtful, but not entirely inaccurate. Perhaps I’ll dig around a little more and see what I can find. I am quite good at making friends, when I want to be.” Nick set down the bylaws and picked up his laptop to start a new kind of research. He’d barely turned the power on before he heard Mr. Numbers say “checkmate” from across the room. There were bound to be a few people who fit the bill on what he needed and were open to useful alliances. After all, who didn’t need a little more luck in their lives?

245.

Clarissa was right; coffee had been a good call. Phil talked for a large chunk of the morning, about faking the death of Globe, going into hiding, finding and raising Vince, ultimately faking his own death again to keep the boy away from the operatives Charles had sent searching for Globe. From there, it was more wandering and living under the radar for a couple of years until chance brought him back into contact with an old friend who was also on the run: Gerard. The Hero once known as Raze was missing, publicly presumed dead by many, and living in the shadows where he could. Neither were quite sure why no one used a tracking Super to run him down, but their best hunch was that nobody wanted Raze dragged into the public eye, kicking up a fuss and contradicting the existing story. As long as he stayed out of sight, he got to keep on living, if one could use that term to describe what he was doing.

From there, things spiraled outward. Each had thought himself an anomaly, but now that they knew two Heroes had been screwed over by the system it wasn’t hard to assume there would be more. Tentative, careful feelers were sent out, and over time they found more of their lot. Not all were willing to fight, though some passed word on to others that they knew. Slowly, the group came together, a band of those the Hero world had forsaken, set on exposing the corruption to the world. George had been a surprise that came to light when they discovered he was fishing around in the same pools of information; both had taken it as a given that he was in on Raze’s fall from grace. After meeting with Phil, George joined the movement and brought Persephone along as well. Some who the system had betrayed were left in their positions on the condition of silence, a condition neither George nor Persephone could bear any longer.

Through the tale, Sean marveled at what Phil had done. Most would have rolled over after being turned on by their own brother, or gone mad with rage and sought revenge. Only the few like Phil would marshal tragedy into motivation that could be used, harnessed to pull out the source of the corruption by the root. He hadn’t gone crazy over what had been done to him; rather he resolved that he would be the last to experience it. This was the reason that people followed him, the same reason why even in the Class of Legends, Phil had stood out.

“…and after we compared enough notes, it became clear that the only way to bring this out into the open was to expose something huge, done by someone so connected and influential that it would thrust every major decision of the last few decades into suspicion. When we uncover Charles’s crimes, we can show how much manipulation went on in the shadows. It should be more than enough to warrant independent investigation under close public scrutiny. If it goes well, then perhaps some of those hurt by the system can have their lives back, but at the very least this should make it harder for those kinds of tricks to be pulled in the future.”

Sean drained the last of his coffee, thinking over the plan carefully. This was the other side of Phil’s mentality, the part that was problematic. He was too optimistic, too hopeful. As much as that gave him the willpower to do incredible things, at times it also clouded his judgment. Intra had been the more pragmatic one, tempering Globe’s idealist nature with reminders of how the world actually worked.

“Look, Phil, I’m on board. I want to make that clear from the outset. You’re searching for my sister and trying to topple the bastard who took her away from me in the first place. If the plan to do that involved busting into the Pentagon I’d still be with you. But there are powerful people with a lot to lose out there. Charles is a lynchpin. Dragging his sins into the light will absolutely get things moving. You need to understand that it might not be enough, though. Cover-ups happen, and with enough money and influence there are always a few ‘get-out-of-jail-free’ cards to play. This will shake things up, no question, but I don’t think it’s going to be the silver bullet you’re hoping for.”

Despite the pessimistic reply, Phil didn’t seem bothered. He was still smiling, still more cheerful than any man who’d endured his life had a right to be. “Trust me, I know. If there’s one thing Intra’s death taught me, it’s that things are never as simple or easy as we want them to be. I understand that this is probably only going to be the first blow in a long battle, but I can give us an advantage by making sure the initial strike is a strong one. From there, I’ll have to trust others to carry on the fight. People like Graham DeSoto and Blaine in the DVA, and you in the HCP. Not all of the people I found are on this team. Some of them are still out there, waiting for the signal that our battle has begun before they take up the fight in their own ways. I get it: this is the beginning, not the end. But this is still my part to play. I have to do my best with it.”

“You make it sound like you’re not going to be around for whatever comes after,” Sean noted. Across the room, Clarissa wordlessly rose from her seat and stepped away. That simple action gave away the answer before Phil opened his mouth.

“I won’t be. I can’t be.” Phil lowered his eyes from Sean’s, looking down at Clarissa’s coffee table. “Even if I get exonerated for Intra’s death, and that’s a big ‘if’ off the bat, I’ve broken too many laws. Avoiding arrest, breaking into a prison, accessory to attempted kidnapping, and that’s just the ones most people know about. There’s no version of this where I’m not locked up once the dust settles. At the very best, if things go perfectly to plan, I’m still going to end up in a white jumpsuit for the rest of my life.”

His eyes lifted from the table, meeting Sean’s once more. “And I’m at peace with that. I’m never going to be a Hero again, not after everything that’s happened. At least this way I have the chance to go out making a difference one last time: making the Hero system better for all the people who still need it, still trust it. Making sure my son never ends up in the same position that I did. For all of that, a few decades in prison is a small price to pay.”

“You deserve better than that.”

“I killed my best friend. I don’t deserve even the happiness I’ve gotten.” Phil took a moment to collect himself before continuing. “I trust you, Sean. I’ll tell you everything we know, everything we’ve got planned, bring you fully into the circle. But I have one demand in exchange: keep the kids away from this. I know you had to use them to get the messages from Abridail and that’s fine. Let that be it. Enough futures have been lost already; I want your word that theirs won’t end up on the chopping block. I think my son and his friends are going to do great things for the world one day. I can’t rob them of the chance by letting them get caught up in the last generation’s dirty laundry.”

“I won’t bring them in any deeper,” Sean promised. It wasn’t technically a vow to keep them fully away from the action, because he knew such words would be meaningless. Those kids had a talent for finding their way into trouble, and it was entirely possible they’d stumble into something on their own. Sean could only push them away to the best of his ability.

Phil seemed to get it, or to take Sean on the spirit of the promise more than the words themselves. He took a long breath, chanced a glance out the window, and then leaned in slightly. “We’re close. Very close. And if all goes well, we hope to have the data decrypted by our next real window for action: the day when the HCP and the DVA will all have its attention focused on something other than us.”

Years of working in and teaching Subtlety weren’t for nothing. Sean instantly connected the dots Phil was setting out. “Intramurals. You want to strike the lab while the DVA’s focus is on security for Intramurals.”

246.

It wasn’t hard to discern the reason behind the meeting. There were, after all, a limited number of topics about which Dean Blaine would call the specific group of Alice, Chad, Shane, and Vince down to discuss on a Sunday. As a whole, the HCP was usually pretty good about respecting the sanctity of weekends, allowing its students time to recover as well as participate in the normal college lifestyle. These days were important, because they both permitted the students to better hide their identities and allowed them a small sense of normalcy. That shred of regular life would only diminish the deeper they went into the Hero world, so the staff generally made a point of letting them enjoy as much of it as possible. But there were exceptions, and this was one of them.

“While I am not permitted to tell you any details about what the matches will entail, and in fact I don’t have the details to share, we have found that it is easier to bring our students in and explain the overall process for Intramurals ahead of time.” Dean Blaine stood before them in his office, with Professor Baker off to the side taking notes for some reason. The best guess in the room was that maybe he needed to have a witness on hand as proof that he didn’t slip them any additional information that might give them an edge. They all knew Dean Blaine would never do such a thing, but perhaps the preceding HCP deans had not shared his moral conviction.

“Sixteen students will be participating, three from every school except for the host, who is given a fourth spot to round out the numbers. It will be comprised of single, one-on-one matches where the loser is eliminated and the winner moves forward. The slots for each match are already set in terms of which school will be fighting against which; we space them out in a way to make sure that several rounds would pass before students from the same school were able to fight one another. At the start of Intramurals, every student will draw one of their school’s slots at random and the bracket will be set.”

Quietly, Chad raised his hand to get Dean Blaine’s attention. The others expected Dean Blaine to ignore the interruption until he was done, but to their surprise he paused and nodded at Chad.

“Is single elimination really the best method for such a contest? If we are looking to determine overall skill, this is a poor choice. Someone of considerable ability could simply be put against a Super whose power is perfectly suited to dealing with them, like the classic advanced mind and strongman example.”

“Most strongmen have to find ways to deal with advanced minds anyway,” Dean Blaine pointed out.

“True, yet it missed my point. If the real goal is to measure overall prowess there should be some checks in place, or at least a loser’s bracket of some sort to allow for redemption. This system has flaws.”

Dean Blaine didn’t respond quite as quickly this time, mulling over Chad’s words. “Every system has flaws; that’s just the nature of living in an imperfect world. Circling back to the example with the advanced mind and the strongman, you’re the one who missed my point, Chad. Strongmen have to find ways to deal with advanced minds because in the field they could end up in that battle. Any fight can happen, at any time. We’re not doing this to see who is the best in a balanced, fair competition. The goal is for students to prove who among them is the best in terms of Heroic battles. Those fights aren’t fair, almost ever. Usually we’ll have an upper hand; sometimes the crooks will have the advantage. But you still have to fight on all the same. Being a Hero means sometimes overcoming obstacles that seem unassailable as much as it means not letting yourself get complacent. The tournament works on the same principle as the real Hero world: you only get one shot to win. Usually if you fail, you’re taken out in a far more permanent fashion.”

“Ah. So this is a philosophical test more than a purely practical one. Objection withdrawn.” Chad set his hand back in his lap and waited patiently for the talk to resume.

“As I was saying, once you’ve drawn your slots, the field conditions will also be determined at random. You might end up doing battle in a plain combat cell like the ones you’re accustomed to. Just as easily, you could be in a large open area with nothing between you and the enemy, or a mock city such as the one you’ve handled training exercises in. There are also fields like you saw in sophomore year, as well as new terrains that are rocky, cold, wet, and so on. The goal is to keep you on your toes until the very last moment, so that even once you know what a potential opponent can do you’ll still have to formulate a strategy based on the environment. Remember: by its nature Hero work is reactionary. We very rarely get to choose where we do battle. Often it’s a city, but not always. Being able to adapt to new terrain and enemies is very much a part of what makes a successful Hero.”

Dean Blaine scanned the students to make sure they were taking in the information well. It wasn’t especially complex, but sometimes the sheer pressure of what they were facing could make it difficult to absorb on the first pass. This didn’t appear to be the case, however, as every gaze was looking back without a shred of confusion. The class had done a good job picking these four as their representatives, for their power as much as their ability to stay calm when things got rough. The latter might prove to be more important than the former, depending on what opponents they drew.

“If any of you have more questions, now is a fine time to ask them.”

Like a blur, Shane’s hand went up first, and Dean Blaine motioned for him to speak.

“Sir, what is the soonest we might be able to fight someone from Lander? You said the slots for each school are pre-set, so assuming we all win our matches, when could we go up against one another?”

There wasn’t a question in anyone’s mind who Shane wanted to have a match with. Given the public nature of the contest and his feelings toward the way he’d earned the top spot, this was his best chance for a final, definitive bout against Chad.

“The semi-finals,” Dean Blaine said. “If you and the other Lander student on your side of the bracket win both of your first two fights, then you would face one another before the final bout. Since the goal is to test our students against new opponents, we’ve structured the contest in a way that keeps you pitted against the other schools for as long as possible.”

“Two fights,” Shane repeated. He leaned forward in his chair, meeting eyes with Chad. “I can do that. How about you?”

“My goal is to win the entire competition, so passing the first two fights is a given. However, that’s only true if we end up in exactly the right layout. It’s possible you could keep winning and not see me until the very end.”

“Fine by me, if that’s what it takes.” Shane grinned at his friend, who returned the gesture with a small smile of his own.

“Good,” Chad told him. “I hope you can see that resolve through. This won’t feel like a satisfying victory unless I can defeat you to earn it.”

247.

There had never been any question that Titan would take the time to see Intramurals. His frequent association with Lander’s dean over the last year meant getting in wasn’t an issue, and for a time he’d suspected his sons might be competing. Although it hadn’t panned out that way, he still wanted to see the matches; after spending the preceding summer helping train all of the competitors, Titan wanted to witness how much they’d grown in their final year at Lander. Titan was always going to attend Intramurals, but several days before the competition kicked off it wasn’t Titan who made a special trip to Lander, it was Owen Daniels.

He didn’t often show up to these sorts of places out of costume anymore; now that he was back in the Hero life it felt important to own that identity, especially when younger Supers were on hand to see him. This wasn’t Hero business, however. At least, not primarily. No, today he’d come as a father, fulfilling a request from his children. Roy had been the one to ask for the meeting, but he assured Owen that Hershel wanted to talk as well. It was the location that tipped Owen off to the unique nature of the impending discussion, for they didn’t want to meet him at the HCP, or in the dorms, or a bar, or even a gym: all the normal places he’d expect his sons to choose.

Instead, they’d invited him to a junkyard. Scrapyard, really, since it was mostly rusted and discarded hunks of metal littering the ground. Owen carefully steered his rented truck through the obstacles. Teleporting might have been faster, but there was something to be said about driving, taking some time for one’s self to sort through stray thoughts. While there was only so much to contemplate on the way in, Owen had a hunch he’d have a lot more to chew on when this was over. Pulling up next to Roy’s motorcycle, its age starting to show, Owen killed the engine and hopped out of the cab. No sooner had his feet hit the ground than Roy stepped into view from behind a half of an old sedan.

“Ain’t exactly the same as our old spot, but it was the best Hershel and I could find.” Roy took a few steps forward, bringing him in range of a beaten-up washing machine that had obviously been dragged to precisely that position. “You remember when I had to struggle to lift one of these?”

“I do. I told you it was too heavy, that you’d get there eventually, and you somehow decided that was a personal challenge. You started working out every chance you got, even when I wasn’t training you, until we went to the old junkyard and you finally got that thing overhead. To this day, I’m still not sure what you were more proud of: lifting the washing machine or proving me wrong.”

Reaching down, Roy gripped the corner of the washer and easily hefted it into the air, the strain negligible compared to his strength. “Call it about fifty-fifty. I was never one to take kindly to someone telling me there was something I couldn’t do.”

“Your HCP career proves that many times over,” Owen agreed. He leaned against the grill of his truck, careful not to move his legs too fast and accidentally shove the whole thing back. “So, what has someone told you that you can’t do this time?”

“Not someone: me. Us, actually; Hershel’s struggled with it too. See, with Intramurals and graduation running up on everyone, it’s hard to ignore the fact that we have to get our internship sorted. All year we’ve been thinking about it, wondering who the hell we should learn from to get the best start. When Granite tossed us the offer, it should have been an easy choice, but neither of us wanted to jump on it. Because, deep down, we knew there was another contender. Even though Hershel and I had both been thinking that we couldn’t intern under you, part of us was pushing back on that idea. Whether we like it or not, nobody can train us like you.”

While Owen might have personally disagreed – there were bound to be Heroes out there who could do as good a job, if not better, than Titan as their educators – even he could concede that he was among the top candidates. Assuming one ignored all the complications of their relationship, of course. “If you want to talk about internships, then why didn’t you set this up at the HCP? It’s really more a conversation for Titan.”

“Not the way we see it.” Roy set the washer down carefully, being sure not to let it smash on impact. “Hero and intern might be a sacred relationship and all that shit, but father and son still matters more. We ain’t doing ourselves no favors by pretending that that wouldn’t be our dynamic. It makes things harder, no denying that, but not impossible. Hershel and I have thought about this for months, considered all the risks we’d be taking, and come to the decision that strained and risky as it might be, we’d still rather learn from you than anyone else. Because you can make us better than we’d ever be on our own.”

There was a pause, long enough that Owen almost started to respond, before Roy spoke again. This time, his voice was a little softer, the bravado dialed back as well.

“And, at the end of the day, you’re our dad. You fucked up so hard I still can’t always wrap my head around it, but… we’re pretty deep into Hero training these days; I’m starting to get how one brief decision can have a bigger impact than you ever see coming. That doesn’t make it okay. I doubt anything ever will. I just don’t want to hate you for it anymore. Not because you deserve forgiveness, but because Hershel and I deserve to move on.”

Roy walked over to the truck where Owen was still leaning and mirrored his position against the grill. Neither looked directly at the other, instead casting their gaze to all the broken, yet perhaps not unsalvageable, hunks of metal around them. “A junkyard like this was the last spot we really trained as a team, not just you giving me pointers. Seemed a fitting spot to either start things up again or put the matter to bed for good.”

“Hershel picked this place, didn’t he? That boy always had a bit more of the theatrical in him.”

“You have no idea. One day I’ll fill you in on the LARPing, a word I hate myself for even knowing. And yeah, Hershel picked the spot. Only seemed right to give him some input, seeing as I was the one who’d do all the talking.”

“It was a good choice.” Owen finally looked over to Roy, who met his gaze right back. The boy never backed down from a challenge, perceived or otherwise. That was going to be one of the many problems they’d have to deal with during his intern years. “I won’t disrespect the amount of thought you both clearly put into this by telling you it will be hard – and dangerous – to learn from your father. Part of me will want to go easy on you, which means I’ll have to be all the more strict out of caution. Treating you with kid-gloves wouldn’t just do you a disservice, it might get you killed. This is going to be a rough road, emotionally and physically, and we’re putting a fragile relationship in the mix.”

“Fragile? If Hershel and I can come here and ask you to teach us after everything that’s happened, I would say that relationship must be pretty damn tough in its core,” Roy replied. “But we both know it ain’t going to be easy. That’s part of why we want to do it. The more effort demanded, the stronger we come out the other side.”

Carefully pulling himself up from the truck, Owen stuck his hand out to his son, who accepted it and shook. “Make sure to graduate, Roy. My team is counting on a new intern next year, so it wouldn’t do to leave them hanging.”

The grin that spread across Roy’s face took Owen by surprise, though not nearly as much as the hug Roy pulled him into a second later.

248.

Finally, it was done. It had taken years of effort, of planning, of lies and schemes and coming perilously close to the edge of failure, but it was done. George, now taking a long-needed rest, had finished decrypting the files stolen from Lander’s system. Many windows for action had come and gone in the years he’d been working on the supposedly impossible task. Thankfully, another was fast approaching, and it was one of the better windows they’d had. In less than a week, it would all be over. Maybe they’d win and the truth would be dragged out for the world to see. Maybe Charles would be a step ahead of them, and this was their final week of life. Either way, this would finally be done, and after so many years of running, Globe couldn’t deny that he was ready to see the finish.

A knock on his door interrupted his reverie. Clarissa showed herself in a few seconds later. “You know we’ve still got days until the mission, right? The tension in this place is so thick I nearly choked on it walking inside. Everyone needs to calm down or they’ll burn themselves out before the first punch is thrown.”

“If we’re lucky, there won’t need to be any punches.” It was a flimsy, unsubstantiated hope that even a perpetual optimist like Globe had trouble holding on to, but it would still be nice if they could get the job done without hurting anyone. There had been more than enough blood spilt thanks to these secrets; there was no sense in adding more. Sadly, experience taught him that it would probably be necessary, no matter how distasteful it seemed. “I take your point, though. Tonight at dinner I’ll start easing people’s nerves, and I’ll help them stay relaxed until it’s time for action. I don’t blame them for being wound up; after all this time it’s hard to believe we’ve finally got the location.”

“‘Location’ is a pretty grand term for the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Speaking of, when are you and I going out there? You know I need to visit a location to open a rip.”

Globe shook his head. “We can’t risk getting too close. Charles might have Supers out there getting paid to do nothing but monitor for people sneaking around near the lab. If we go, we risk tipping them off, which we can’t afford. Not after all this. There’s a town about fifty miles away that we’ll visit so you can open a rip when it’s time to strike, and then I’ll transport us the rest of the way manually.”

There was a long stretch of silence and a worried look from Clarissa before she replied. “Don’t you think that might be a touch paranoid?”

“Charles has had nearly limitless funds, a scheming mind with a talent for planning, and almost two decades of time to work with. Paranoia is our ally in this venture. Whatever mad thoughts we come up with, if they’re effective enough to be worth the effort, Charles has almost certainly had time to consider them.”

She was tempted to argue, but the results rather spoke for themselves. Charles Adair had successfully covered up one of the most infamous murders of a Hero in modern history, turning his own brother into a scapegoat in the process. Overestimating him was a setback they’d have to risk; if they thought too little of the man, he’d surely gain the upper hand.

“On the subject of being paranoid, I came by to ask when you wanted me to pull Adam out of Lander. We’re obviously going to need him on the day of attack for the Mobius technique, but I didn’t want to pull him too soon just in case. We could have him withdraw from the HCP officially this week to get him off the DVA’s radar, though.”

“No, leave him be until the morning of,” Globe told her. “The less attention on him from any direction the better. And no one will notice if one student fakes sick on a day with as much excitement as Intramurals. Besides, the boy doesn’t have much time living a normal life left. Let’s at least give him a few final days. When this is over, if he and George keep their promise to each other, he’s never going to be the same.”

The pain on Globe’s face was evident as he mentioned the arrangement between Adam and George; he’d spent years trying to talk them out of it. But both had held firm, to the point where they weren’t willing to help if he couldn’t respect their bargain. Ultimately Globe had been forced to accept that it was their lives to do with as they saw fit… even if it ended with Adam taking George’s head from his shoulders.

Clarissa didn’t mention any of this; she was well-accustomed to remaining silent while Globe tore himself up inside. There were no words to help. He would always carry the world on his shoulders whether he needed to or not. The best aid she’d found to offer was practical, helping to keep things running smoothly so that the guilt couldn’t slow him down. “Got it, extraction on the morning of. I’ll tell Adam to be ready and have Gerard prep Quentin as well. That boy is going to be cross when he finds out we’re leaving him behind.”

“I’d rather he be cross and alive than drag a child into this sort of operation. Maybe when it’s over, he’ll be able to have something of a normal life. Normal for Supers, anyway.”

“Yes, I’m sure after being saved from a group of criminals who trafficked Supers, raised by Gerard who was always on the run from the law, and ultimately brought into a makeshift family of Supers fighting against a corrupted Hero system, Quentin will quickly push past it all to become a mundane office manager with no lingering issues at all.” The words came out a bit harsher than she intended, but Clarissa didn’t regret them. Since Intra was gone, someone had to temper Globe’s optimism with pragmatic truths.

To her surprise, he laughed at her outburst. It was soft, but still laughter all the same. “You’d be amazed what people can overcome, when given the chance. Look at this team: people who the Hero world turned its back on but are still willing to put everything on the line to try and save it. Or Vince, who has come from literally nothing to being a standout in an HCP class so tough it has a nickname. People can be more than their past, when they have a chance.”

“For Quentin’s sake, I hope you’re right.” Clarissa stood in front of the door for a few seconds longer, looking carefully at Globe. “So we’re going out to that city tomorrow then?”

“I’d rather wait until we’re a bit closer. If something goes wrong there will be less time for Charles to be alerted,” Globe said.

“That’s fine. I was just thinking maybe we could get some dinner while we’re out there… talk about old times and old friends, make a few toasts to those who have gone. Relax and unwind, as it were. You’re as tense as the rest of them, and we both know your power can’t calm your own nerves.”

He didn’t reply right away, instead rubbing his hand on his knee like she knew he did when pondering. “I’m not sure if it’s appropriate to take a night off like that, given how close we are to the final operation.”

“Maybe so, but we both know how you expect this to end, at least for you,” Clarissa reminded him. “I’d say if there was ever a time to try and cherish life a little, this is it. It’s probably going to be your last chance.”

249.

It was a testament to how strange Ralph Chapman’s life had become that he wasn’t especially surprised to find that someone had broken into his apartment. There had been a stretch of relative peace since Dean Blaine more or less told Ralph he was a kept man, so if anything he was overdue for some casual breaking and entering. While he might have been worried in other contexts, fearing that the friends of a Hero he’d put away had finally come for revenge, once Ralph recognized the person sitting on his couch he knew there was no cause for alarm. If Nick Campbell wanted him dead, there was little chance he’d even hear the gunshot. No, the only reason someone like Nick pulled this type of stunt was when he wanted something.

“Should I offer you some refreshments, or just assume you helped yourself?”

“Since we both know you don’t stock alcohol, I did you one better and brought my own.” Nick reached down to his feet and pulled out a bottle of fine scotch, much nicer than anything Ralph kept on hand even in his drinking days. “Seeing as I’m here to talk business, it was necessary. Having this on hand is something of a Vegas tradition.”

“You just said you know I don’t drink.”

“And no one is telling you to. It’s the pouring and toasting that matter, the ceremony of it all.”

Once, Ralph might have been tempted to try and push Nick away, throw him out of the apartment without hearing a word more. But it never escaped Ralph’s memory that, despite having an army on his side, Nathaniel Evers had been the one who mysteriously ended up dead during the attack on Lander. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d ever be able to prove, even if he could convince someone to give him the resources for a full investigation, yet he kept it in mind all the same. To his reckoning, that death spoke to a level of competence on Nick’s part that meant he might be a useful ally, or a very dangerous enemy.

Rather than hurling Nick out the door, Ralph set down his briefcase, went into the kitchen, and brought out two glasses filled with a scant few cubes of ice. He set them down in front of Nick, who poured from the bottle while Ralph took a seat in an adjacent chair.

“Should I ask how you got past my security measures?”

“It’s cute that you think what you have constitutes ‘security’, it really is. I hope you’ve got more resources on Lander for Intramurals than on this apartment complex.” Nick handed the first glass to Ralph, who patiently waited as Nick took a sip. Apparently drinking might not be required, but it was allowed.

“I’ll just go ahead and take that as a ‘no’ so we can move on. Since we’ve dealt with each other before, how about we skip the pretense and go right for the main point: why are you here?”

“Because I need your help. And when you come to someone to ask a favor, it’s only right to meet them on their turf, observing basic rules of hospitality. Granted, breaking in doesn’t quite fit with accepted decorum, but I assumed you’d prefer I not make this approach in public.” Nick eased back against the couch, seemingly defenseless as he settled in. “To cut to the chase, I want to attend Intramurals. I want to watch my friends fight, cheer them on, and generally be supportive during what has to be a huge moment for all of them. Now someone in the HCP might be able to make that happen with enough wheeling and dealing, but the man in charge of overseeing the DVA at Lander could pull it off with a snap of the fingers.”

Ralph nearly dropped his glass in amusement at the sheer outlandishness of the request. “So we’re clear: you want me to bring a supposedly mind-wiped, expelled former student to watch one of the most historically secured annual events at an HCP that endured a surprise attack last year?” Reaching forward, he picked up the bottle, and checked the label in detail. “You should have brought nicer scotch.”

“That can be arranged. Besides, I didn’t come here planning on dealing in booze. I get that this is a big ask, and I’m willing to compensate you for it.”

“Are you offering me a bribe?” Ralph asked.

This drew a sharp laugh from Nick. “A bribe? Why bother? I’ve seen your financials, Ralph, you barely spend half of what you make as is. Since all you do is work, there’s not much to sink cash into. I know a bribe wouldn’t be worth the paper it’s printed on for you. No, what I’m offering is a little more versatile: I’ll owe you a favor.”

After several seconds of waiting, Ralph realized that Nick wasn’t going to continue. “A favor? That’s it? You want me to go through all the effort of getting you in to watch Intramurals, subjecting myself to a lot of questions that I don’t have good answers for in the process, all in exchange for the promise to give me a hand somewhere down the line? I know you don’t like me, Nick, but I’d hoped you at least respected my intelligence more than this.”

“Don’t dismiss the favor that quickly,” Nick cautioned. “First off, I never welch on these kinds of deals – part of my upbringing, which I’m sure you’ve done enough digging to know. Second, I am a surprisingly capable and competent person when properly motivated. Third, you could use that favor to have me turn up your good luck or turn down someone else’s in a key moment, and that creates all sorts of possibilities if you’ve got an active imagination. Last, but certainly not least, there’s no expiration date on what I’d owe you. Right now, I’ll admit that the sorts of favors I can grant are limited. That won’t always be true, though. I do respect your intelligence. I know that you can see me for what I am: a man with ambition and determination. I won’t be a mere college student for long. A decade down the line, I may very well be higher up in the government than you. And that is the sort of person it’s good to have owe you a favor.”

Easy as it would be to dismiss Nick’s words as the bluster and bravado of a child who’d yet to face the real world, part of Ralph knew he was right. Between the power over luck, the skill, and the capacity for manipulation, Nick would probably rise high in whatever field he set his sights on. And even if he didn’t, that luck ability alone could have plenty of uses when properly applied.

“I assume there are some limits on it?” Ralph asked.

“It’s not a magical fairy charm that compels me to act against myself or my people, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s a favor. When you cash it in, we’ll talk, I’ll let you know if I have any conflicts that we need to work around, and we’ll go from there. I’m a reasonable man, especially to those with whom I have a cordial working relationship. That could be you, Ralph – or someone else in the DVA, someone who might not share the same goals you have, who would end up having me owe them a favor instead. It’s your call to make.” Nick raised his scotch, holding it out a few feet away.

The clink of Ralph’s glass meeting Nick’s echoed through the largely empty apartment, and while only Nick took a small nip from his, they both understood the gesture’s significance. “What exactly am I supposed to tell everyone about why you’re suddenly at Intramurals?”

“That I was hired as a representative for an outside firm to evaluate whether the new HCP security procedures are strong enough; heaven knows I’ve got the expertise to sell that cover. Or make up something that works for you. I can play along with whatever story you need. All that matters is that I’m there for the show.”

250.

So far as anyone in town could tell, they were little more than a pair of tourists that stopped for gas and supplies. Older folks, not the spryest in mind or body, but polite people all the same as they filled up their tank and purchased some sandwiches from the cafe inside. Folks passing through was all the town really got these days, and even that had shrunk over the last decade. It was a nice break in the monotony, even if it was brief. In less than twenty minutes the pair had driven off in their worn (though well-cared for) sedan. Ten minutes after that there was no sign they’d ever been there. The clerks at the station already began to let the memory of them slip away.

As for the pair, they didn’t linger in the area for long. They drove a way’s farther, out of the state just to be on the safe side, before turning off into an abandoned field. Once there, they got out of the car and a ripple ran over them as the illusion fell away. Globe and Clarissa stood where the old people had once been, and while the car still looked the same, it would no longer run without him forcing it along. Scrap cars were easy to fix up cosmetically with a power like Globe’s, but it wasn’t worth the effort to redo the whole engine. Ensuring they were both far enough back, Globe made a single motion with his hand. Soundlessly, by his will, the car crumpled in on itself, crushing inward until nothing but a cube of metal remained.

“Let’s drop this at a junkyard on the way.”

The cube floated up from the ground, always staying close to Globe, as Clarissa opened a tear in space through which they could easily stroll. The air was filled with static and the scent of burning ozone, but in a location this remote the chances of it being noticed were negligible. Shimmerpath had an incredible ability; the only drawback being that it was extremely identifiable if one knew what to look for. Seconds later they were across the country, dropping off the hunk of former car in a pile where it would probably go unnoticed for years, if anyone ever saw it at all. From there, they stepped through to another location.

Globe didn’t recognize this one, but he wished he did. It was lovely, a hilltop overlooking a meadow with luscious trees to shade them from the day’s final hours of sunlight. Waiting for them was a picnic blanket and basket, along with an ice cooler and a plastic bin to hold their trash.

“You set this up?”

“That, or someone came along and took the time to stake out a lovely dinner spot only to hightail it for some reason. Probably wolves.” It had been a long time since Globe heard Clarissa let out a genuine laugh, but a small one escaped her lips as she made her way to the blanket.

“Good thing a few wolves wouldn’t be a problem for you and me.” If only errant predators were the biggest concern facing them. That would have been quite a lovely situation compared to their current one.

“Most of what’s in the basket are side dishes I sealed extra tight so they wouldn’t attract ants. I didn’t expect that gas station to have decent looking food, thought we’d have to make a trip for that, but I guess small towns have to appeal to every market they can.” Clarissa set the sandwiches in the basket then pulled out clear plastic cups. From the cooler, she produced a chilled bottle of white wine and held it up. “Didn’t bother packing a bottle opener. Be a dear?”

It barely took a thought for Globe to will the cork out of the bottle, and Clarissa went to work filling their cups. When she was done, she handed one to Globe, holding onto the other for herself. Patting the blanket to signal him it was time to sit, Clarissa waited until Globe had complied before speaking again.

“Before we get to dinner, there are some things I need to say. Things I should have said a long time ago, if I’m honest with myself, but somehow even after I thought I’d lost you once, I still found ways to keep putting it off. There’s no deluding myself out of this one, though. After tomorrow, you’ll be gone from me… behind bars for years while they figure out whether you’re a criminal or not, at the very best. So there’s no backing down from it this time, it’s quite literally now or never.”

Shifting on the blanket, Globe chose his words carefully. “You don’t need to say anything. I know how you feel, and I think you know–”

He was cut off by Clarissa laying a delicate finger across his lips. “Hush. This is my picnic, my night, and I’m going to speak my mind, because I think there are things you don’t know, Phil. Like the fact that while it’s not much of a secret that I love you, and have since we were just a pair of kids in the HCP, that’s not why I agreed to help with all of this. If it were, do you really think I’d be on board with a plan that costs you what little scraps of life you have left? I want you to understand that I’m here, in the midst of all of this danger and chaos, because I’m a Hero and it’s the right thing to do. That’s why I’m going to stick to the plan and see our mission through, even if I have to watch you die in the process. You need to know that, to understand that when push comes to shove and things get bad, you can still count on me to put the mission first. None of us is more important than exposing the truth, not even you.”

“Well, I suppose you were right. I didn’t really know that, and I’m glad you told me.” He took a long drink from his wine, hoping to gain time as much as courage. “And about your feelings toward me… I hope you understand after all this time that they… are… not unreciprocated.”

Clarissa’s gaze lingered on him before she let out a dense sigh. “I’m truly glad that Vince doesn’t take after you in every aspect. My heart would break for the poor women who love him if he was as bad at expressing his emotions as you.”

“I’m not good at talking about this kind of thing. It’s hard. I’ve spent so much of my life working for the sake of other people: keeping my family safe when my dad was around, then trying to pitch in and help Mom keep us afloat when he passed. After that was college and the HCP, which was all about fighting for the sake of people who needed protecting, and even when I lost that I found Vince to care for. From the beginning, it’s always been about helping everyone else. I haven’t had much experience wanting anything for myself, especially not something as complex as love.”

His wine glass floated away from his hand, freeing up his fingers to rest carefully on top of Clarissa’s. “But I try to show it, as best I can. You’re right, though. This is the end of my line. It’s not fair to leave you behind with nothing but small gestures and acts to piece together. I do love you, Clarissa. More than that. I need you, I depend on you, I trust you in a way I can’t seem to trust anyone since my brother betrayed me. You say you came aboard this mission out of duty, not love, and I believe that. However, you should know that without you here keeping me above water and pointing out my potential mistakes, we would have never made it this far in the first place. You, as much as my own power, are what has made even this slender chance at victory possible.”

Slowly, Clarissa took his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders as she leaned in, laying her head against his chest so they could both look out at the meadow. “Just think of where we might be if you’d managed to say that decades ago.”

“We were making headway, despite my poor communication skills, before Charles tricked me into killing Intra. One more thing he’s stolen from me.”

“Not quite. I’m still here, you know.” Clarissa squeezed his hand, dragging him out of the past and into the moment. “And we have a delicious meal, which will be followed by a lovely sunset. For just this one evening, put Charles out of your head. He’s taken so much from you, and tomorrow he’ll end up taking more, but this moment is ours. One good memory to hold on to, no matter what comes after.”

Phil smiled, squeezing her hand right back. “See what I mean? I could never get through all this without you.”

251.

“Again.”

Shane stood in the center of the room, motionless yet vibrating with the intensity of a taut cable. The others circled up around him. Violet, Alex, and Selena all stood out of arm’s reach, not that it made much difference. Hand-to-hand was an area Shane had been comfortable with for years, but using his shadows against living opponents was a harder task. If he made it to the Hero world, they would no doubt bill him as a scorched earth kind of Super, the sort to call in when someone needed to lay waste. He would fill those roles as only he could, but Shane wanted to be more than that. He wanted to help, to protect, to deal with small-scale issues as much as tearing criminals apart, and all of that demanded precision – the sort of precision he’d either demonstrate in tomorrow’s matches or prove that he lacked under the witness of an enormous crowd.

Off to the side, Professor Fletcher watched the training with a careful eye. He was the only one on staff fast enough to intervene if Shane made a mistake, and Dr. Moran was standing by to heal just in case that happened. So far, it hadn’t been needed, but Shane didn’t let that lessen his focus. With his ability, one mistake was all it took to go from hurting someone to murdering them. He had to be surgical, or he’d never be more than the brute force his power indicated.

“Selena, do a song to make him sleepy and slow those reflexes. Alex will fend him off and lend me support while I attack.” Violet took a step forward, her body so dense that the concrete cracked slightly under her foot. They’d tried a few different methods so far, and each time Shane had managed to end things with a shadow pressed against their flesh. No one was holding back tonight, they couldn’t afford to. The students from the others schools sure as hell wouldn’t take it easy on the Supers of Lander, so they had to be hard on each other too.

Glancing behind her, she saw debris spinning around Alex, chunks of concrete he’d be able to turn into projectiles at will. Selena was warming up her voice again. They were as ready as they could be. Time for another round.

*             *             *

It was almost nostalgic, being back at the summer training ground. At least the heat had died down, not that it did anything to keep Alice from sweating. The sheer amount of effort she was expending had rendered her damp near to the point of dripping, but she paid it no mind. All of her focus was on the boulder that she was trying to force down with gravity while Mary lifted it up. That was part of why they’d had Mr. Transport bring them out here after he was done storm-chasing with Vince: there were only so many places where Alice could train with Mary anymore. Besides, this was a good workout. There weren’t a lot of people remaining in the class who could directly oppose Alice’s power, so Mary was a necessary tool for resistance training.

The boulder slammed into the ground as Alice let out a coughing gasp, allowing her body to relax. That had been the hardest win yet. She still couldn’t beat Mary every time; however, the year of training was paying off. The two were much closer matches than they had been over summer, and knowing how powerful Mary was, Alice took no small measure of pride in that.

“Let me rest, then we can go again.”

“Forget it.” Mary came strolling over, sweating and short of breath as well. It was a nice sign that she’d been giving her full effort. “You still need to get healed up so you aren’t sore or tired, then have a good night’s rest. No burning yourself out before the big day.”

Alice let out another series of coughs as finally she managed to take some deeper breaths. “Maybe I just want to spend some quality time with my friend, did you think of that? We don’t get to train like this anymore.”

“If quality time is what you want then just hang out with me between your matches at Intramurals tomorrow,” Mary said. “I got the word from Dr. Moran today: she’s allowed to take me along since I’m officially training under her. I had to sign even more contracts and stuff, so my hand hurts like hell, but I’ll be there with you. Just don’t expect me to read anyone’s thoughts; my hands are going to be very tied.”

“Even if you could, I wouldn’t ask you to. Defeats the point of being a Subtlety Hero if I can’t gather information on my own, and I really want to show these other schools what a Subtlety major can do. So, what do you say, one more match?”

Although her expression was grumpy, Mary gave a begrudging nod. “Last one. Then we get you healed and have some dinner. Winner gets to choose what we eat.”

“I hope you’re ready for something fancy and French,” Alice told her. “Because I’m not out of gas yet.”

*             *             *

Chad sat quietly in his room, eyes closed and legs crossed. To the outside observer, it would seem as though he were meditating, and while that wasn’t entirely inaccurate, it also didn’t fully capture the scale of what he was doing. His whole body was being worked over, fine-tuned and tweaked to ensure it was running in absolute peak condition. Last minute training wouldn’t do him much good; he considered this a much better use of this time.

While the others would no doubt focus on their grand, showy tactics that would wow the crowd and put fear into the other competitors, Chad didn’t have such showstoppers. He used techniques, of course, and some were even quite interesting to look at. But bone-armor would never outshine a torrent of living shadow or the power to bend gravity to one’s will. So he didn’t try to outshine. Instead he focused on something only he could do: run at peak, perfect efficiency. It might not seem like a lot, yet it had taken him far in the HCP. There was still a bit further left to go, though.

When Chad crossed the finish line of graduation, which he fully intended to do, it would either be holding the top rank once again or knowing he gave everything he had to reclaim it. His power wasn’t showy, but it was useful. If things went well tomorrow, people would never say the name Intra quite the same way again.

*             *             *

The bat struck Vince’s bare ankle and halted, as it had so many times before. Choosing the right spot to attack was important, since Camille’s healing wouldn’t mean crap if Vince died from the impact. The ankle was a target that Roy could hit reliably and that was unlikely to result in death if Vince failed to absorb the kinetic energy. That rarely happened anymore; however, when one was being assaulted by Roy Daniels, safety precautions had to be taken.

“How long has it been?” Roy asked.

“An hour and some change.” Camille spoke from the corner, which was a safe distance away from any errant blows but close enough to run over if needed.

“Sounds about right. I’m starting to get tired, and my swings are weakening. Let me do a heal and rest session for ten, then we can get back at it. Thomas, you want to step in?”

As Roy walked over to Camille, Thomas stepped forward from the other side of the cell. “I’ve regenerated some of my energy, but I don’t recover as quickly as you. Still, it couldn’t hurt to pour some more in. Just be sure not to drain me entirely, Vince. I don’t recover as quickly when I’m pulled dry.”

“You don’t have to do this at all, if you don’t want to,” Vince said. “I know you hate having your energy pulled out, and you already gave me some. I’m still not even sure it’s entirely ethical to absorb the energy of a classmate before a match. It feels a little like cheating.”

“I hope you shed some of these ridiculous notions before the fights.” Thomas held up his hand, a glowing orange ball manifesting in his palm. “Momentary discomfort is not an adequate reason to deny my friend aid. And as for the idea that this is cheating, I see it as no different from gathering lightning or kinetic strikes from Roy. You are merely preparing as any Hero would, and this event is supposed to test who is the better Hero.”

“Lightning is natural, and I could get kinetic anywhere – Roy is just the most efficient method. What you have is special. I’d never be able to find it under normal circumstances.”

From across the room, Roy chimed in. “Normal is a hard word to define in this place. And there ain’t nothing wrong with taking help from a friend. You’re using every resource you’ve got to get ready for a fight, relying on the people around you. If you don’t think that’s what Heroes do, then I don’t know what kind of program you’ve been in for the last four years.”

Thomas turned his palm toward Vince as the orange light grew brighter. “Roy is spot on. Besides, this is not a fight where you, Vince Reynolds, are representing merely yourself. The four of you are fighting for the pride of Lander, and when you step into those battles, you’ll be representing all that this school has given you. All the training, all the skills, all the resources, all the knowledge. You four will be the faces of our school, the standard by which we are all judged.”

The orange light flashed, striking Vince and vanishing as he started to absorb it. Thomas’s smile was eerie, lit by the strange glow of his own blasting energy. “We’re counting on you four, so go show those other schools exactly what kind of Heroes Lander produces.”

252.

There was something in the air, for those who knew how to feel it: a sense of weight to the day, of possibility crackling through the clouds. So much raw power had gathered on Lander that it seemed to radiate out from the underground facility, leading many normal students to think they were just really feeling the nerves about final exams. Down in the HCP, it was even stronger; every senior felt like their hair was standing on end.

Since younger classes weren’t officially permitted to know about Intramurals, there was no grand parade of the other schools’ recruits down the halls. They were brought in through teleporters specifically coordinated by the DVA, taken directly to where the matches would occur. It was scheduled down to the minute, with Supers on hand to sense for spatial anomalies outside the appointed times. This part hadn’t always been quite so rigorously monitored, but after last year, no one wanted to leave a single thing to chance. Only the four students representing Lander would take a more mundane route, gathering in Dean Blaine’s office before they were scheduled to ride the lifts down.

“Good morning, everyone.” Dean Blaine was in bright, energetic spirits this morning. Professor Baker also seemed chipper as she etched notes at a rapid pace. “We’ve covered most of this before, but for the sake of keeping things running smoothly, we’re going to briefly review how this day will proceed. Once we leave here, we’re going directly to the central viewing room where the various Heroes and guests will view the fights. As soon as we arrive, the drawing for slots will occur. I’ll be on hand with power in full-effect to ensure no one can use their ability to get an advantage, perceived or otherwise. After the slots have been decided, you’ll either settle in to watch the bouts or head down to the prep rooms, depending on if you’re about to fight. The prep rooms are where you will spend the bouts before your own, giving you time to stretch, meditate, or engage in any other pre-fight ritual you might need. You’ll also go to recovery room immediately after a match so that medical staff can check you over and administer healing. These competitions are violent by their nature, but your safety is of the utmost concern.”

“Wait, so we don’t carry wounds from one fight to the next? That’s rather generous,” Shane said.

“Better we tend to injuries as they pop up than risk several working together to cause serious harm. Besides, everyone gets the healing, so no one will be at a disadvantage. We want to see the best you have every time, and this is just one more aspect of that.”

Dean Blaine paused, waiting to see if there would be more questions about the issue, before pressing on. “When you’re not in a prep room or a match, I would advise you to watch the other fights carefully. I hope your time at Lander has taught you all the value of information, and these moments will be the only chances you have to uncover the capabilities of the other students. Obviously being in the prep rooms means you’ll miss some bouts, and while it’s not technically against the rules to compare notes with one another – although asking non-competitors for input is barred, as you will recall – do keep in mind that you’re not on a team in this event. Each of you is gunning for the same victory at the end of the fights, so you help one another to your potential personal detriment. As much as you represent Lander, you are also showing everyone here what you can do.”

The glances the four exchanged were brief and unwavering. They’d switched from allies to opponents so many times throughout their training that the shift barely even registered with them anymore. It wasn’t Dean Blaine’s favorite part of the training, but it was unavoidable. Sometimes, Heroes went bad, and even the smallest hesitation could lead to their escape, or worse, the death of one of their former allies.

“Since accommodating every student from every school would be an untenable security and logistical nightmare, the hosting school is also prohibited from inviting all its students to attend. Professor Pendleton has graciously agreed to sit with the rest of the seniors in a classroom and feed them the match results as they are reported to him. Even though you won’t see most of your friends down there, know that they are cheering you on overhead.” Although Dean Blaine didn’t say it, most of the students knew enough by now to realize that Professor Pendleton had almost certainly taken this duty because it kept him from having to be around other Heroes and DVA agents. As a former Hero who was also a criminal, that sort of interaction would no doubt be very awkward for him.

Vince raised his hand, and a moment later Dean Blaine nodded to him. “You said we wouldn’t see most of our friends, right? I thought senior students weren’t allowed to come watch at all.”

It was brief, only noticeable to those with well-trained perception, but Dean Blaine’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance for a shadow of a second. “While that is the rule in general, some of the students are brought in either by necessity or as a guest of someone of importance. For example: Camille’s level of healing is rare and powerful enough that we will keep her on hand in the event of serious injury, and as Dr. Moran’s apprentice, Mary will be shadowing the good doctor throughout the day. There will be… others, as well, but don’t worry about it for the moment. All you need to focus on is the task at hand: winning your bouts as safely as possible.”

“What happens after we lose?” Alice looked around at the surprise on her friend’s faces. “What? There are only two spots in the final match, so even if we win every bout until we face each other, two of us are going to lose before last fight.”

“A very practical question,” Dean Blaine said. “When you lose, you will simply remain in the viewing room until the event has concluded. There is something to be said for having your friends cheering you on, after all, so we wish to allow those remaining that privilege. And besides, you’ve all fought hard to earn your places here; the very least we can do is let you enjoy the show.”

Again, Dean Blaine paused for more questions. After ten seconds of silence, he decided that they’d asked all they were going to and it was time to wrap this up. “I will add one thing before we go: once we are down there, I will be standing as a dean of the HCP, and in that role I shall be an impartial entity who is there to preserve the fairness and safety of Intramurals. However, as Blaine the person, the trainer, and the teacher, I want to take this moment to tell you that I’m pulling for each and every one of you. The four of you have put in effort that is remarkable even in a program like this one, and know that no matter how the matches turn out, I am immensely proud of each of you for making it this far.”

He rose from behind his desk and motioned for them to do the same. “Now then, let’s find out what poor souls will have the misfortune to go against Lander in the first round.”

253.

It was the uniforms that they noticed first. They were similar to the ones from Lander, still crisp and white but with minor stylistic differences. A seam here, a cuff there, small things that wouldn’t have stood out so much to anyone that hadn’t spent four years draped in different colors of their own unique version. Only after seeing the other people their age in white, staring back at the four from Lander with a mix of expressions, did they start taking in the rest of the details of the viewing room.

A massive window, no doubt made of the same reinforced material as the ones in the combat cells, stretched across the back wall. Only darkness lay behind it, concealing whatever secrets dwelled on the other side. Set just above the window were a dozen massive screens, all currently showing the same image: a sixteen-point bracket with nothing but school names and a single digit next to each slot. At the edges of the room were the viewers who’d come for the show; Heroes, DVA agents, and people dressed in mundane clothes all watching the students’ arrival with rapt attention. In front of the dark window, below the center screen, was an area with five boxes, each bearing the name of an HCP school. Behind each box stood a person that radiated the sort of confidence that spoke to how dangerous they were, be it the woman with green in her hair, the older man with a stone-faced expression, the lady with copper hair and danger in her eyes, or the fellow with a thick mustache that barely concealed his smirk. Dean Blaine walked past them, taking his spot behind the Lander box, and it all clicked into place: these were the other HCP deans.

“Good morning, everyone!” The voice was familiar, though it took some longer to place than others. It certainly helped when the speaker stepped out from the crowd into view, microphone in hand. Between his naturally booming tone and the freshly-shaved head, it was hard to forget a man like the Hero once called Bullrush. “For those of you who don’t know, my name is Victor Pakulski, and I’m the Lander alumni who was asked to MC Intramurals this year. I know I worked with some of you in my Hero days, and plenty more of you when you wanted tickets to an SAA event, so I’ll skip a lengthier introduction and instead put the focus where it should be today: on the students!”

There was a round of brief, but sincere, applause as the people in both costumes and normal clothes clapped for the competitors. A few of the students from the other schools looked embarrassed, and one woman gave a grandiose bow that earned her some dirty looks from her classmates.

“I know time is a precious resource all around, so I won’t waste any of it. Let’s get right to the heart of the matter and kick things off with the drawing of lots.” Victor waved to all the students, pulling them in closer. “Competitors, this is the easiest part of what you’ll be doing today. Just step up to the box with your school’s name on it, pull out one of the numbered balls inside, and show it to your dean, then the remaining spectators. We’ll take care of tracking the rest. Once you’re done, step aside so the rest of your class can draw. The only exceptions will be whoever draws the number one balls from Lander, Korman, West Private, and Sizemore. Your matches are the first two up, which means as soon as those numbers are drawn we’ll have someone from the DVA take you down to a prep room so you can get ready.”

When Victor finally paused, the students felt the stares of the observers and realized they were supposed to be moving. Going as quickly as they could, each lined up in front of their respective boxes and prepared to test their luck.

*             *             *

“This feels excessive.” Nick didn’t look away as he spoke, keeping his eyes trained on Ralph Chapman’s as instructed. “Do you really think I’d manipulate the ethereal forces of fortune just to give my friends an easier set of matches? Besides, Blaine is down there, so what could I even do?”

Ralph was staring at Nick from across the tiny office, barely permitting himself to blink. “I think you’d sabotage every other school with knives and poison if you believed it would give your friends even the slightest edge, so using luck is more than on the table. And I have no doubt you’ve calculated the exact area that Blaine can affect so that you could move slightly out of range. Once I get word that the drawing is done, then we can head down to watch the fights. But even then, you stay near Blaine and keep your eyes visible. Bringing you down is bad enough; you do not want the kind of trouble that would come from accusations of cheating at Intramurals.”

“If you’re smart enough to cheat well, no one will even notice.” Nick had little hope that this line of conversation would change Ralph’s mind – it was merely a way to kill time until they could head down. “You’re also overlooking something important.”

“I deeply suspect I’ll regret asking, but what’s that?”

Without taking his eyes from Ralph, Nick pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and absentmindedly began to shuffle them. “They don’t need my help in the first place. Those four can handle things on their own.”

*             *             *

“And Lander’s number one ball has finally been drawn!” Victor had a knack for working a crowd, they were starting to discover. He’d been making the announcements with varying degrees of intensity, but with this revelation he upped the energy substantially. What’s more, everyone watching seemed to follow his lead. A few even let out applause or small shouts. Who knew what kind of reactions he’d be able to get when the fighting finally came?

“The first match of Intramurals has been locked in. Chad Taylor of Lander versus Brenda Sellers of Korman. Both of you, head to the prep rooms to gear up, calm down, and do whatever you need to come out swinging. Once the other slots are set we’ll draw your match terrain, but that’s going to be a surprise you get to experience when you face each other. Until we see you again, stay focused!”

Victor’s voice faded as DVA agents took both Chad and a woman with short hair out of the viewing room through a side door that no doubt led down some stairs. The rest of Lander looked at each other and at the numbered balls in their hands. Alice had drawn number two while Vince got number three and Shane held number four. Although none of them said it out loud, there was a sense of relief at the way things had worked out.

Nobody knew if going first would be a benefit or a disadvantage, but given the choice, they’d have all elected to put Chad in the slot. Whether it helped or hindered, if any of them could deal with the pressure of being the first fight at Intramurals, it was Chad Taylor.

254.

Not long after Chad and Brenda were led away, the students who drew number one slots from West Private and Sizemore were taken out as well. They’d be able to prep for their match while the first one progressed, which most of the other competitors imagined had to be the worst spot possible. Going first would be rough, sure, but at least there was a little bit of leeway since it was the first match of the whole event. For those going second, it would feel just as foreign as going first, only the witnesses would already have a standard for comparison.

Alice was just reflecting on how lucky she felt not to be in that position when a lift door opened to reveal one of the last people – quite literally – she would ever have expected to see in an HCP, let alone at Intramurals. Seeing Nick walk in was strange enough, but seeing him walk in next to Ralph Chapman was so bizarre that Alice genuinely wondered if someone was using illusion powers. This notion lingered until she remembered she was in the same room as Dean Blaine.

“There’s the cream of Lander’s crop. Sorry I missed the drawing, somebody has trust issues even though there’s a negation Super right here in the room with us.” Nick strolled over as if he were oblivious to the shocked expressions on his friends’ (and a few of the DVA agents’) faces.

With a barely suppressed groan, Alice rubbed the sides of her temples. “You know what, I’m more mad at myself than anything. It’s been four years, and I’m dating you; I really should have expected something this insane by now.”

“Nick, how are you here?” Vince was more to the point, and visibly concerned as he pulled his friend in close. “Is it even safe?”

“Relax. I’m on premises as a specially invited guest of the DVA. See, when Crispin made his confession, he might have mentioned Nathaniel’s role as an instigator, which means Heroes are suddenly interested in the Evers family and whether they helped bankroll the attack on Lander. As a man who is intimately familiar with the people who run Vegas, I’m what they consider a ‘high-value’ asset. In exchange for a little help navigating things, I was able to swing myself an invite to the event of the season.”

It was a good lie in that it held together well and made a certain amount of sense, but Alice didn’t buy it for a second. Nick wouldn’t divulge anything of value about the Vegas syndicates, not even one with which he had a bad history. At most, he’d toss out a few crumbs of information that anyone could find if they dug deep enough. No, this was a cover story, created to mask whatever real methods he’d used to gain entrance. That was for the DVA to worry about, though. She was just glad he’d found a way down. The whole situation was tense and nerve-wracking; it would be nice to have someone around who could help distract them when it was necessary.

“If you’ve got any popcorn, bust it out. They took Chad away a few minutes ago so the first match is bound to start soon,” Alice said. “And I don’t know about you all, but I’m looking forward to seeing what these other schools are made of.”

*             *             *

With the focus on Victor as he drew the conditions for the first match – soon revealed to be a blank ball that indicated a standard combat cell – Titan made his way across the room. He wasn’t heading for the Lander kids. They already had enough going on, plus it was seen as poor form to talk to the competitors lest anyone think they were getting advice. No, his target was an older man with wide shoulders and a gruff expression. As soon as Titan arrived, he found a handshake waiting for him.

“Dean Jackson, good to see you, as always.”

“Same to you, Titan. Been keeping track over the past year, and it looks like you and those new Gentle Hammers of yours have done some fine work. Glad to see you haven’t lost your touch in the time away.”

“It took me a little while to get back into the swing of things, but I’m getting there.” Titan released his hand, shifting so that they could both see the screens as they chatted. Small talk was perfectly fine in their downtime, but the focus of the day needed to stay on the students.

“Maybe you’ll make some room for a few fellow Sizemore graduates on that team. I heard you were looking to take an intern, but you’ve yet to swing by your old alma mater.”

There weren’t many people who could make Titan squirm, but his old dean was one of the few with that power. “This year was special. I don’t think I fully realized it at the time, but I was hoping for a very specific student. One that attends Lander.”

Dean Jackson gave a small, curt nod. “And?”

“We signed the paperwork a few days ago. My boys will be interning under me if they graduate.”

The snort was unexpected, as was the brief smirk that showed on Dean Jackson’s lips. “If the sons of Titan can’t even graduate, then I fear to imagine what this class is capable of. No, I don’t begrudge you that selection, even if it is going to be a hard road. But maybe next time you’ll at least throw us into the mix.”

“I promise, next time I need interns I’ll show up for as many of the Sizemore trials as I can,” Titan said. “On the subject of the school, though, I was wondering… how’s she doing?”

There was no need to say who he was talking about; they were both fully aware that there was only one student enrolled at Sizemore that Titan had any interest in. “She’s doing well. The first of the year was tough, she struggled to find her footing in the class and I think she felt out of place. Over time, though, she’s settled in, even made a few friends. And combat-wise, those summons of hers are keeping everyone on their toes. I’d say she’s all but a lock to move on to sophomore year, and I’m quite eager to see how she does once we shift to team events. Given her background, I expect she’ll be something to see.”

“I’m sure she will,” Titan agreed. He’d tried not to pester Hexcellent – now Hannah – too much about her freshman year, but he still wanted to keep tabs on the former-corpie when he could. If she made it to senior year, there were already plenty of Heroes gunning to make her an intern after the show she’d put on in Brewster. While that was still a long way off, Titan had a strong feeling that she’d make the cut. She was a tough one with a lot to prove, not to mention a rabbit that redefined what it was to be a summoner.

Much as he might have liked to ask more, the screens flickered to life, showing a combat cell with two students slowly walking in. A hush rippled through the room as Victor picked up his microphone once more.

“Students: you will start on my signal and not before. If at any time I halt a match, you are expected to freeze in place that instant. Keep in mind that while we’re all looking forward to watching some hard-fought battles, any attempts to legitimately kill one another are banned. Violate any of these stipulations and prepare to be disqualified. As for victory, you’ll win your fights with the same conditions you’ve been training with this year: capture the enemy for three minutes, make them surrender, knock them unconscious, or score a hypothetical deathblow. If we encounter anything that falls outside those parameters, we’ll deal with it on a case-by-case basis. Now, begin by introducing yourselves: real names, your major, and your chosen Hero name if you have one and wish to share it.”

255.

Her equipment was the first thing that caught Chad’s eye. She was loaded down: body armor, guns (presumably with rubber bullets), tasers, knives, and a few gadgets Chad didn’t recognize. Brenda had covered herself in so much equipment that it was hard to even see her uniform. That much weight should slow her down, but the fact that her class had sent her to this event surely meant this was an erroneous assumption. She likely either had a Super trait that gave her the strength to handle such weight or had trained hard enough to negate the issue. There was certainly confidence and grace in her motions as she carefully readjusted her stance.

“Brenda Sellers, Weapons major. My codename will be Militia.”

Interesting. The major was no surprise given her gear, yet the name had many possible interpretations. It could be a reference to her weaponry, or her tactical preferences, or a myriad of other things. Chad put the speculation out of his head. Soon the fight would start and he’d have real evidence to work with. Filling his mind with pointless guessing offered no advantage.

“Chad Taylor, Close Combat major. Upon graduation, I will take the name Intra.”

Brenda’s eyes widened, just a hair, in surprise. Chad imagined there were similar reactions occurring amidst many of the spectators. That name carried a lot of baggage in the Hero world, a dark reminder of a horrible stain on their reputation. Such would not always be the case, though. The rehabilitation of his father’s name started today, with this match. When it was done, there would be a new reason to talk about the name Intra.

From the hidden speakers all over the cell, static crackled just before Victor’s voice emanated. “Your match begins… now!”

Chad sprinted forward, hoping to catch Brenda off-guard. Most people who relied on tools needed an extra few seconds to get them ready, and he planned to use that moment of vulnerability to its fullest. If he was quick and fortunate, he might be able to finish this bout in record time. To his surprise, Brenda wasn’t reaching for any of her gear, though. Instead, she’d taken a deep breath and tensed briefly.

The copies appeared so quickly that even his amplified mind could barely see them form into existence. When Julia had been around, Chad could watch as she released and shaped the energy, but Brenda was worlds faster. For a normal person, the whole endeavor would have passed in less than a blink: that was how quickly Chad went from one opponent to what seemed north of two dozen.

“Impressive,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’ve fought a duplicator before.”

“If you think my power is all that defines me, then you’ve already lost this fight.” This came from three of the Brendas near the front, just before each and every one of them sprang into action. They scattered, spreading like a net to ensnare Chad. Solid group tactics, certainly, but it wouldn’t be enough to stop him.

Just as he was drawing near the original Brenda, the assault began. Rubber bullets bounced off his back, stinging but otherwise not bothersome. The bolas that encircled his legs was a momentary distraction, though with his increased strength he was able to rip it apart rather than be tripped. However, in the brief moment of distraction of dealing with the bolas, four Brendas were able to come close enough to strike with electrified metal batons. Annoyance, again, but Chad still had to waste time breaking away. They retreated the moment he drew close, scurrying away without a second thought.

When Chad turned back to his target, he found himself staring at a metal canister careening towards him, clearly thrown by another Brenda. If he’d been a human, it would have been disastrous, but Chad’s reaction speeds were not to be underestimated. His eyes snapped shut and pupils narrowed down to pinholes for good measure, all before the flash grenade detonated. Chad didn’t even bother to retreat; he could hear the footsteps giving him a wide berth. When the light finally faded, he opened his eyes once more. Only then did his mistake become clear.

All of that, every bit of the attack, had been designed for one purpose: to make him lose track of the original Brenda. The clones were scattered around, all lowering dark goggles they’d used as shielding from their eyes. This complicated things greatly. Popping a duplicate back into energy was not an issue; however, Chad had to be careful. Too much force against the real Brenda and he could get himself disqualified. His attacks would have to be perfectly balanced: strong enough to dissipate a clone while not so potent as to put Brenda herself in real danger. In truth, it was an inconvenience more than anything, but Chad was beginning to see how enough of those lumped together could become problematic.

“I see. The duplication is merely an aspect of your strategy; what you truly rely on is the coordination between selves. Having a hive mind permits you to use wordless, perfect teamwork.”

The nearest Brenda flashed him a quick smirk, even as she holstered her gun. “Smart. Most people don’t put that together so quickly. And you’re clearly working with physical enhancements, given the way you ripped up my bolas and the fact that they didn’t end the match when my mock-bullets landed. I’d say standard strongman type if you didn’t move and react so quickly.”

She was observant too, which made her all the more dangerous. Chad needed to decide whether he valued defense or agility more. The bone-armor made for a good show, and it would increase how much damage he could take, but lowering his speed might be folly. Against this many opponents, reaction time mattered a lot. Part of him wanted to doubt that she had a tool that would be able to hurt him in the first place, but Chad shoved that idiocy away. Roy’s punch freshman year, Nick’s lucky dodges when they were sophomores, even Professor Pendleton’s trickery during the mid-terms; he’d been given plenty of lessons in the dangers of underestimating opponents just because they seemed weaker. Brenda had a plan, probably a few, to deal with a strongman.

Ultimately, Chad opted to keep his speed until he understood her capabilities better. It was a risk, true, but to reveal all of his tricks to the strangers watching too early in the competition would be a risk as well. Besides, until he knew what she was planning he preferred speed and versatility over raw defense. The bone-armor could always come later, if need be.

All of these thoughts blazed through his mind in less than a few seconds. The ability to stay calm and evaluate a situation carefully was one of Chad’s dearest gifts, one he didn’t plan to squander. With a slight shift of his feet, Chad picked a target and raced forward once again.

It was time to start clearing out some clones.

256.

It took Chad two test punches before he figured out the correct amount of force. The task would have been far easier without the body armor, but he had to start on the side of caution to make sure he didn’t put Brenda in serious danger. The initial two blows knocked a clone back without unmaking them. Then on the third he heard the soft crack of a rib through the armor. Suddenly his target burst into a brief flash of light. Although there were still over twenty more to deal with, Chad calculated that his chances of winning had gone up. He had the punch to use; it was just a matter of hitting them all.

Unfortunately, Brenda wasn’t sitting on her thumbs while Chad punched the clones nearest to him. The rest of the group had encircled him, and just as he’d finished dispatching the first duplicate of the day, there came a clanking noise from behind. On instinct, Chad leapt up into the air, flipping over so he could see a rapidly-spreading net sweep over the area he’d been standing in. How had she gotten a net-gun that was small enough to lug around? It was a sound question, but one that was rendered less important as Chad heard the clanking noise again.

Standing on either side of him were two more Brendas, each taking aim with net-guns of their own. The first had been intended to make him dodge so that they could catch him with the follow-ups. If not for his enhanced brain and senses, he likely never even would have seen the secondary attacks coming. Both nets fired, one centered on him, another slightly lower in case he tried to dive out of the way. With nothing to push off of, he was stuck in the air, a sitting duck. Chad didn’t panic, however. Just because he couldn’t dodge an attack didn’t mean he couldn’t counter it. As the net struck and wrapped around him, Chad focused on shifting the shape of his forearm and shin bones. He didn’t draw them out all the way just yet, only letting the barest of tips press against his white uniform, where he hoped they would blend in.

Despite being tangled up, Chad still came down on his feet. The five Brendas who were racing forward with stun batons drawn slowed slightly. They’d evidently expected him to be a little more helpless upon landing.

“Those really are some crazy reflexes. You saw the attacks coming.” One of the Brendas with a stun baton was talking. No, she was stalling. Although she didn’t know he could hear it, Chad was fully aware of another Brenda contingency forming behind him. They wanted to catch him off-guard. That was fine. She wasn’t the only one who could use the element of surprise.

“Yet I still couldn’t avoid the shots. They were perfectly timed and executed. Your capacity for coordination is truly extraordinary. And your weaponry is quite impressive as well.” Chad’s ears were perked, taking in every sound. There was no doubt they’d attack; the only question was if it would be at range or up close. His next move would depend on that tactical choice, so it was vital he figured it out before they had a chance to strike.

“Yeah, well, I may not be one of those genius Supers, but you’d be amazed how much learning and building I can get done with this many hands and eyes. The hardest part was getting enough of that net material. It’s got so much stretch and durability that most strongmen can’t pull it apart, at least not quickly.”

Although Brenda’s eyes never left Chad, he knew she was coordinating with the clones behind him. Their footsteps were soft, well-practiced movement, undetectable with normal perception, masked seamlessly by their casual conversation. The clones were picking up the pace and drawing closer as well. She was going with melee, then. That was the more difficult option, but it had the upside of giving him a chance to clear out ample opponents.

“Pity most mundane weaponry is also useless on those with strongman endurance.” He needed her to think he was still unaware, for just a few seconds more. She didn’t fully grasp the extent of his capabilities yet, and after this it would be difficult to lure a large number of duplicates in all at once again. Chad was going to have to make this one count.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Between electricity, gas, and other specialized tools, there are plenty of ways to hurt a strongman.” Brenda allowed a brief moment of triumph to ripple across her face and her mouth opened, no doubt to deliver a well-chosen line while her fellow clones descended on Chad.

To Chad’s eyes, though, her jaw twitched in slow motion. His brain sped up past its usual amplified speeds. This level of over-clocking was dangerous for prolonged periods of time, but by Chad’s estimates he wouldn’t need more than about ten seconds at the most. The bone blades in his arms and shins shot out, cleaving through the net around him in no time. Chad spun in place, his body doing its best to keep up with his hyper-speed brain – and failing. That was tolerable, at least for this fight. He was more than fast enough to get the job done. What mattered here was precision above all else, making every movement count.

The first punch hit a Brenda with some sort of spray canister in hand, striking with the exact same amount of force he’d used to dissipate the first clone. The next strike took out a Brenda wearing a gas mask and holding a glass vial of something. There were more gas-masked ones around her, and Chad made a point of taking them all out in rapid succession. He didn’t want to find out what was in those vials unless it was strictly necessary. Making his way through the horde that had come for him, Chad dodged various stun batons and knuckle tasers as they tried to fight back, but it was hardly a contest.

At last, Chad reached the back of the attacking crowd and let his brain recede to normal activity levels. He hadn’t gotten every single Brenda that came near him, but he’d carved a path of rapid destruction that easily halved her overall number. More than that, he’d done it in such a short span of time that there had been no chance to properly counter, even with her exceptional coordination.

The remaining Brendas were backing up, forming ranks around one in the center. She was scared – and with good cause – which had led her to make a mistake. If the Brendas were all protecting one in the center, that had to be the master form. Taking her out would end the rest of them before she had time to repopulate her ranks.

Chad bolted forward, ready to leap up and over the protective bodies, when a different thought struck him. Perhaps it came from his time fighting Angela, or in the madness of living around the denizens of Melbrook, but no matter: it popped into his mind all the same. He didn’t change his pace at all, still racing forward, clearly preparing to leap.

Only when it came time to jump, instead Chad hunkered down and shoved forward, cribbing a move from Roy’s playbook and plowing into the frontline of the defending Brendas. The first two popped into light when he struck, but the third let out a coughing gasp as her rib cracked. She tried to backpedal, but there was no escaping Chad in this proximity. Three more carefully controlled blows to the torso and she collapsed, the remainder of the Brendas vanishing like they’d never existed in the first place.

“Thought I had you with that.” Her voice was strained as she looked up at him, but she refused to break eye contact, not until the match was officially done.

“You almost did. It was a smart move. Lure me into a center mass that can pile atop me while you generate more clones. The only problem was that it hinged on me believing you were afraid and making a mistake. That didn’t line up with the way you’d fought so far.”

Brenda wheezed out a breath that had to hurt, given the condition of her ribs. “That’s probably the nicest post-match smack talk I’ve heard in a while. I really want to keep going, but I don’t think making clones of me with this kind of injury will do much good. Looks like you win.”

From above, Victor’s voice crackled through the speakers. “Brenda Sellers is no longer able to fight, and this round goes to Chad Taylor of Lander! Now, both combatants report for medical examinations and healing right away.”

The last shot on the screen was of Chad helping Brenda to her feet and leaning her against his shoulder so he could help walk her to the medical facility.

257.

Adam was surprised to feel wistful as he left Lander for what would almost certainly be the last time. From the start, it was a means to an end – a way to help get access to the protected data first, and then to feed the others information as time wore on. He’d never actually planned on being a Hero. Even if they’d have taken someone like him, the real him, Adam knew too much. He’d seen the corruption of the system, the people left behind in its wake, and he had no desire to ever be part of that world. When this was all over, if he managed to get away (and deep down he knew that was a hell of an if) Adam imagined he’d slip away to another country out of the Heroes jurisdiction, somewhere he could live out a peaceful life with no more fighting or scheming.

Yet, in spite of all that, he still felt an unexpected pang in his heart as he walked off Lander’s campus, climbed into his car, and drove out of town. Shimmerpath couldn’t pop a portal anywhere near the HCP without the DVA noticing, not on Intramurals day, so he had to get some distance. It was nice, though. One last drive through the town where he’d spent four years feeling closer to being a normal kid than he had since that day on the bridge. Part of him couldn’t help wondering how Lander was doing in the matches taking place below ground. Were they showing the same fighting spirit that had dragged them out of the safety of their underground campus in May, or did the other schools have stronger students to put an end to The Class of Nightmares nickname? It shouldn’t matter to him – he’d never really been a part of that class in the first place – but all the same he hoped they were doing well. No matter how hard he’d tried to fight it, Adam was connected to those people through years of effort and competition. It was impossible not to care a little.

A half hour of driving brought him to a small dirt road, which he turned down and proceeded for another couple of miles. Finally arriving at an abandoned gas station, Adam pulled his car around behind the building and killed the engine. He stepped out, taking a stretch after the lengthy commute. Seconds later there was a ripple in the air as Globe and Clarissa became visible.

“Right on time,” Clarissa noted.

“Of course. I know everyone is waiting for me. Can’t get the party really started until Quentin and I have gotten the crew amped up.”

Globe had once again fashioned a fake left arm for himself, but it was his real hand that he rested gently on Adam’s shoulder. “You don’t have to do more than that, you know. We can handle this next part. There’s no need to put yourself in harm’s way. So much of your life is still ahead of you, Adam.”

“Thanks, but I’m seeing this through personally. I’ve waited a long time for George to make good on our bargain. I’m not putting it off for a minute more than I have to.” Adam stepped away from Globe and his attempt at comfort, looking over to Clarissa. “Ready?”

“Always.” She made a quick motion and suddenly there was a rift in the world, revealing the rest of the team clustered together back at the base.

Adam didn’t say any more, he merely walked through the portal without a second glance. Even if it was true that part of him would miss Lander, he still had to keep his eyes forward. The past was a dangerous place; it threatened to drag him down if he let it. Moving forward was his only way to survive.

*             *             *

This was, in Hershel’s carefully considered opinion, bullshit. Everyone else from Melbrook had managed to find a way to watch the fights live, but he was stuck in the gym with the rest of the class, waiting for results. Not even Titan being in the audience had been enough to score him an invitation, since a Hero wasn’t allowed to bring future interns along. Instead of getting to see his friends bring their best to bear against the top tier from every other HCP, he was sitting around, having snacks, and making side-bets on how things would go as they waited for word from below.

Professor Pendleton suddenly hopped to his feet, leaving behind his romance novel and the magazine he’d been poorly using to conceal it. “Hey! Attention, everyone: word from below just came up. To what I hope is the surprise of none of you, the first match of Intramurals has been won by Lander’s very own Chad Taylor. We’ve got a bout between other schools next, and then Alice will be fighting someone from Overton. More to come as I get it.”

With that, he plopped into his seat and plucked the book back up. Over at the chalk board they’d wheeled in, Violet wrote “Chad” on the winning bracket for the first match, then flipped it over to check bets. “Looks like the only bets we had on this one were ten push-ups between Rich and Thomas, with Rich betting that Chad would lose the first bout. Wow, ten whole push-ups! You guys are big spenders.”

“It’s fucking Chad,” Rich said as he lowered himself to the floor, ready to pay off his bet. “I only took the wager so there would be some stakes. I’m not stupid enough to put anything hard on the line.”

“Yeah, well, next up is Alice against someone from Overton. Anyone want to log bets on that one?” Violet did a cursory scan of the room, not really expecting much activity. There would be more action later on when they had some insight from the previous matches to go on, especially once the first Lander student was knocked out of the running. For now, it was all guesswork compiled from the historical performance of their peers. Once upon a time, betting against Alice would have been a fair wager, but after the year she’d put on, it was hard to imagine she would be knocked out so early in the contest.

To Violet’s surprise, there was one hand sticking up. “Hershel? Got a bet?”

“I’ll put up a hundred push-ups on Alice losing, if anyone wants to take me up on that.”

Several sets of eyes turned to Hershel, uncertain they’d heard him correctly. Violet clearly shared in that sentiment. “Wait, you think Alice is going to lose in the first round?”

“Of course not. I’m just bored, and paying off a dumb bet will at least break things up a little.”

“Huh. I guess that’s fair. Anyone want to take Hershel’s offer?” Violet asked. Several hands shot up, but she was careful to watch for who got there first. “Amber, looks like you’re the lucky lady who’ll do a hundred push-ups on the off chance Alice loses. Hershel has a point, though, so I’ll also stake a hundred on Alice losing. Fuck it, gives me something to do, right?”

More hands went up as the class got into the idea of losing on purpose. Hershel leaned back, wondering what sort of opponent Alice would be up against. If nothing else, this experience was lighting a fire under him to be better and stronger for the next time a situation like Intramurals came along. He didn’t enjoy being on the bench, and it wasn’t an experience he wanted to repeat anytime soon.

258.

The reaction in the viewing room was overall impressed, although no one seemed particularly shocked. Even among those who hadn’t already known Chad’s history, the moment he announced himself as “Intra” most were able to put the pieces together. For the son of a former Hero, especially one coming from Lander’s rumored Class of Nightmares, winning the first match was almost expected. There were a few whispers about the display he’d put on among the other classes, however. The blinding speed he’d shown off for a few seconds was the sort of display that left an impression, and many a student was trying to puzzle out how they’d overcome such a technique.

For her part, Alice was pretty wowed by the showing that Brenda had given. The way her clones had worked in unison was marvelous to watch, and spoke to an incredible level of control and coordination. Julia had never come close to showing that amount of skill; if she had there was a very real chance she’d still be enrolled at the HCP, if not fighting at Intramurals. From a technical perspective, it was fascinating, but Alice was also taking a real-world lesson from the fight: knowing someone’s power didn’t mean she’d be aware of everything they could do with it. That was important to keep in mind, even more so as the matches went on and the other students showed their stuff. There was always the potential for a hidden angle, an ace held up a sleeve until the finals. She couldn’t afford to let herself be caught off guard, not if she wanted to show what Subtlety students were capable of.

Victor had just finished drawing the location for the second match, a rainy mock-up of a parking lot, when Alice felt a brief tap on her shoulder. She spun around to find Dean Blaine looking down at her. “You’re in our number two slot, which means you’ll be fighting next against a representative from Overton. Time to head down to the prep room.”

Unbidden, Alice’s eyes darted to the screen, where she knew another fight would soon be taking place. Much as she wanted to stay and collect information, this was part of the challenge. Besides, there were bound to be whispers after the fight, just like people were mumbling about Chad, so she’d probably be able to pick up a little if she kept her ears open.

“I’m against Overton, huh? Anything I should know about their school in general?”

Dean Blaine carefully lifted his eyebrows with practiced grace. “Are you actually trying to pump me for information?”

“Not specifics. Just wondering if there are any rumors. Like how I’d bet most of the other students know the nickname our class got saddled with.”

With a shake of his head, Dean Blaine pointed to the hallway door. “There are days when your relation to Sean is more pronounced than others, and I’m not sure I mean that as a compliment.”

“That’s okay; I’m going to choose to take it as one.” She gave a small wave and then turned toward the door. “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure you’ve got good news to pass along to him. I bet being stuck in the gym is driving him crazy.”

*             *             *

“Everything looks good.” Dr. Moran was checking Chad over, despite his assurances that he was healed and fine, while two more people in crisp white uniforms did the same. Mary stood off to the side, doing her best to stay out of the way as Chad was carefully, clinically evaluated.

A woman with dark hair and eyes that were a tad too blue to mistake as normal pressed her hand against Chad’s forehead. “No lingering psychic trauma that I can sense, although to be honest I’m not getting much of anything from him at all.”

“Chad’s brain doesn’t work on the same frequency as most of ours; his thoughts and feelings don’t broadcast.” Mary threw the information out quickly and concisely, retreating to her corner as soon as it was done. Perhaps she could have been more involved in the procedure, but she was still getting comfortable in her new role as Dr. Moran’s student and didn’t want to overstep any bounds so soon.

The woman closed her eyes and strained for a few seconds longer before giving up and lowering her hand. “Seems to be accurate. Dr. Haas, would you like to weigh in?”

Dr. Haas, the only other male in the room, hunkered down to stare into Chad’s eyes. They stayed locked like that for nearly ten seconds before Dr. Haas looked away. “He’s fine, Dr. Villegas. Doesn’t look shaken at all. Can’t say I’m surprised after a mere tussle like that. This one has seen far worse.”

“I don’t love that we can’t do a proper mental screening, but if Dr. Haas says he’s okay then I’m willing to go with it. Dr. Moran, how about you? He’s from your school, you know the student better than the rest of us.”

“If anyone is interested, I do feel fine.” Chad didn’t seem like he expected anyone to care much about his opinion, he was just tossing it out for the sake of trying.

Dr. Moran finished looking over Chad’s back and shoulders before giving a firm nod. “I’m interested, Chad. You tend to be very skilled at self-analysis, and I agree with Dr. Haas, you’ve seen far worse battles than that match. Judgment on both physical and mental stability is that Chad Taylor has fully healed and is ready to proceed.” Reaching over, she grabbed the coat of Chad’s uniform and tossed it to him. “Go ahead and get ready, I’m sure you’ll want to watch the other matches until it’s your turn again.”

Doing as he was told, Chad slipped his shirt and coat back on and headed out the nearest door, giving Mary a brief smile as he made his way out. Once he was gone, another door opened, this one showing more people in white, as well as a woman still half-dressed in battle armor.

“Miss Sellers, if you’re done being healed we can proceed with your examination,” Dr. Villegas called.

Brenda trudged her way in, no longer in pain yet far from fully-recovered from her bout. “Do I even need one? It’s not like I’m going to be fighting any more today.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in her voice for anything else, though Mary tried hard to pretend she didn’t notice.

“Of course you need one, keeping up with your health after a battle is very much a part of being a Hero,” Dr. Villegas told her. “All of this, today’s events are just a game played for fun and bragging rights. Learning to take your post-battle check-ups seriously, on the other hand, is an important lesson we expect you to take with you into the Hero world.”

“If I even make the cut. I really thought I had a shot at going all the way, but I couldn’t even get past my first opponent. I’ll be lucky to graduate after that showing.”

Dr. Moran stepped slightly forward, getting the attention of the room. “Mary, correct me if I’m wrong, but during the time you were enrolled in the HCP you were widely considered to be the second-strongest in the class after Chad, correct?”

“I didn’t pay much attention to rankings, but I was usually around that level,” Mary confirmed.

“And how many times did you defeat Chad Taylor?”

“Not once. In fact, I don’t think I ever lasted as long as Brenda did.” That part probably wasn’t completely true, but Mary could see what Dr. Moran was doing. “He’s been at the top of the class since freshman year, and with good reason. There’s no shame at all in losing to Chad.”

Brenda was staring at them both as she hopped up onto the examination table. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It is just a fact, do with it what you will,” Dr. Moran replied.

Despite the tough words, Mary could hear Brenda’s thoughts taking on a lighter tone already, and she scratched down a few notes. There was a lot more to dealing with Heroes than just patching their wounds, and Mary was determined to learn as much as she could. One day, she’d be the person they were leaning on in moments much tougher than this, and she’d damn well better be ready for it.

259.

Apparently, the setting drawn for Alice’s fight had been a field. It looked like a smaller version of the open landscape where they’d had their team bouts as sophomores: simulated blue sky above them, a few trees dotting the landscape, and lots of lush grass along the ground. It was less than ideal, as far as she was concerned. Alice would have preferred a setting with places to take cover, or at least clearly-defined ceilings and walls she could bounce an opponent off of. This was going to be harder. Not by a lot, but she was already working under the assumption that there wouldn’t be much leeway in these fights. A small advantage could add up to a big difference in the right student’s hands. She’d just have to hope her first opponent was as put out by the room they’d drawn as she was.

He was a burly fellow, with a close-cut hairdo and wily eyes that darted around the battlefield as Victor called for them to introduce themselves. Without pause, he piped up the moment Victor’s voice had faded from the unseen speakers. “Nelson Galloway, Close Combat major. Codename: Big Boom.”

“Alice Adair, Subtlety major. Codename: Legacy.”

“A Subtlety major? Well, that’s interesting.” Whatever reasons Nelson had for thinking so went unsaid as Victor called out a start to the match.

To her surprise, Alice saw Nelson bolt out of sight, running behind the one of the few trees, if one could call the slender sapling by such a term. For a Close Combat student not to charge right in was strange, so the immediate assumption had to be that he was up to something. She wasn’t sure what, but Alice had a hunch her job would be easier if Nelson was caught off-guard. While uprooting a tree – small or not – would be a bit too showy, creating dual gravity pulls on opposite sides of a single point was much easier, and, more importantly, the sort of thing a telekinetic could easily manage. Just as she had with Thomas’s knees, Alice pulled the tree’s trunk in opposite directions, snapping it half and sending the top part tumbling away through the air. She’d been quick, but Nelson was no slouch either. In his brief window, the student had changed out of human form. What stared back at Alice was a seven-foot-tall gray creature with swollen limbs and strange patterns all along its skin.

“Shifter,” she muttered, taking a careful step back.

“Advanced mind.” Nelson didn’t sound like the same person; there was something shrill in his voice now, just those two words made Alice wince slightly. At least he’d taken the bait, though. If her luck held, Alice was hoping she’d be able to bluff her way through the whole event as someone using telekinesis. The less her opponents knew, the better her chances at making it to the final bout.

Nelson, apparently done changing, ripped the rest of the tree casually aside and bolted forward. Holy shit, he was strong in that form. One punch from limbs that could uproot a sapling and Alice would be down for the count. Still, she didn’t lift herself up just yet. Instead, she backpedaled, making it seem like she was trying to get a lock on Nelson as he came steadily closer. He kept jerking to the side, running in an erratic pattern no doubt meant to make him harder to mentally grip. Against someone using telekinesis, it would have been a sound strategy. Too bad for Nelson, Alice didn’t actually need to focus on him. She was just waiting for her enemy to get close enough that she couldn’t miss.

With a half-leap, Nelson closed most of the gap between them, unknowingly stepping into an area Alice had been eyeing. No sooner did his feet touch the ground than Nelson went blasting off, whipping through the air until he came to a dead stop thirty feet up.

“You’re quick.” Again his voice stung – there was just something awful about it – and the wide grin on his face didn’t help matters.

“And you’re strong. Let’s see if you’re tough, too.” With a thought, Alice slammed Nelson down, dropping him slightly faster than normal gravity would. True, someone with that form and strength would probably have enhanced endurance, but she didn’t want to risk disqualification on the chance that he bucked the odds.

Sure enough, the first impact didn’t even seem to register with Nelson. So Alice slammed him again, harder this time. Then another. And another. Each time she upped the force, and each time he slammed into the ground with a loud thud only to rise smiling once more. Theoretically she could keep this up until she found the level of force that hurt him without risking death, but something told Alice to stay on guard. He was taking this assault far too well for her to think she had the upper hand.

On the rise after the fifth slam, Nelson started talking again. “Not bad. Fast reaction time, good tactics, and care in how much force is used. I can see how you might have made the cut for Intramurals, although I have to say your class must not be all that special for you to be here. Too bad you’re a one-trick pony. Because I’m not.”

That was more than enough giveaway that Nelson was about to attack, so Alice tried another slam to the ground, this time turning up the power by a few more degrees. It still wasn’t enough, and as she lifted him into the air once more, Nelson’s whole body seemed to move. What she’d taken to be strange patterns on his skin all opened simultaneously, revealing themselves to be small mouth-like orifices. They gulped in breath as Nelson’s main mouth stretched wide.

Alice had, in training, dealt with Will’s sonic taser. What hit her in that moment made his invention seem like a toy hand-buzzer. The sound slammed into her, through her, making her brain feel as though it had been hit from the inside with a concrete hammer. Her focus shattered as she tried to hang on to her vision, which was steadily filling with spots and static. She’d thought fighting her way through the mid-year test with broken limbs would be the worst pain of her HCP career, but it wasn’t even a contest.

The sound ebbed away, and she looked up to realize that Nelson was once more standing upright under his own power. Alice’s gravity field had been as destroyed as her concentration, the only reason she could think clearly enough to make him out now was that he’d taken a break.

“Bad luck for you, I guess. That telekinetic holding shit might work well against most brawler types, but you lost this fight when you drew me as an opponent. My wails can turn your whole brain against itself. But that’s not why I picked the codename Big Boom.” Nelson casually lifted one of his malformed hands and cracked the knuckles. “Let me show you the punch that earned me that name. Or a non-lethal version of it, anyway.”

With that, he bolted toward Alice, who was doing all she could to try and stagger to her feet.

260.

Flying was out. Without knowing the range on that scream, there was no way of calculating whether or not she could get out of range in time, and if she didn’t then Alice risked an uncontrolled fall the next time that noise hit her ears. She might be able to get so high that he couldn’t risk stunning Alice without putting her in lethal danger, but if he got a scream off fast enough, she’d just add fractured bones to her list of obstacles. Plus, she still hadn’t shown off her real power yet, and despite the dire circumstances, she wanted to keep that going through at least the first match. As calmly as possible, which was more than she would have expected with a menacing Super bearing down on her, Alice cycled through her tactical options.

Without the ability to fly safely, she’d never outrun him in her staggered state, so fleeing was a non-starter. Offense was possible; she could shove him away or crank up the gravity to buy some time, but anything sustained was bound to be interrupted by that horrible noise Nelson let out. The fact that he’d stopped tipped off that he couldn’t scream indefinitely: like any other voice it needed rest. So she could, in theory, start hitting him with small bursts of gravity between the screams, creating distance and wearing him down. It was the safest strategy to use.

This made it all the more of a pity that Alice had no intention of employing that tactic. If this were a real fight, there would be other factors to consider: civilians, property, the chance for more criminals to get involved. Dean Blaine had said this was going to test them as Heroes, and Hero Alice wouldn’t put others in danger just to play it safe.

Taking a deep breath, she blocked out the fuzziness in her head and focused on her power, thankful for the practice she’d gotten squaring off against Thomas. This was going to take serious precision, especially in her weakened state, probably hurt like crazy, and then she’d still have to fight Nelson afterwards. On the upside, she expected a lot fewer people would talk shit about Subtlety students in Intramurals if it worked. As the world fell away and only the mad gambit filled her mind, Alice did have time for one final thought.

Genetics be damned: using a strategy like this made it all too clear that she and Vince were definitely cousins.

*             *             *

“He thinks he’s got this won, doesn’t he?” Vince leaned over to Nick, whispering so as not to give anything away to nearby students. Chad wasn’t back from his post-match exam yet, but they’d fill him in when he made it. Pity he’d miss the show, but it didn’t look like it was going to last for much longer.

“Pretty girl, using advanced mind tactics, and spouting off about a Subtlety major? Yeah, I think it’s safe to say he’s underestimating her.” Nick, in contrast to Vince, did not keep his voice low. If anything, he was being louder than needed, and more than a few stray glances turned their way. “If this match has a minute left in it, I’ll be downright shocked.”

“That sort of depends though,” Vince pointed out.

“You think so? Based on what, how hard Nelson is to damage?”

Vince shook his head. “How soon he’s smart enough to give up.”

Although it was close, Nick barely managed to hide his snickering fit beneath a fake cough, taking careful note of all the eavesdroppers who were suddenly looking at Lander with confusion or annoyance. It was a pain, really. He worked so hard on his trash-talk for the few occasions he got to use it, and then the way-too-honest people like Vince and Chad did a better job just by speaking their mind. Vince was right, though. If Alice was doing what Nick suspected, then Nelson was about to learn the hard way what it meant to surrender.

*             *             *

Nelson was racing forward, fist raised for a controlled attack that would injure Alice without risking serious damage, when suddenly he found himself in the air once more. The ground fell away and he spun freely, until he came to a stop looking at the blonde woman. She was staggering on her feet, probably shaking off the last of his scream. It was impressive; not many people managed to come back that quickly. Too bad for her, he could recharge faster than she could recover. Widening his jaw and drawing in air through his skin, he let out another screech, more than enough to destroy her concentration, if not render her outright unconscious.

There was a wobble in her stance, and then nothing. No drop to the ground, no grabbing her head in pain, nothing. It was like she hadn’t even heard the noise this time. As he watched, her head lifted, revealing a dangerous smile and eyes shining with violence. Stranger than that were the twin trails of red dripping out of Alice’s ears, staining the shoulders of her white uniform.

“I’m going to leave your left arm free,” she yelled, much louder than was needed. “When you’re ready to surrender, give me a thumbs-up on that hand. Afraid I’m not going to be able to hear you give up verbally right now.” Alice pointed to her left ear, a slow trickle of blood still running out. “Popped both of my eardrums. Blew them out completely, in fact, and it feels like I broke some small bones in there as well. Hurts like a fucker, let me tell you, but it’s just pain. I can deal with pain. I’ve had practice focusing and fighting through injury. You, on the other hand, are a tough guy with the power to neutralize your opponents. Something tells me you don’t have quite as much practice getting injured as I do. So remember: thumbs-up on the left hand. That’s the only way I’ll know to stop.”

Nelson didn’t have the chance to scream again. He was thrust violently into the ground, slightly harder than any of the other times she’d slammed him before. Was she… picking up right where she’d left off? After being screeched at and popping her own eardrums, she still remembered exactly how much force she’d been using before the counterattack? At least it wasn’t enough to hurt him, thankfully, so the fight wasn’t over yet.

Three slams later, however, he was beginning to feel the ache. Alice was relentless; she didn’t even pause between attacks. Nelson was like a yo-yo, spinning up and then hurtling down over and over, each time harder than the last. Another slam, and this time his thick skin failed to absorb the full shock. Another, and his joints felt like they’d been knocked out of line. Alice spun him slightly, adjusting his position and sending him down directly onto his legs. The snap of Nelson’s ankle was loud enough to be heard over his own screech, another vain attempt to break Alice’s concentration. Nothing was working. No matter how he struggled, or screamed, or tried to break free, she just stood there calmly – blood running from her ears, a grin on her face, and not a single drop of mercy in those blazing green eyes. She was undeterred, pitiless, and more than a little terrifying.

For the first time since he’d gotten powers, Nelson understood what it was to feel entirely helpless.

Another slam, cracking his shin this time, and Nelson gave the thumbs-up with his left hand. Instantly, Victor’s voice sounded over the intercom.

“Nelson Galloway has given up, making Alice Adair the winner of this match!”

From below, Alice was still standing there, looking around impatiently. “Hey! Someone come let me know if that counts and I won. I can’t hear the damn speakers!”

261.

The reaction to Alice’s victory was markedly different than Chad’s. People were more impressed, yet also more subdued. There was something inherently off-putting about watching a student injure themselves for the sake of victory. It wasn’t that none of the other Heroes had ever pulled similar stunts – far from it, in fact. But these competitors were still supposed to be students. They weren’t yet expected to have the kind of desperate, victory-or-death mentality that led to those kinds of decisions. This was the first time in Intramurals that many of the attendees understood the meaning behind Lander’s nickname. It wasn’t the students’ power that made them nightmares, although that certainly didn’t hurt. No, it was their ruthless determination that made them stand out. There wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that Alice would have beaten Nelson into bloody unconsciousness without batting an eye, and even then it would be hard to argue that she’d hurt him worse than she hurt herself.

Dean Blaine did his best to look unbothered by the display as possible. Truth be told, he was more impressed at Alice’s self-control than anything. Even in that tough situation, she hadn’t compromised on her efforts to keep those watching in the dark about her true power. And, whether the onlookers knew it or not, she had been quite merciful with her attacks. If she’d used the same techniques on Nelson as she had on Thomas, the fight would have been over much faster. Not that he could tell anyone that, even if he wanted to. Already he could hear “Class of Nightmares” being whispered amongst the others. It was tempting to hope that the next few Lander matches would present cleaner, less monstrous matches… until Dean Blaine remembered that Vince and Shane were the next Lander fighters on the card.

Mercifully, he had two bouts until another Lander student was up, so Dean Blaine decided to treat himself to a little bit of between-match mingling and a cup of coffee. Perhaps he could ease people’s minds here and there. Being scary was well and good, but he couldn’t have onlookers thinking his students lacked control. Especially not once Vince, the well-known son of Globe, was on the field.

*             *             *

Adam felt his bones shrink as his body condensed, turning from that of a young man into a child once more. He didn’t love the fact that mimicking powers required him to take on the same form as the person he copied; it came with a lot of inconveniences and limitations. Always one to look on the upside, it did mean he could practically vanish from the world if he needed to, though. Once this was all said and done, there was a very good chance that he’d have to do exactly that.

Quentin was watching him as the change finished. So was everyone else in the room, actually, but for Quentin it had to be the strangest. Watching someone else take on his form always seemed to unnerve Quentin, even if the kid did still stick to task after it happened. Adam moved slowly, being sure not to spook the boy as he held up both of his hands. Hesitating only for a moment, Quentin reached out and took both, clasping Adam on the forearms just as Adam’s hands did the exact same. They were connected now, a single circuit of amplifying energy.

“I’ll keep the pain controlled, so go whenever you’re ready.” Globe was watching this all unfold with steady eyes, his focus unwavering.

They’d tried to use the Mobius technique (a name Adam had still not signed off on) without Globe there to block the pain once – and only once. It had been terrible. Amplifying someone like Quentin did always hurt at least a little as the body was forced to accommodate power it hadn’t been designed for, but what they did together made it so much worse. The whole effort had fallen apart in seconds, as both people with Quentin’s shape fell to the ground, writhing in pain. From that point on, they’d learned their lesson: this was a three-person technique, no exceptions.

With Globe’s assurance in place, Adam set his, or rather Quentin’s, power into motion. Sparks of purple energy crackled along his fingers as he began to amplify Quentin’s ability; sparks were flying off Quentin’s hands as well. This was how they broke the bounds of possibility, how they elevated their small group to such levels that they could take on an army: two amplifiers, with the exact same type of power, raising the abilities of one another in concert. For every bit that Adam was able to improve the potential of Quentin’s power, Quentin could do the same to Adam, the two of them slowly raising the ceiling of how much they could amplify a target’s abilities. It was a precarious balancing act that had taken years to perfect, but they’d had to learn it. This was how they leveled the playing field. This was how a handful of Supers and former Heroes had a chance at beating the forces of a mad billionaire and a corrupt Hero system.

It took almost two full minutes until Adam could tell they’d reached their peak. Even this technique had limits, as their bodies could only handle so much power coursing through them at once. In the beginning, this had been learned through passing out and rushed healing. Now, both knew when the time had come to discharge. They broke their grip, both so suffused with purple energy that it was literally crackling off of them, and turned to the rest of the group.

“Who gets it first?” Adam asked. “Remember, once we juice you, you’ll be looking at about an hour before it runs out.”

Globe immediately stepped forward, to the surprise of no one. “I should be in the first round. If it wears off during our assault, I’ll still be capable of handling myself.”

Clarissa grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and jerked him backward. Strange, that was more familiar than she usually was with Globe, and for a moment Adam thought he saw a brief look pass between them before Clarissa explained herself. “That’s idiotic for so many reasons. You’re the biggest gun we have, which means we need you in play for the maximum amount of time. Not to mention your mobility is limited compared to someone like me or Joan. We can slip away in seconds if we feel the boost fading and need to recharge, whereas you’ll be stuck there unless you can float off on a rock. It makes more sense to put us first, you last, and everyone else in the middle.”

“The lady is right,” George agreed. He looked better than he had in years, no longer having to devote himself constantly to decoding a single file. A shower and shave had done wonders for the man. “Clarissa and Joan go first. Persephone and I will take the next round, then you and Gerard for the final burst. It gives us the best chance at victory.”

Although Globe didn’t look especially happy about the decision, he also didn’t try to pull Clarissa or Joan back as they approached Adam and Quentin. The man trusted his team and listened when they spoke; it was part of why he’d been able to gather them in the first place. Moving slowly, bogged down by the raw power crackling through his bones, Adam laid his hands on Joan’s forearms just as he had with Quentin. “You ready?”

“For this? Almost never. But we’ve got shit to do, so don’t let me hold things up.” Joan tensed her nerves for a few seconds then relaxed. “We’ve been waiting a long time for this party, so we should get the damn thing kicked off already.”

262.

Once the match after Alice’s was over, it was time for Vince to go to the prep room. He headed out from the viewing room just as Alice was returning, giving her a thumbs-up and a wink to congratulate her on the victory. Alice smiled back, and while she’d no doubt gotten her ear drums healed, the twin red stains remained on her shoulders, a reminder of the lengths she’d gone to for a simple win. That level of determination had set a high bar for Vince to follow.

It wasn’t that losing scared him; his opponents were the best of the current HCPs, after all. No, what worried Vince was the fear that he’d go down too easy, that he wouldn’t be able to match the hunger for victory Alice had shown. He knew he could get to that place: the mindset where things like self-preservation and fear fell away, leaving only the fight at hand. Much of his training this year had been accepting that, learning to fight with full commitment when the Sim civilian lives were on the line. That was against robots, however. Vince wasn’t sure he trusted himself to go that far against living opponents. Every time he pictured it, images of himself filled his mind. The burning version from sophomore year was a frequent feature, but scarier by far was the memory of his own reflection in the windows of the building where he’d held that speedster’s neck during the attack on Lander. There was darkness in him, deep-rooted rage and fear over all he’d lost that came bursting forth as violence. His sessions with Dr. Moran had helped him realize and come to terms with that. What remained to be seen was whether he was in control of that darkness when push came to shove, or vice versa.

These sorts of thoughts probably weren’t productive right before a bout, so Vince forced himself to think of something else. He mentally cycled through the fights he’d seen thus far, trying to figure out how he would have beaten each of the competitors that had preceded him. This was a practical exercise to get his head in a strategic place, and it also had the potential to be helpful later on. True, they’d been eliminated, but there was no guarantee another competitor wouldn’t have a similar power. The more eventualities he was ready for, the better a chance Vince stood of making it to the next round. He couldn’t take victory for granted; he didn’t have Chad’s track record or confidence. And while Dean Blaine wouldn’t drop him from the program just for losing, Vince knew how many eyes would be on his fights today. The son of Globe, who many thought shouldn’t even be here, had to prove that he belonged in this program.

That was without even taking into account the other burden on his shoulders, though at least that was a shared one. As the first Powereds to become Supers, what he and Alice could do here mattered for more than just themselves. Five had been turned: one was expelled, one dropped out, and one didn’t quite make the cut for Intramurals. That they’d made it this far was an incredible accomplishment in itself, but one that wouldn’t matter if Vince got squashed in his first fight. What happened here would have lasting implications on how former Powereds were seen. It might even play a role in whether or not the world boiled over in war and holy crap that was a lot to have riding on one fight and was this a good-

Vince smacked himself in the forehead roughly. Damnit; he’d gone down another bad thought-hole. Hopefully the match would start soon; otherwise he might end up beating himself before the first punch was ever thrown.

*             *             *

It was easy to see why the woman who’d bowed, drawing ire from her classmates, conducted herself with confidence. The gal had power; there was no question about that. Nick watched as the battlefield blazed. The dry, rocky terrain that had been chosen was scored with scorch marks. A huge fireball tore through the air, and her opponent dove to the ground, drenched in sweat, hurriedly surrendering.

“Clifton Bean has surrendered, meaning this bout goes to Lucinda Cherry of Overton!” Victor was really getting into his job, announcing like there was a crowd of millions watching at home instead of the small group inside the viewing room.

The announcement wasn’t met with much shock; Lucinda had more or less dominated from the moment the fight began. She had the kind of wild-eyed enthusiasm for battle that would have made her quite at home in Lander’s Class of Nightmares.

“Interesting. She fights like Angela.” Chad was carefully keeping his voice low as they spoke, making sure not to give any of their insights away to others. “Although she pretends to be conducting herself in an erratic, chaotic manner, her movements are actually carefully chosen as counters to her enemy’s own actions.”

“It’s not the most popular style out there, but more than a few Heroes have used it to solid effect,” Shane told him. “Being hard to predict makes it tough on your enemies, and that can give you an advantage, if you know how to use it. Too bad for her, though. If Vince wins his fight, she’ll have to go up against him in the next round. Fire is a damn useful ability, but it won’t do much against him.”

Nick found the discussion interesting. Not so much for their insights into the fight – he’d picked up on all of that already – but rather for what they’d missed. There was a dimension to her fighting style no one seemed to be talking about, although he couldn’t imagine he was the only one who caught it. More likely, the others in the room who’d noticed were keeping their mouths shut, hoarding every bit of information they could to keep even the smallest advantage. Or perhaps they were waiting until they knew more before they wasted time on conjecture. Regardless, Nick had a feeling a fight between Vince and Lucinda would be more entertaining than Shane might expect, although first Vince would have to get past his opponent from Korman.

Across the room, Victor was choosing a field at random from his box, swirling the balls around until he pulled out what apparently felt like a good one. Glancing at it quickly, he held it up to for the room to see. “Everyone, it looks like we’ve got our first urban combat match! Let’s see how these students deal with a more complex environment in a one-on-one bout. And let’s hope Dean Blaine made sure to clean out all the SIMs, or this match could get really exciting!”

Victor, clearly quite proud of his joke, looked over to Dean Blaine only to find a hard stare waiting for him. Apparently Dean Blaine didn’t take well to even the suggestion that he would leave combat robots laying around, and when Victor spoke again it was with a touch less exuberance in his voice.

“Handlers, bring out our next combatants. It’s time for a street fight.”

263.

It felt oddly familiar, being in one of Lander’s fake underground cities. This was a new one to him, or the layout had been substantially changed, but regardless, Vince noticed his tension easing a bit as he took in his surroundings. The area wasn’t as big as a normal city. They only had a couple of simulated blocks to fight in, yet even within that space there were buildings of varying height, material, and shape. Mobility was going to play a big role in this match, and stealth might as well, depending on what his opponent brought to the table.

Standing farther away on the same street as Vince was his enemy for this round. He was a wiry looking fellow, light-blue tinted sclera marking him as a Super. It didn’t escape Vince’s notice that he’d eschewed a normal uniform for the thick material shifters often wore, although there was also a compartmented belt around his waist and matching bands across either wrist. They locked eyes until Victor finally called for introductions.

“Sam Carney, Close Combat major. After I graduate, the world will know me as Grave Robber.”

“Vince Reynolds, also a Close Combat major. I, um, haven’t picked a name yet.”

Sam’s forehead creased in visible surprise. “Seriously? The year’s almost over, man, what are you waiting for?”

“The fight begins, now!” Victor had ignored the extended banter, instead pushing them to get the real show going.

Although he’d decided to start off defensively until he saw what Sam could do, Vince was surprised to find there wasn’t an attack coming to defend against. So far, the participants had engaged the moment the matches were instigated, leading to a cluster of immediate attacks and counters in the first few seconds. Sam did no such thing. Instead, he popped open a compartment on his belt and pulled something out. Before there was time to see what it was, Sam had tossed the thing in his mouth, chewed twice, and swallowed. Within seconds, a dark shiny covering grew across his skin, covering him from head to toe in segmented chunks of armor. It looked like a human had crawled inside a bug’s body and wrapped the chitin around itself.

“Didn’t expect you to give me a chance to put on my fighting skin. Very sporting of you. Or maybe you’re just really bad at this. Be honest: did your class send you as a prank?” Sam was moving now, bursting off the ground and racing toward Vince. The dense armor slowed him down slightly, but experience and training had dulled that drawback to a mere inconvenience. Sam made it within punching range and took a solid swing that would have likely fractured Vince’s jaw, if it had connected.

Being slowed a little might not be a big deal in the overall scheme of things; however, against someone with Vince’s martial training it made a hell of a difference. The blows were simple to predict and easy to avoid. While he didn’t trust himself to block without absorbing until he saw how much force was in those punches, dodging was easy enough to accomplish. Sam stepped up his attack, trying to land a blow on Vince, who continued to step away from swing after swing. He could counter, landing a kinetically-enhanced punch and playing the role of a strongman, but that didn’t seem prudent yet. The less he showed off in early rounds, the better, because as soon as they knew he was an absorber, the smarter ones would also realize how to counter him. For the moment, Sam was wearing himself down with bigger and bigger swings, while Vince was only using the bare amount of energy needed to dodge.

Much as he would have liked to see Sam tire himself out, the guy hadn’t been chosen for Intramurals without reason. After a few more punches, Sam suddenly retreated, putting significant distance between himself and Vince. “Goddamnit, we’re playing the same game, aren’t we? You’re waiting for me to show you what I can really do so you can counter, and I’m trying to bait you into letting me see your power. We’re both trying to get away with showing as little as possible.”

“Well, there is an audience,” Vince said.

“Then I guess we’d better give them something to see.” Sam took a step like he was about to charge once more, but when Vince braced for another attack, Sam used the brief moment to pull something else from his belt and pop it into his mouth. Sam’s body suddenly started to swell, his chitin cracking and falling away in some places, revealing thick gray muscle underneath. On his forehead, a small nub of a horn cracked through the dense armor, growing nearly half a foot before stopping. “Dodge this, you Lander snob.”

Sam’s attack wasn’t fake this time; he sent a spray of concrete shards in the air as he dug his foot down and pushed off hard. It was a hell of a charge, quick and direct with a perfect line on Vince. The only downside was that Sam didn’t quite have Roy’s level of strength and speed, so it came as a step down for someone accustomed to dodging these sorts of attacks. Vince easily moved out of the way, watching as Sam’s new bulk carried him forward. The dodge seemed to infuriate Sam, who ground his heels to a halt, spun around, and charged once more. Vince avoided that attack, as well as the next two that followed it, until the fourth time when Sam didn’t turn around quite as quickly, instead slamming his horned forehead into a nearby wall and shattering the brick.

“Will you throw a fucking punch already! This is getting ridiculous.”

He had a point; Vince knew this wasn’t much of a flashy show for the spectators, especially compared to the fights they’d seen before. But Vince had tons of flash when the moment called for it. Right now, he wanted to show everyone that he also had control and discretion, the judgment to use the correct amount of force for the job. That was something he would prove through making smart, tactical calls, not coming out guns blazing. Sooner or later, he’d have to counter Sam; he just hoped to see a little more of what was hiding in that belt before the time came. So Vince did what he felt like Nick would have encouraged, and decided to try his hand at some smack talk.

“When you present me a suitable challenge, I’ll strike back. If not, after I’m sure this is all you have, I’ll end things.”

Although Vince wasn’t sure if Sam noticed he’d done it, one of those thick legs slammed into the ground at the sound of Vince’s taunt, pawing at it as he readied for another charge. “You Lander people and your egos. Just because your school has prestige in the public’s eye doesn’t actually make it better. But fine, I guess you get what you want. No more sandbagging. Time to make this a real fight.”

The charge was faster than those that had come before, though Vince still easily leapt out of the way. To his surprise, Sam didn’t stop running this time. Instead he plowed through the front of a small shop, vanishing in a shower of glass and dust. There was a dull thud from the other side of the building as Sam emerged, but his form was too obscured for Vince to clearly make out. There was a sudden tightness in his stomach as Vince realized he might have just made his first mistake of the fight: letting Sam slip out of view.

From a street away, Vince heard Sam’s voice rise up, slightly muffled by the sounds of chewing.

“Congratulations, Vince of Lander. I was hoping not to break out a party pack until at least the next round, but you forced my hand. I hope you’re as ready for this as you think you are.”

264.

The silence was unnerving. Sam’s body was huge and cumbersome – every step he took should have been sending rumbles through the street, yet Vince couldn’t make out as much as a light scuff. He was either standing perfectly still, which was unlikely, or he’d shifted once more to something that could move around covertly. How many forms did this guy have, anyway?

Taking a moment to breathe, Vince forced himself to stay calm. This wasn’t his first time hunting an enemy through cover, thanks to all of Lander’s training and tests. His focus turned to the ambient heat around him, the kind put out by human bodies. By absorbing on a very low level, he could sense the heat sources just like he’d hunted the speedster’s kinetic output last May. In no time, he’d have Sam’s exact location and could form a plan from there.

Except… he couldn’t seem to find Sam. That made no sense; even if he was shifting forms, Sam’s body should still put out detectable levels of heat. Vince quieted every other part of his mind, focusing only on the heat slowly pouring into his body. There had to be a variant somewhere. It was just a matter of focus.

It was close, but Vince caught the slight flicker of heat and movement above him just before the attack came. He spun around to find… something perched on top of a nearby building. Sam was no longer huge or gray, though there did seem to be fresh chitin on his body. Also in the mix were mandibles, antennae, claws, and several other features Vince couldn’t name without a biology book on hand. Horrifying didn’t even begin to describe the sight, and that was before Sam launched his strike. A stream of green liquid shot out from a sack below his mouth, on a crash course for Vince. The moment of warning gave him a chance to react, but the goo was too spread out to dodge cleanly, and without knowing what it did he couldn’t risk being exposed to any of it.

Vince’s hand flew up and an orange barrier appeared overhead, catching the brunt of the splatter. A few drops hit the ground nearby, hissing and sizzling as they landed. Acid? Aside from the question of how on earth Sam had this much versatility, was that still on the side of non-lethal attacks?

“If you’re wondering, I shot enough to wound and disorient, but not so much to inflict deadly injuries.” Sam’s voice was high and strained, his vocal chords clearly warped by this fresh transformation. “And look at that! Someone finally had to use their power. Energy manipulation is a good one, but you’ll need more tricks than a shield to beat me.”

With one motion, Sam leapt from the top of the building, whipping through the air and landing twenty feet away from Vince without missing a beat. Now that his legs were in view, Vince could see they were warped and swollen, not to mention tinted an off shade of green. It was seeing those malformed legs that finally brought everything home for Vince, though even he felt like it should have clicked sooner.

“Grave Robber. I get it: you literally are what you eat. You’re stealing traits from the things you ingest, aren’t you? The first time you ate a beetle, and then you chewed down rhino… wait, aren’t those endangered?”

“Individuals of the species still die naturally, and I have a source who provides me with a little bit of the meat,” Sam replied, so quickly that Vince knew without asking that he wasn’t the first to bring this up. “Besides, the real fun starts when I eat a pre-made grab bag – or party packs as I like to think of them. This one is called Bug Bomb, for obvious reasons. See, that’s why I’m going to win this whole tournament, even though I’m not from the famous Lander. I’ve got adaptability that you can only dream of. All you have is a little bit of orange energy.”

Sam was barely done speaking when another shot of acid fired from his mouth. Vince’s trained reactions were all that saved him; he barely managed to get another energy shield up in time. The conversation had gone on for longer than was strictly necessary, so there was a fair chance Sam couldn’t shoot that goop indefinitely. He probably had to rebuild up his supply between blasts – or else he was trying to trick Vince into thinking that so he could catch him off-guard. It was hard to dismiss anything with an opponent who put this much thought into their tactics.

The brief moment of relief Vince felt from stopping the goo was cut short as Sam darted up close to him, swinging a clawed hand for Vince’s torso. Evidently the acid was only a distraction. As Vince tried to dodge like he had so many strikes before, he realized that he was too slow. Sam didn’t get in deep, but he sliced neatly through the uniform, leaving a trail of bloody gashes across Vince’s ribs. Although he didn’t fully understand how, Vince had to accept that Sam’s new form was faster than the old one. He backpedaled, trying to put some distance between himself and those dangerous claws, but Sam wasn’t letting up. Vince needed a moment to think, to regroup, to buy himself a second to contemplate a strategy. It was like the fight with Camille where he had been constantly pressed, unable to think past avoiding the next strike. Only this time, Vince was better prepared.

The bubble of orange energy surrounded Vince completely, cutting him off from Sam’s assault. Vince hadn’t been sure he’d be able to make something like this until it happened; he didn’t have Thomas’s level of control with the energy. It was hard to hold in place, and he could already feel the limited resource draining, but he’d bought himself a few seconds to think and that was worth having.

“Hiding in your shield now? Come on, seriously, how did you end up at Intramurals if this is all you’ve got.” Sam was trying to bait him; he thought he had the fight locked down.

With a moment to properly analyze the situation, Vince came to an inescapable conclusion: he was going to have to show his real power. Whether it was poor strategy on his part or just bad luck of the draw, Sam had proven too dangerous to try and beat while holding back. It was too bad; after seeing Alice and Chad keep their secrets hidden, he’d really hoped to do the same.

“For what it’s worth, Sam, I think you should know that you’re really strong. I wasn’t expecting to go full-force in this fight either, but you’ve forced my hand. No matter how this turns out, I think you’ll make a very capable Hero one day.”

“Thank… you?” Sam’s malformed eyes were clouded with confusion at Vince’s compliment, and the feeling only grew stronger as he watched the orange shield vanish into thin air. “I’m confused, are you giving up?”

“No. I’m cutting loose. To an extent, anyway.” Vince calmly stepped closer to Sam, watching for any movement. The acid was still something to be wary of, but those claws were dangerous too. Awareness was Vince’s biggest weakness; if he missed an attack then he couldn’t defend against it. Against someone like Sam, one miss could be enough to cost him the fight.

Sam started forward like he was going for a charge then leapt up again, floating overhead and sending down a spray of acid. Vince threw up another orange shield to block it, painfully aware that this fight had cost him a fair bit of Thomas’s energy, and started to look toward the ground where Sam would land. Something stayed his eyes. Sure enough, when he looked back up he saw that Sam had sprouted modest insect-like wings that had previously been hidden on his back. They weren’t enough for proper flight, but they did allow him to alter his course mid-air, sending him crashing right toward Vince. With a quick step, Vince leapt back just in time to miss a pair of clawed hands trying to rake over him. For a moment, he and Sam were only a few feet apart, far enough that neither could launch a melee attack but close enough that something ranged would almost certainly hit. It was the window Vince had been waiting for.

Electricity burst from Vince’s palm, searing through the air and striking Sam in the chitin covered stomach. It was a test-shot, meant to see how tough he was in that form, but it still managed to send him staggering backward. Vince didn’t hesitate, launching another, slightly stronger blast that drove Sam convulsing to the ground. Whatever changes he’d made to his body, apparently enhanced resistance to electricity wasn’t among them.

“Please yield. I don’t have any desire to hurt you more.”

“Fuck you. You think I’m going down that easy?” Sam was struggling to lift his arms, reaching for something, and in a flash Vince realized what was happening. He wanted to eat the contents of another compartment, probably one that could take a shock without breaking a sweat. While Vince had more tricks up his sleeve, electricity was the safest option for bringing Sam down. If he had to go to fire, things became a lot riskier. Much as he hated to do it, there was only one way to finish this immediately and keep Sam safe.

Vince slammed a fist lightly down against Sam’s chest, more a gesture than a punch, and met his eyes. “Deathblow. This fight is mine.”

“From one punch? You must be out of your mind if you think I’m buying–”

“Vince Reynolds has scored a deathblow, and is therefore the winner of this match.” If Sam had been surprised by the lightning, he was downright flabbergasted by Victor’s voice announcing his loss. Victor wasn’t done quite yet, however. “Vince, in the interests of fairness, if you’re going to claim that deathblow, I have to ask you use the energy it would have taken. It’s part of managing your resources, and the people watching are going to want to see that you can back the claim up.”

“That’s fine, I had a feeling I’d need to do something like this.” Vince got up from Sam and walked half a block away, to a clean section of the street. “Building or floor? I’d like to do whatever is safer and easier for you to clean up.”

“Dean Blaine requests that you use the floor. That’s just one fix as opposed to putting a building back together.”

Vince nodded then looked down at the concrete below. The punch needed to be strong enough that it would kill Sam, but he didn’t necessarily have to give away just how much force he could deliver in a single blow. If he undershot it, they might make him go again, or question the win. Better to be sure this was over. About five Roy-hits worth of force should be enough to settle the issue.

The concrete buckled and shattered, caving in on itself as a small crater formed and dozens of cracks spider-webbed out across the pavement. Vince had to hop back quickly lest he lose his footing. Down the street, Sam was slowly turning back to human-form, staring at Vince in an odd mix of anger, wonderment, and terror.

“Thank you, Vince, that settled the matter nicely. You should both report to the medical rooms for evaluation.”

With Victor confirming the match was over, Vince turned to Sam, extending a hand to help him up. “Are you okay? I tried to keep the voltage low but you’re probably going to be shaky until we get you to a healer.”

“What in the living hell are you, man? I just watched you throw manipulated energy, lightning, and a punch that would break a strongman’s ribs. What kind of power is that?”

To his surprise, Vince realized he had managed to keep part of his ability hidden: he hadn’t absorbed anything in the entire match. Some people might put it together, but there was a chance he still had a few surprise cards to play. Reaching down, he hefted Sam up to his feet, taking care to steady him.

“What am I? I’ll tell you Sam, since you seem to have some preconceptions about Lander. What I am is the last choice among my school’s competitors. I’m the guy who barely made the Intramurals cut. So I hope Korman brought their best and came to win. We’re not going to make this easy.”

265.

“What do you think, good or bad?” Alice was so close that Nick could practically feel her breath as they watched the match end on screen, a proximity that would have been inappropriate if they weren’t romantically entangled. “He won, but he had to give away a fair bit to do it.”

“That was always a risk. Vince has been improving, but his straightforward nature still shows itself constantly. In terms of overall strategic outcomes, this is about what I expected, even if it’s not ideal. That said, you have to remember something key when evaluating his matches: Vince has a different end goal than the rest of you.”

Alice turned slightly, giving Nick more attention now that the screens were dark. “How do you figure that? We’re all trying to win.”

“That’s the mechanism you’re using to achieve your goal, not the goal itself,” Nick replied. “You, for example, want to show that Subtlety students can hold their own, as well as prove to yourself that you’ve got what it takes to be a Hero since you started out so much weaker than the rest of us. Shane is fighting to live up the burden of his heritage, defeat his rival, and keep the score even with his sister, since Angela won last year. Chad’s main desire has always been to show the world that Intra is a name to be respected, not pitied, although he’s also hoping to settle the score with Shane and do Lander proud. All of you need victory to meet those goals. Vince, on the other hand, is trying to show that he can be responsible and effective with the – frankly – insane amount of power he has. He’s trying to prove to the DVA and the Heroes that he can stay in control, that he’s going to be an asset in the field, not a liability. From that point of view, he had a great showing. He only ever used as much power as was needed for the moment, never going into overkill. Even that deathblow was obviously him trying to safely end the match.”

“Wait, so you don’t think Vince cares about winning?”

Nick let out something that might have been a laugh, if it weren’t quickly muffled into his shoulder by a swift turn. “Heavens no. Of course he cares about winning. Remember, I said responsible and effective. He has to show that he can get the job done without losing control. Plus, he knows he’s representing Lander, and have you ever seen Vince take that sort of responsibility lightly?”

He had a point there; even Alice felt the pressure of knowing she was showing the Hero world what her class was capable of. For someone like Vince, the sense of obligation was probably palpable. “Okay, I see where you’re going with this. Vince wants to win, and that’s important, but he’s better served in the long term by losing and staying in control than going nuts and scoring a victory. Any fight where he stays composed is a sort of win either way.”

“Precisely. From that perspective, this was an excellent bout for him.” Nick’s eyes wandered across the viewing room to where Lucinda was hurriedly whispering within a circle of her Overton classmates. “I just hope he’s able to keep it up for his next fight. I’ve got a hunch that one is going to push his limits a lot more.”

*             *             *

The portal opened not far from the gas station where the seemingly elderly couple had stopped for fuel and sandwiches only a day before. It was tucked away carefully, out of sight. Soon figures came pouring out. Globe was first, taking point just in case there were traps or an ambush waiting for them. Only when he was sure it was clear did he motion for others to follow. George came next, already in robot form and rippling with so much energy that sparks seemed to be flying off from his body. Persephone was close behind, dressed in simple tactical gear that in no way resembled her old Mood Swing outfit. After her was Joan, vibrating from all the speed she was containing thanks to Quentin and Adam’s enhancement. Then came Gerard, who had actually donned his Raze costume. No one asked him why; it was his choice how he wanted to meet this day. Adam was next, still shaped like Quentin and crackling with power, but burdened by a hard stare no child could properly emulate. Last was Shimmerpath, who sealed the portal behind them.

“There’s not much time, so I’ll keep this short. Adam has one amped-charge left and so does Quentin. If your power starts fading, get to Adam, unless he’s already used his. In that case, have Shimmerpath open a door back to Quentin. I’ll make sure no one tracks you or follows. However, if I’m dead or incapacitated, then Shimmerpath won’t risk going back to Quentin. If we can’t do this without endangering a child, then we can’t do this. Even if the world doesn’t know or believe it, we are the Heroes in this fight, and it’s important that we act the part. Should the attack fail, then you are all ordered to retreat as best you can. I’ll buy as much time as possible. Remember, when we die, so dies the truth, and truth is more important than any one of our lives or pride.”

In another group with this kind of power, there might have been someone who questioned even the idea of failure. After all, they were amplified to their physical limits, and most had already been strong to begin with. There shouldn’t be anything in the world that could stand against them. But these people knew what it was to lose, to have their power mean nothing in the face of cunning and betrayal. They knew they might die today, that their efforts might come to nothing. They understood that no victory was certain, no Super unbeatable. And they were ready to face that outcome, if it meant bringing truth to the world.

“Not much else to say, and time is of the essence. I’ll cloak up until we arrive, but with no information on what kind of Supers Charles has guarding the place, there’s no guarantee it will work. So be ready from the moment we lift off to fight, because we only get one shot at this.”

Raising his right hand, Globe made a fist. Below them, the ground started to rumble as a massive rocky slab formed beneath their feet. Dirt fell away as it lifted into the sky, over the tree line, unseen by the townsfolk thanks to Globe’s manipulation of the light in his sphere of control. None of them were entirely sure what his normal range of control was; he kept that secret close to the vest. But it didn’t matter in that moment. With Quentin’s juiced up power flowing through him, Globe’s area of control could reach much farther than its standard limitations.

Whether it would be far enough, however, remained to be seen. Invisible to the world below, the slab of rock turned thirty degrees and shot off through the sky. Soon, they’d arrive at the lab where Charles had hidden all of his most incriminating secrets.

Soon, the battle for the truth would finally begin.

266.

In a way, Shane was glad that he was going after Vince. While he was impressed with the amount of their actual power Chad and Alice had hidden from their fellow competitors, Shane had also known it was a feat he wouldn’t be able to match. Sure, the first shadow-strike would be a surprise, but after that the cat would be out of the bag. It was a relief not to be the first Lander student to show their real potential, even if Vince had managed to keep some of his tricks hidden for later rounds.

Shane stepped out from the prep room into a thickly wooded area, similar in style to Alice’s open field setting but with vastly more trees to use as cover. Across a narrow, clear strip of grass he could see another student stepping into view. This was their opening position, meant to let them see and greet each other before diving for cover. Victor’s voice called for introductions, and Shane was happy to oblige.

“Shane DeSoto, Control major. Hero name: Styx.”

“Ervin Mooney, Weapons major, obviously. The name will be Whetstone, once I’ve earned it.” Ervin patted the sheathed sword at his side as he spoke, making it clear why his major was obvious.

“Students, this match has begun!”

There was no sense in wasting time; surprise was one of Shane’s most valuable tactics. After the slow burn of Vince’s fight, he hoped Ervin wouldn’t be expecting an immediate assault, at least from so far away. Shane’s sclera turned black as his power activated. Various shadows became tangible as they morphed into dark blades with razor-sharp edges under his control. Tempting as it was to use Ervin’s own shadow to strike him from behind, Shane had to be careful. He was already giving away a lot about his power in this first match. Once he let the other competitors realize that their own shadows were fair game, and that he could attack from such a long range, it was a trick they’d be on guard for. He still might have to use it in this fight, depending on how strong Ervin turned out to be, but it was too vital of a tactic to blow so early on.

Instead, he opted for a simple, frontal assault with three shadow blades. While it was unlikely such an attack would win the match, right now his real goal was information gathering. Not knowing another Super’s power put him at a severe disadvantage, so the sooner he could make Ervin reveal his ability, the better Shane would be able to counter it. As the trio of blades whipped forth, each swinging for a different area of Ervin’s body, Shane was surprised to notice his enemy didn’t seem to be dodging. Instead, Ervin had merely drawn his sword and shifted his stance. He’d probably be able to block one of the shadows – if it had enough mass to cut then it had enough mass to be stopped – but the other two would be able to carve slices out of him while he was pre-occupied. Shane aimed carefully, making sure not to target anything vital, and then his blades closed in on Ervin, all striking at once.

As expected, Ervin swung his sword, however it wasn’t to block. Ervin was attacking the blades, and to Shane’s utter shock not only did Ervin hit each one, he cut through them, sundering every shadow before it could draw close to his body. A lifetime of training kept Shane’s surprise from showing, though it didn’t help diminish how much shock he felt. This wasn’t the first time someone had cut through his shadows, but the only one who’d ever done it with that kind of casual ease was Angela, and only because her weapons were made of solidified light. How in the hell had Ervin managed the same trick with a standard sword?

“Shadow manipulation. Not bad. Credit to Lander, at least you didn’t only send brutes. But that’s a paltry number, and it takes too long to get them near me. I’m afraid this is not a good match for you.”

With that, Ervin darted out of sight, racing into the trees. Shane quickly did the same; it was the height of idiocy to stand in the open when an enemy had cover. Damn, maybe he should have used the instant strike on Ervin; Shane hadn’t counted on the guy being able to neutralize frontal attacks. Then again, with enough shadows, no amount of swordsmanship would protect him. Regrettably, Shane would have to show off more of his potential, and he was already the first of Lander to give away the root of his power.

There was a sound from nearby and Shane scanned the area for movement. It was the rustling of the leaves that gave it away. A pair of daggers came sailing forth from the branches. Shane was about to dive behind a tree for cover, but something in his gut told him to dodge entirely. Although Shane wasn’t one to rely too much on intuition, he also didn’t ignore it when it came on strongly. Leaping to the side, Shane rolled away as the daggers sailed into, and through, a nearby tree. They came out high. There was no chance they would have hit him, but the message they sent landed perfectly.

Ervin’s attacks could cut through cover, so if Shane tried to block them then they would either penetrate and wound him or potentially count as a deathblow, depending on if Ervin had enough control to throw a non-slicing blade that targeted a vital organ.

“Whetstone. I get it. You enhance the sharpness of things, right? That’s why you cut through my shadows and sent daggers through a tree.”

“That somewhat undercuts the degree to which my power works – forgive the expression. My blades can slice through nearly anything, though you needn’t fear for your safety. I’m capable of turning off the effect whenever I choose. I assure you, when you feel my cold steel pressed against your flesh it will be dull and harmless, even as it secures me the deathblow.”

The voice was coming from within the trees somewhere, though it was hard to track the exact location. Ervin had clearly worked stealth into his skillset to great effect. This was bad. Shane could unleash a torrent of shadows, but without seeing his target it was too risky; he could easily cut the guy in half by accident. On the other hand, Ervin could keep up guerilla tactics using the trees as cover, flinging daggers and leaping out to make quick strikes. The field had put him at a disadvantage, one that he needed to neutralize quickly.

When the idea popped into his head, Shane tried to dismiss it. The mere notion was preposterous. He’d have to reveal far too much of what he could do to make it work. It was the sort of inane madness that Angela would employ. At that realization, Shane pulled himself up short. Dismissing a thought because it’s what his sister would do wasn’t sound tactical thinking. After all, she’d won this whole thing while he was struggling with his first match. And as much as he might like to hide his potential, there was no sense in holding back for future fights if he couldn’t even win this one. Better exposure and victory than secrets and defeat.

Turning, Shane took off in a dash, sprinting back toward the clearing. “Hey Ervin, you’re pretty nimble, right? And good reflexes too, so you wouldn’t be in any real danger from something like a falling tree.”

“I would slice it in twain before it ever drew near me. I respect the desire not to risk your opponent’s safety on a strategy, I truly do, but perhaps you shouldn’t tell me the method of your next attack.” The voice was close, closer than Shane was comfortable with. Hopefully he’d be able to pull this off before another set of daggers came flying.

“Attack? Oh no, I’m not attacking you.” Shane came to a halt in the clearing, spinning around to face the direction of the voice. Even as he did this, Ervin was not his true focus. Instead, Shane was turning the shadows of the trees into blades. Each one rose up, quiet and deadly, before making a single strike at their tree’s trunk. The sound of splintering wood and cracking branches filled the air as all around them trees began crashing down. Muffled cursing could be heard from Ervin, and Shane saw two falling trees get easily cut to pieces as they came down, soon revealing his opponent standing amidst a small sea of lumber.

The collapsed remains of half the forest surrounded them, leaving the two students with nothing to hide behind, their gazes locked. Shane grinned, all-too-aware that he probably resembled his sister for a brief moment.

“I told you it wasn’t an attack. I was just doing a touch of landscaping. Now I’m going to show you an attack.”

267.

To his credit, Ervin was quick on the uptake. The moment he saw the trees all come down, he clearly realized that guerilla tactics were no longer viable. More than that, now he knew Shane could control far more than just three shadows at a time, meaning long-range endeavors put him at a disadvantage. The leaves that came off of trees mid-fall hadn’t even reached the ground before Ervin was sprinting forward, closing the gap between him and Shane.

“This is why people don’t like Lander, you know. We’re all playing it smart, but when you hold back that much at the start it feels as though you aren’t taking your opponents seriously.”

Ervin came in with a thrust, which Shane nimbly avoided while whipping a pair of shadow blades toward Ervin’s legs. With a surprisingly strong leap, Ervin hopped over the attack, swinging his sword down and slicing through the shadows along the way. The guy was nimble, and clearly used to taking attacks on multiple fronts. Not to mention aggressive – he launched a fresh volley of strikes for Shane’s torso.

“Bet you’re wishing you could use those shadows of yours to block now. That’s what makes me dangerous, you see. Supers rely so much on their powers, their defenses, that when someone comes along who can cut right through them, they have no idea how to react.”

In principle, Ervin wasn’t entirely wrong. Power-dependence was a real issue for a lot of Supers: it was part of why neutralizers like Dean Blaine were so feared. Of course, that fact was also why Shane’s grandfather had drilled Shane and Angela on martial combat just as hard as using their abilities. Graham DeSoto was of the firm belief that a Hero should never be helpless, with or without their powers.

Not that Shane had forgotten about his own abilities. He flung another set of blades, two on track for Ervin’s arms and two aimed at the legs. Ervin leapt back, ducking under the high attacks while cutting apart the low ones, then circling back to chop the higher shadows. Shane fired off two more while he was distracted, but Ervin sliced those too.

“You’ve got a good ability, but it doesn’t matter against an opponent like me. I’ll cut down as many as you can throw.” Ervin pressed the attack again, forcing Shane to dodge and leap out of the way.

For his part, Shane stayed quiet, although not because he didn’t enjoy a bit of smack talk. Shane was simply too busy concentrating to waste his words. While Ervin was cutting apart shadow after shadow, Shane was taking a measure of everything: speed, reaction time, flexibility, favored attack angle, all of it. He was not going to be a Hero who mowed through his opponents. He was a warrior of precision and exactness.

When he went for the final blow, it would be perfectly controlled and utterly definitive.

*             *             *

“That boy might have done well in any other fight.” There was a wide berth around the speaker as Heroes and students alike gave him plenty of room. Some because he was a living legend; others, because he was the head of the DVA; and a few simply because he gave off an aura of authority that naturally made people want to steer clear of his gaze. The only figures standing next to Graham DeSoto, who had only entered the viewing room moments before Shane’s match, were Dean Blaine and Casper, the man once known as Hallow. The latter had come with Graham, cashing in some of the goodwill he’d built up for a ticket to see Intramurals.

“He’s quite strong, with a good grasp of tactics and a powerful ability,” Dean Blaine agreed.

“Very much so. I hope he finds a Hero to learn from who can foster those gifts,” Graham said.

Casper was watching the screens as Ervin pressed Shane onto the defensive yet again. “Am I missing something? The sword-kid, Whetstone, seems to be holding his own pretty well, why are you both talking about this fight like it’s already over?”

A short, raspy sigh slipped from Graham. “Because Ervin’s primary method of attack is a blade. And while Shane has ample experience fighting against all manner of different techniques and abilities, he has fought against blades more than anything else. Ervin is good, but Shane has spent his life fighting, countering, and working to overcome these sorts of tactics. His only shot at victory was those throwing daggers. From the moment the trees came down, this fight was finished.”

*             *             *

The trouble with all the techniques Ervin was using was that they took a lot of energy. Big, flashy movements and strikes coming one after another were going to wear a body down, no matter how much training it had. On the other hand, Shane was keeping his every step limited to the bare minimum, conserving his strength and relying on his shadows to attack. Using them did take a toll, and he couldn’t conjure them forever, but he was spending far less effort to maintain the stalemate than Ervin was. This was precisely why it wouldn’t be a stalemate for long.

When Ervin went for a thrust, he overextended slightly and Shane saw the window of opportunity he’d been waiting for. A shadow blade whipped around from the side, catching Ervin just below the calf. As the other combatant grimaced in pain, Shane used the momentary distraction to strike again, this time going high and cutting deep into the shoulder of the arm holding the sword. Just as he’d hoped, Ervin’s grip faltered, the sword drooping. That was all it took.

Before he could try to recover, Shane delivered another slice to each limb, sending Ervin tumbling backwards into the grass. A lone shadow curved around his throat as he lay on the ground, staring up at the false sky overhead.

“Deathblow,” Shane announced.

“Shane DeSoto of Lander has won this battle! For those keeping track, Lander is the only school to win all of their opening matches. Let’s see if they can keep that streak going through the next round! Now someone get a healer to the field; I don’t think Ervin is walking anywhere with those wounds.”

Ervin was staring up at Shane, struggling to move his arms and legs despite the pain. “You’re pretty good with those things.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice, especially against someone who likes swords and close-range fighting, so don’t feel too bad,” Shane told him.

“Thanks. That makes me feel way better about losing in the first round.” Ervin managed to pull himself into a sitting position after a bit of wiggling, although it was obvious from the wincing that every movement hurt. “You’d better not be holding back some whole other aspect of your power or anything. Losing is bad enough; I’m going to be pissed if you were sandbagging the whole time.”

“I won’t say I pulled out every trick in the book, but you made me fight seriously. Maybe once we’re both Heroes, we can have some rematches.” Shane hunkered down, lowering his voice slightly. “I’m still trying to beat that person who likes to fight with swords, and the more practice I can get, the better.”

Ervin nodded. “I’m fine with that. Next time, I won’t go down so easy. But maybe we can also skip the part where you cut my tendons. This is… not fun.” He smiled in spite of the pain, and Shane returned the expression.

Maybe there was more to Intramurals than just beating each other up after all.

268.

It was a boring job out in the middle of nowhere, guarding some bunker from a potential but unknown threat. He didn’t know what was down there, or who might want to take it. Even when getting drunk with his fellow guards, none of them had let a single tidbit of information slip, most likely because they were just as in the dark as he was. All their processes of employment had gone through intermediaries and shell corporations; none of them even knew who they were working for. They all hoped it wasn’t anyone doing something too illegal, but the amount of money they were getting made it clear that this probably wasn’t on the up-and-up. Nobody paid this kind of salary to just protect a patch of wilderness without good reason.

Five years the guard had been on this job. At first, he’d been unsure whether it was a good idea or not. But an old cellmate made the introductions to the hiring agent, and there weren’t a lot of jobs out there for people that were Supers and ex-cons, especially not ones that came with this kind of salary. Five years of taking his shifts, standing at his post, and scanning the surroundings with his enhanced senses. Not a spectacular power by any means, not like the soldier types who lived in a separate compound than the guards, but he had used the ability to crack a few safes. Now he only used it to look at birds while waiting for more nothing to happen. On this particular day, however, that boredom came crashing down.

There was no sign in the sky. Not a shimmer, not a blip, not a sound. The only tip he got was from the sparrow. It was flying around its tree, probably looking for some tasty worms like usual, when it jerked, suddenly, like it was avoiding something. Any other situation, any other job, and he would have ignored it. But he’d watched these birds for years, he knew their movements, and that wasn’t natural. Even then, it might have been dismissed, but management was expressly clear on these matters: anything out of the ordinary, no matter how small, was to be reported.

“This is the southeastern watch tower. I think I just saw something odd coming from the east. Potential invisible airborne threat.” The shoulder-mounted walkie-talkie was crackling and responsive to his touch; they put in fresh batteries every morning, just in case.

“Acknowledged. Troops are getting the order to be readied until we can investigate. What did you see?”

“Nothing, sir. My mistake. I thought I saw a bird dodge an invisible target, but I just caught sight of a hawk circling the sky. It must have been diving to get away.”

What the hell? That was his voice, the words were coming out of his mouth, but he wasn’t the one speaking. His mouth was being moved for him, like a puppet, and no amount of effort seemed to retake control of his body.

There was a brief clip of silence then the voice on the other side spoke again. “Understood. Thank you for your service.”

Seconds later a loud, blaring alarm blasted the entire area: the signal that the base was under attack. Overhead, the roof of the building lifted off cleanly, like someone had chopped straight through it, to reveal a man in a red cloak floating in the air. It was strange, though. He didn’t have the movement of a flying Super, more like he was standing on something unseen.

“Where did I mess up?”

The cat was out of the bag now, and as a guard with no value this was almost certainly the end, so there didn’t seem much issue with answering. “We have code phrases to use if we’re actually calling off a report. That way, if someone threatens or controls us, they won’t know that by trying to calm things down they’re really just confirming the threat.”

“Crafty. I should have expected as much. Well, we were never going to have much of an element of surprise in the first place.”

Suddenly, it all clicked. The red cloak, the aura of confidence, the overwhelming power: this was Globe, the legendary villain. Holy shit. This day was going from shitty to totally fucked in the span of seconds.

To the guard’s surprise, Globe didn’t immediately kill him. Instead, he stared down with an unexpectedly gentle expression. “For what it’s worth, we don’t care about any of you. Wait. That came out poorly… I’m out of practice at this. What I mean to say is that none of you guards are our targets. If you attack us, we will defend ourselves, but if you want to run then we won’t give chase. We’re here for some very specific things, and none of you need to be hurt for us to acquire them. Spread that around, please. Get on the radio and use whatever codes are required to let people know that. I take no pleasure in spilling needless blood.”

That gentle expression slipped away for a moment, as Globe’s eyes hardened. “That said, we have a mission to complete, and we will see it done no matter the cost. Make sure your fellow guards know that to try and stop us is to take their lives in their hands. Try to convince them to run, if you can. I may not like spilling blood, but my hands are still filthy with the stuff.”

And with that, Globe was gone, floating back into the sky. Strangely, the roof of the guard station lowered back down, perfectly resealing as though there had never been a separation there in the first place. The guard raced to the window, trying to track Globe, but he was nowhere to be seen, not even with enhanced senses.

Slowly, waiting at any moment for his body to leave his control again, the guard pressed the button on his radio once more. “Sir, this is the southeastern watchtower, and the windows are freshly cleaned. I’ve made contact with the intruder and have confirmed an identity.”

“Code phrase heard and acknowledged, what information do you have to pass along?”

He took a deep breath, well aware that his last one should probably have come moments ago, when he was face-to-face with the enemy. The others might try to stay and fight, but this was going to be his last act as a guard. Money didn’t raise the dead, and even seeing only a fraction of Globe’s rumored power was enough to make it clear how dangerous a fight this would be.

“It’s Globe, sir. Probably others as well – he used the phrase ‘we’ more than once. He wanted me to pass along the message that the guards are all free to run and they won’t pursue, but if we attack then they will counter, and I don’t think they’re playing by Hero rules.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, the guard dashed down the stairs, yanked open the door to his station, and began sprinting through the woods, toward the nearest town and away from the wailing sirens.

269.

Chad had to miss Shane’s match, not that he was especially worried. His support of the shadow-wielder during selection hadn’t been mere friendship or bravado. Although Shane didn’t know how close it had been a few times, there were fights where he’d pushed Chad to the limit and nearly secured a victory. There was no one from the class Chad would rather have on his Intramurals team than Shane DeSoto. His victory was considered a forgone conclusion to Chad, even as he reminded himself not to allow complacency in his own fight.

Odds were strong that this wouldn’t be a long bout. Although Chad had been getting a post-match exam when his opponent fought the first time, his enhanced hearing had allowed him to pick up some amount of discussion. From the whispers, it seemed he’d be facing off against a strongman, a male student who had shrugged off several attacks and laid his enemy out with only a few punches. It should, in theory, be a straightforward slugfest. However, Chad had also noted that none of the people from Sizemore were the ones doing the chatting. If the students from his opponent’s own school were staying quiet, it hinted that perhaps not all of the tricks had been revealed yet. That was to be expected – they were only in the second round of fights – but Chad wasn’t taking any needless chances.

“You’ve both been through this before, so you know it’s time for introductions.”

Victor’s voice echoed off the empty walls; Chad had drawn a boring combat cell again. Fifty feet away, Chad’s hook-nosed opponent took a step forward and spoke. “Conrad Booker. Control major. Hero name: Seismic.”

“Chad Taylor. Close Combat major. My Hero name is Intra.”

There was a flicker of recognition in Conrad’s eyes. He’d have been getting prepped during Chad’s first match but his team had probably told him about the legacy name. Victor’s voice crackled once more and announced that the match had begun, which was all Chad needed to hear.

Since he’d shown off his speed in the first fight, there was no reason not to use it now. If he held back on the things they knew he could do, it would tip his hand, showing that he had other techniques he leaned on and could pull out in a moment’s notice. Better to limit their expectations and hope to catch them by surprise. Besides, between the name and the Control major, it sounded like Conrad probably had some ranged skills to go with his ability to shrug off damage. He might even be able to attack with the very ground itself. The sooner Chad could bring the fight into close quarters, the better a chance he stood.

He bolted forward, quickly closing the gap as Conrad stood there, staring calmly. There was something in that expression he didn’t trust, and Chad ran a touch faster, eager to get the real fight started. Even as his speed picked up, so did his awareness, every nerve tensed and ready to react at whatever Conrad unleashed. Unfortunately, while Chad was watching keenly for an attack, the possibility of a trap was much lower on his list of potential threats.

There was no warning between steps: one foot slammed into the stone floor and shoved off with ease, the next swept down into nothingness, unable to find, of all things, the ground. A glance down showed Chad why: the floor had pulled inward, creating a rapidly expanding crater that left him nowhere to land a foot. With nothing to kick off of, Chad was simply carried forward by his momentum, momentarily helpless in midair. As he tumbled, the crater expanded, turning ten feet wide and deepening so that Chad continued to fall. By the time he finally landed, the crater was now a pit down into which Conrad stared. The moment Chad felt his body hit something, he was ready, kicking off hard to jump his way back to the surface. Bones were also growing at a rapid pace, poking through his skin so he’d be able to extend them and find footing even if the ground fell away again.

Unfortunately, Conrad was apparently doing more than just hanging around up there. The surface of the pit had sealed completely shut before Chad could reach it, not that he planned on letting such an inconvenience slow him down. With a powerful punch, Chad fractured the stone ceiling, only to watch in horror as the cracks instantly repaired themselves. Conrad had some kind of rock-manipulation ability, it was the only thing that explained this, and he was healing the pit as Chad damaged it. A good idea, true, but it assumed Chad couldn’t break through in one blow. That was a mistake. Rearing back, Chad allowed a set of bone spikes to form at the end of his knuckles and threw a punch he’d have never risked on a human.

It worked, in that his arm tore through the ceiling, revealing the light of the cell once more. It was substantially less successful in the sense that no sooner had Chad punched through than the rest of the ceiling reformed around his arm, locking him in place. Although he wouldn’t have heard it with normal ears, Chad could just make out Conrad saying two words as the ceiling sealed around his arm.

“Caught you.”

All around Chad, the walls closed in, encasing his whole body. Bone blades were pushed further and he struggled against the shifting stone, but with his arm momentarily caught and the attack coming from all sides, it was impossible to pull away or dodge properly. It only took seconds for Chad to become almost entirely encased, the lone exception being his head, which began to see light once more. He was rising, the very ground that had trapped him pushing him to the surface, only now with his entire body encased and a large slab directly in front of his face, blocking his sight.

“You’ll have to forgive the face-plate. It’s probably overkill, but after hearing a rumor that you were the top of Lander’s class, I can’t risk you revealing some sort of eye-blast or spitting technique. I’m never one to take pointless chances. That’s how I’ve stayed at the top of Sizemore all these years.”

Chad strained with all he had, pushing his muscles to the limit. Flecks of rock fell away as he cracked his tomb, but the progress was healed within seconds. He needed to break through all of it at once if he wanted his freedom. The problem was, Chad was starting to wonder if he had enough pure strength to pull it off. Roy could have done it, without a doubt, but his raw power was much higher. Still, Chad had faith in his body. He’d spent a lifetime working on and fine-tuning it; if he put everything he had into an escape effort, he was sure he could burst free.

More struggling, more reforming cracks that instantly sealed, yet Chad didn’t despair. He felt like he was making progress, getting better and cracking through, just a little more strength in the right places and-

“Three minutes have elapsed, and Chad Taylor remains bound. That means Conrad Booker of Sizemore has won this match!”

Even as Victor’s words rang out, Chad continued to fight. That couldn’t be real. There was… there had to still be time. It was only the second match of Intramurals, it was impossible that he was already out. The faceplate fell away revealing Conrad still standing in the same place he had at the start of the match, not so much as a single step taken.

“I know from experience that guys like you hate losing to traps, but take it as a sign of respect. Your reputation is something fierce, so I didn’t want to deal with you in close range.” Conrad seemed to notice that Chad was still fighting to get free, and slowly took a step away. “Don’t take this poorly, but I think I’ll have that break apart once I’m out of the cell. You look like you need a minute.”

With that, Conrad turned and walked away. Chad paid him little attention, fighting to get free until he finally felt the stone tomb crumble and give way. Once he was out, he took two giant steps forward, shaking off the dust and rubble. There was nothing to do, though. No one to fight. Much as he hadn’t wanted to accept it, the match was already done.

His fists balled up so tightly that his fingers were turning white; Chad lowered his head and walked toward the exit. There was nothing else for him to do here.

270.

Shane was expecting to walk out to a round of congratulations and pats on the back for his victory, maybe a double celebration if Chad had already secured another victory for Lander. But the minute he stepped into the viewing room after his post-match exam, Shane knew something was wrong. Sizemore was cheering, a generous clue if ever there was one, and Vince, the only competing Lander student who had spare time to watch the match, was pale. Nick stood nearby, close enough to hear but still giving them space to talk.

Vince turned to Shane, blue eyes wide in visible shock. “Chad… lost.”

It was aggravating, disappointing, and worrying news, but it wasn’t quite the same blow to Shane as it clearly had been to Vince. While Chad seemed an insurmountable obstacle to them, Shane had more perspective on the Hero world than most. He understood that there were gaps in power that skill couldn’t overcome, and while Chad had done incredibly well at Lander, it didn’t mean there weren’t Supers out there who would be able to best him. Chad losing had always been a very real risk for Shane, and while he was disappointed they wouldn’t be able to have a match, Shane’s first concerns were for his friend and his school.

“Was he hurt?”

“No.” Vince shook his head slowly, like the motion took concentrated effort. “There wasn’t a single punch thrown. Conrad, the guy from Sizemore, apparently has some sort of ground-powers. He made the floor open up into a pit when Chad was in mid-step, sending him tumbling in, and when Chad came out he was wrapped in rock. He fought as hard as he could to get free, to the very end, but it wasn’t enough.”

“That makes sense,” Shane said.

“It does?”

Shane stepped closer, ensuring their conversation would stay as private as possible. “It does. Environmental powers are extremely hard for most physically-based Supers to deal with. I’m sure Chad has some ideas for how to fight with Alice since he’s seen her fight often enough, but a totally new power would be tough for him to overcome, especially if he was taken by surprise. The bigger issue is what this means about Conrad. We both watched his first fight, we saw him shrug off damage and throw a hell of a jab. So, for him to have both strongman-level endurance and the power to manipulate rock, what does that make the most likely explanation of his power?”

For a minute, he thought Vince wouldn’t get it, but apparently years under their Close Combat instructor was enough for him to connect the dots. “He’s like Professor Fletcher, isn’t he? Only with rocks instead of electricity.”

“Thus far we only know he can control and take on characteristics of his element, full-transformation has yet to be confirmed. But even if it’s only as much as we’ve seen, that’s still plenty.” Shane looked over to the Sizemore crew, who were eagerly awaiting the return of their conquering warrior. “Round two is when people start pulling out the real tricks, it seems, and I doubt this is going to be the only one. Watch everything from here as carefully as you can, Vince. Victory will hinge on it.”

*             *             *

After Professor Pendleton spoke, his own words hesitant as if he was waiting for someone over the communicator to correct him, the gym fell silent. They’d all known this was possible, in the backs of their minds. Every one of them had understood that the other schools would be sending in their best students, some of whom might be able to defeat even someone as tough as Chad. But knowing it could happen and believing it were two very different things.

In the end, it was Hershel who broke the stunned quiet. Rising from his seat, he walked to an empty spot on the floor and began to do push-ups. The keen-eyed noticed from the chalk board that Hershel didn’t have any wagers riding on this match, but it was Violet herself who called him out on it.

“What are you doing? You didn’t bet anything on Chad’s fight.”

“I know. That’s not what this is about,” Hershel replied.

Violet nodded. “I get it. Feeling frustrated and you want to burn off some excess energy.”

The push-ups paused, momentarily, as Hershel looked over to her, making sure he caught the eyes of others along the way. “No. I’m training. We just heard that Chad, our Chad, lost a match in the second round. That scares me on a lot of levels. It’s a reminder of how many powerful people are out there waiting for us. That any of us can fall short. More than anything, though, we know Chad pretty well by now. This is going to knock him for a loop, no question, but what do you think he’ll do once he’s recovered?”

It was Thomas who answered this one, even as he was lowering his body to the ground and assuming the push-up position. “He’ll train until his bones crack, then heal them and keep going.”

“Exactly. It took Roy and me this long to catch up to Chad, we’re not letting him get ahead of us again.” Done speaking, Hershel resumed his exercise.

Within five minutes, almost the entire class had joined him.

*             *             *

Chad was taking his time getting to the healers, hands only now finally relaxing. He didn’t need any healing, and they would know it. There hadn’t been a single injury, so much as a scratch on either student. Losing was bad, but knowing he’d gone down without putting up a real fight made it all the worse.

“Where are you going?”

Chad turned, unsurprised to find Dean Blaine standing in the hall. “To the healers.”

“They’ve been made aware that you need a few minutes to compose yourself. Don’t worry, you’re not the first. Come on.” Without waiting, Dean Blaine headed down another hall, expecting Chad to follow. To his credit, Dean Blaine was right, as Chad fell in line behind him without objection. They traveled a short way, until Dean Blaine opened the door to a small room, designed like a combat cell yet only a quarter of the size.

“Am I about to get a lecture?” Chad asked, only half joking. Lander was a school, first and foremost, and there was sure to be a lot to learn from his defeat.

“If you need one, but we’ll see about that when the moment comes.” Dean Blaine shut the door firmly, making sure it stuck. “The real reason I brought you here in that I thought you might want some privacy, and some walls you could hit without getting in trouble.”

Looking over the room again, Chad did notice that there was a bit of damage distributed throughout, probably from others who’d lost their early fights. “I’m fine. You know that.”

“I know that you are controlling your emotions and making yourself seem fine, for the sake of the school and your friends who are out there still fighting. But I’ve also been here, you know. I understand what it’s like to lose on the big stage of Intramurals. And I know you need to feel this, Chad. It’s going to be unpleasant, and painful, and you’ll hate me for making you. But in the end this needs to happen. Moments like this are part of your education too. Our losses define us as much as our victories, and if you don’t fully feel yours then you are robbing yourself of important self-reflection.”

Tentatively, Chad slightly released his grip on his brain’s chemistry, allowing more variance in mood and emotion. Almost immediately he was overcome. The feeling was so raw it had nearly broken through on its own; when given a path it surged forward. Chad forced it back, retaking control of his brain and shaking his head. “I don’t think there’s anything good there.”

“Not now, no. One day, there will be, though. One day, you can look back on this as a time where your resolve was tested; where you tasted real failure and either choked on it, or came out the other side stronger. Defeat is part of the job too, Chad. You won’t win every engagement. You won’t save every person. There are losses ahead of you that will hurt much worse than this one. You owe it to yourself to fight through this one now, otherwise the ones ahead will be all the harder. Eventually you’ll slip, let your guard down for a moment, and all of that pain will come bursting forth and drown you. I’m here if you need to talk, and the wall is there if you need to punch. Cope however you like, just make sure you actually deal with what happened.”

“Don’t the others need you?” Chad asked.

Dean Blaine shook his head. “Deans can’t give advice or assistance; we aren’t here to help on the battlefield. We come to Intramurals for moments exactly like this one. And even if that weren’t the case, I would still be in this room. While I can’t show favoritism as the dean of Lander, you know I will always be here for you in one capacity or another.”

It was true. Dean Blaine had been there back even when Chad just knew him as Blaine, the friend of the family. Blaine had educated Chad, taught him, trained him, made sure he was getting the most out of his abilities at all times. There weren’t many people Chad trusted completely, but if Blaine said this was necessary, then there was no reason to doubt him. The only thing holding Chad back was fear, and the moment he realized that, it was no longer a tolerable obstacle. Steeling himself as best he could, Chad let his control fall away and emotions wash over him.

As it turned out, he went with punching the wall first, although talking would follow soon enough.

271.

Not a field this time, which was a good first sign. Instead Alice walked into an urban environment, different from where Vince had fought but not by much. The layout had shifted, the buildings distinct and varied. She was still in a city, though, and once more with a ceiling that couldn’t quite be seen from the ground. Ideally she’d be able to keep up the ruse of telekinesis, but Alice was prepared to play her full hand in this fight if needed. Presumably, Chad had already won his match, meaning he would be her opponent in the semi-finals, and Chad already knew what she could really do. There was an outside chance Chad had lost, though, so Alice needed to keep making the smart calls and playing it careful. However, a kept secret wasn’t worth a loss. Better to be outed as a gravity wielder than let this be her last bout.

Alice’s new enemy was in sight as Victor called for introduction, and the woman didn’t waste a second in responding. “Bette Riggs, Ranged Combat major. You can call me Barrage.”

“Alice Adair, Subtlety major. I’ll go by Legacy.”

Bette smiled, showing something dangerous in that grin. “Let’s have a good match.”

Victor’s voice crackled once more. “Students, begin!”

The smile had put Alice on guard, and that was a very good thing. Victor had barely spoken before Bette stuck out her right hand and fired off a glowing beam on a direct path for Alice’s torso. Alice leapt to the side, taking cover behind a post box as the blast of energy shattered a window into countless shards.

“Don’t worry, I can control the magnitude of these things and they’re all set to ‘stun.’ It won’t even hurt. I do have other settings, though.”

Something struck the bottom of the postbox and sent it sailing up into the sky. Was Bette… was she angling these shots? Alice was already running, narrowly dodging a follow-up bolt as she hurled herself through a doorway and hid behind a wall.

“Poor advanced minds. That telekinesis doesn’t help much against energy attacks, does it?” Bette’s voice was still in the street, not that it put Alice’s mind at ease. The woman was an excellent shot with those beams, only Alice’s readiness and reactions had saved her. Bette was defining the engagement, making Alice fight on her enemy’s terms, and that was the first thing Alice needed to change if she hoped to turn this match around.

Floating Bette up right now was too risky; she could still shoot while airborne, possibly even curving her beams to hit from other angles. Alice was going to need to get Bette distracted, if not injured, to weaken her concentration. Popping a joint would do the job, but getting line of sight on Bette long enough to create the gravity pulls might pose a problem. The minute Alice stuck her head out she’d be a target as well. Her only shot was to sneak around, and for that, Alice was going to have to start showing her real power.

Creeping along the wall, staying hidden from anyone peering through the windows, Alice quietly slipped out the back door of the shop where she’d taken cover. All that training on how to tail someone was coming in handy as Alice kept out of sight and stuck to the shadows, tracking Bette only by the sound of her footsteps. Silently, Alice lifted off the ground, keeping hidden behind the nearby buildings as she circled around. This would be a surprise once – at most. Afterwards, Bette would start scanning the sky as well as the streets. Alice had to take her time, make the most of the opportunity. If she was going to show her power, then she owed it to herself to make the most of it.

Finally poking her head out from behind the chimney of a brick townhome, Alice could see Bette’s back. Her enemy scanned the road, obviously aware Alice had left her initial cover position. She was expecting a sneak attack, and rightly so, just not from the correct direction.

Tempting as it was to strike fast, Alice held her position and lined up her shot. One surprise attack; she had to make it count. The arms were viable targets, since losing them would hinder Bette’s ability to shoot, but Alice had no way of knowing if Bette actually needed to fire through her arms or not. No, better to take out her legs instead. Not only would it hurt like hell, it would also cripple Bette’s mobility. All the beam-attacks in the world didn’t matter if she couldn’t follow Alice and get a clear shot.

Letting out a slow breath, Alice focused on Bette’s knees, carefully creating opposite gravity points that would be strong enough to pull everything out of socket without accidentally tearing the woman’s shins off. While it might be survivable, Alice could be disqualified for using that level of brutality on a fellow student, and she would understand the decision.

Biding her time, Alice waited until she was sure of the amount of force and Bette was standing with her knees close together. Only then did Alice strike, and Bette’s scream was a testament to the attack’s effectiveness. Bette collapsed to the ground, face twisted in pain as she looked down at her suddenly busted knees. “Fuck! Goddamnit, that hurts. Are you kidding me with this?”

From the ground, Bette’s eyes looked everywhere, catching sight of Alice just as she ducked back behind the chimney. “You climbed up to a roof? Quiet little thing, aren’t you? Credit where it’s due, you’re clearly good at this. But I hope you don’t think I’m out of the fight yet.”

Dragging herself quickly along the ground, Bette made it to a nearby bench where she pulled herself into a sitting position. Alice watched all of this from the chimney, ready to drop behind the townhome in a second if needed. Much as she wanted to press the advantage, something in her gut told her to keep playing this match carefully. Bette obviously wasn’t giving up yet, nor did she think the fight was over. Either she was on Nick’s level in terms of bluffing, or she still had some cards left to play – cards Alice would probably prefer to first see while behind cover.

Finally seated, Bette’s skin began to glow, lightly at first, then with increasing intensity. “Bring the pain, disrupt my concentration, limit my ability to move or shoot back. You’re way better than my last opponent. But you’re mistaken about something, Subtlety Girl. Losing my control doesn’t make me weaker. It makes me much more dangerous. Don’t worry though; I’ll keep it on the stun setting, just like I promised.”

The air around Bette was burning brightly, so much so that it was hard to look at. On instinct, Alice dropped below the roof and into an alley between the townhome and a one-story residential. More cover than a chimney seemed prudent. Besides, if this next attack wasn’t avoidable, she didn’t need to risk adding falling injuries to whatever was coming.

Just as the light coming from her seemed to reach critical mass, Bette leaned back against the bench and looked over to where she’d last seen Alice. “You want to play hardball? Okay Lander, let’s play.”

272.

The massive blast of light tore through the city, shattering windows and setting off a few security alarms, a detail no doubt meant to make sneaking around more difficult. Alice was glad she’d dropped down; there was no way the chimney could have protected her from that wave of power. Bette was probably expecting her to go tumbling off the roof, unaware that Alice could float rather than waste time climbing. It was a hell of display, but once the light show faded, Alice was ready to get back to the fight. Unfortunately, Bette apparently wasn’t done yet.

Blasts of energy were peeling off of her, dozens of beams firing in every direction as she sat there calmly on her bench. “I can’t bust this out very often, you know. Usually we’re working as a team, so I’d risk stunning the others. On the rare occasions I’m surrounded by enemies, it’s a nice trick to unveil. Feel complimented, I’ve only had to use it for one-on-one fights twice before.”

This was bad. Alice couldn’t even risk sticking her head out with how many wild shots were going at once. True, Bette was stuck, and she’d probably run out of energy eventually, but how much damage would be wrought before that happened? This wasn’t just about winning, it was about showing her skills as a Hero, and Alice was pretty certain nobody would be impressed by her letting a block get demolished while she played it safe and ran out the clock.

Taking a deep breath, Alice mentally stepped back and broke her task into increments. First and foremost: she needed to see her enemy. Until she could warp the gravity around Bette’s exact position, Alice couldn’t retaliate without putting the whole area at risk. At most right now she could float Bette up or pin her down, neither of which would help with the firing energy. So, how did she get line of sight without risking taking a stray shot?

Well, they’d gone to all the trouble of installing alarms in fake stores. Maybe they’d added other details to this city too. Warping gravity nearby, Alice collapsed part of the wall of the townhouse and jumped inside. She was in a living room, with a couch nearby. Furniture was a good sign, so she kept going, racing around and throwing open doors until she found what she was after: a bathroom. More specifically: a bathroom mirror. Popping it off the wall, Alice floated the mirror behind her, back out to the alley, and positioned it so she could see around the corner.

It was shaky and not at the best angle, but Alice could finally see Bette again, even as more blasts were firing off. Damn, this woman would be a hell of a scorched-earth style Hero, and she knew it. That would explain why Bette looked so unbothered by all the collateral damage. First part was done, now on to the next task: how to incapacitate Bette.

Tossing Bette up and spinning her like Alice had done to Nathaniel was tempting, but it would just give her a better vantage point to shoot from, and concentration disruption clearly wasn’t a reliable tactic here. Even if Bette was bluffing and she did need to focus on the attack, she’d already had her knees knocked out of socket and was keeping up this pace, so dizziness might not be an insurmountable hurdle. No, Alice either needed to knock Bette completely unconscious, or stop her from damaging the city while she wore herself out.

Now that she was seeing the whole scene, Alice noticed that while every piece of glass near Bette had shattered, nothing else seemed to be affected. A few chips of paint here and dinged doors there, but the damage was very limited. It made a certain amount of sense: if these bolts were meant to stun, then they couldn’t be strong enough to crack brick or stone without doing the same to any person they struck. Pinning Bette and calling for a capture victory would be simple enough, but it would require permitting this attack to continue for three more minutes. If there were people here, then they’d be taking multiple shots as they lay helpless, and it was possible the injuries would pile up. Her other option would come with a higher degree of property damage, but it would keep Bette contained. Of course, it would also show off much more of Alice’s power. At this point, however, that seemed like a trade worth making. If nothing else, at least it would be a chance to demonstrate just how effective Alice could really be.

Shifting her focus, Alice started with the debris. There wasn’t much; Bette had done a good job keeping her energy level controlled even as she let loose. That was fine, though. Alice didn’t need debris, she could make her own. Collapsing the wall of the very store she’d hidden behind, Alice created a flow of gravity that dragged the bricks and assorted other materials into position. Bette barely had time to register the sound of a cracking wall before she found herself surrounded by various materials. They wound around her, forming a barrier between Bette and the rest of the city, absorbing her strikes before they could travel more than a few inches.

“Walling me off, now that’s not a bad idea. But just because I’ve been playing nice, don’t forget I can hit harder.” Bette raised a hand, clearly planning on blasting a hole in the wall. Before she got the chance, the bench under her gave way and Bette found herself suddenly pinned against the ground, unable to lift her limbs. Even talking was a struggle, as she worked to squeeze out every word. “How… the… hell?”

“You’re not the only one who can play hard when properly challenged.” Alice stepped out from behind the alley, letting the mirror fall away. Cover had been smart when she was on the defensive. Now that she was seizing control it was time to be seen: today by the Heroes watching, and one day, when this was all real, by the people she was protecting. They needed to know that a Hero was there, and that meant everything would be okay.

As she walked, Alice continued building up the wall around Bette, reinforcing it in case any wild, powerful shots ripped through. To her credit, Bette hadn’t escalated the power of her barrage; the energy was still set on stun. Wild as the attack seemed, Bette was still training to be a Hero. She knew where the line was.

The three minutes seemed to take forever, as Alice waited, tense and ready to respond. Rogue beams would fire upward into the air, unimpeded by the wall, and a few of them curved back down half-heartedly. Bette was hoping to get lucky, but she couldn’t see Alice through the barrier of debris. At last, Victor’s voice came through the speakers.

“Three minutes of capture have passed, making the winner of this match Alice Adair, of Lander. Let’s get some healers out to the field now; I don’t think Bette will be able to walk this one off.”

The crackling energy died down, and Alice released the pinning force of gravity. She also ripped the makeshift wall in half so that Bette would be easier for the healers to reach. For the first time since the match started, they were looking each other in the eyes again.

“You’ve got some neat tricks for an advanced mind. Guess that Subtlety major was a good choice.”

“It suits me,” Alice agreed. “That was some assault though. How much longer could you have kept going if I didn’t seal you off?”

“A pretty damn long while. I may not have the most unique ability in my HCP, but I do have a ton of energy. It’s what got me here in the first place.”

Across the room, a door opened and staff came running out to heal Bette. Alice backed away to give them space to work. Her mind was already off this match anyway, thinking ahead to what came next. She’d probably be fighting Chad, or someone who was strong enough to defeat him.

Either way, the next match ahead of her was going to be a tough one. Alice just hoped her luck held. She was halfway through Intramurals now. It seemed a shame not to go ahead and win the whole thing.

273.

The knock was brief, two swift strikes on the door before it was shoved open. That fact alone drew Charles Adair’s attention. Barging into his office was not something he tolerated, as a rule. His most trusted employees understood the extent to which Charles valued privacy, and very few others would be permitted anywhere close enough to make such an intrusion. So for someone to come bursting in like this, there were really only two possible options: either something incredibly important was happening that demanded his immediate attention, or one of his employees was about to be fired so hard they’d never find work again.

“Sir.” Simon, usually the picture of composure, was sweating as he made his way past the guards, who were visibly torn on whether to let him through like this. “Mr. Adair. I have a report to make. An off-the-books report.”

“Guards, shut the door behind Simon. He’s obviously bringing a vital matter to my attention.” There were few employees whose judgment Charles would trust so immediately, but Simon had a good head on his shoulders and loyalty to spare. Whatever he needed to say, it would almost certainly be worth hearing.

The guards did as they were told, and once the door was shut Charles flipped a hidden switch on his desk to activate security and anti-monitoring devices built into the room. “Proceed, Simon.”

“Thank you, sir.” Simon dug into the pockets of his khakis, ultimately pulling out a wrinkly sheet of folded-up paper. He smoothed it out as best he could before handing it over. “This came a few minutes ago. From the special device. The one you told me to have monitored at all times. I’ve got an intern posted there twenty-four hours a day, and when one called to let me know this was printing, I dashed over. He didn’t see what was on it, the locked tray ensured that, and I folded it as soon as it was in my hands to protect from prying eyes.”

Charles scanned the page. All that security, and they probably wouldn’t have been able to make heads or tails of it even if they’d seen. To most, this was nothing more than a string of numbers. For Charles, it was so much more. It was the beginning of the end. In a strange way, he felt a sense of relief at that message. Deep down, he’d always known this would come. Phil never gave up, especially when he was in the right. Eventually, Phil would find the lab: Charles had been all too aware of that from the very beginning. And now, at last, they could finish things. This was the end of their cold war, and when the day ended only one Adair brother would be left standing. If this were a just and decent world, it would be Phil, but that was not the world they lived in. Charles had seen that firsthand as his wife withered away.

“Thank you, Simon, that will be all.” Charles started to reach for the phone then paused. “Actually, I need you to do some other business for me. That deal in Venice we’ve been working on, it could use a soft touch. Take one of the private planes and see if you can’t charm them into a better deal; I’ll let the airstrip know you’re coming. And take your husband along as well, I’m sure he would love to see the sights. You have to make room for time together. You never know how much you’ll have.”

Simon was staring at him, confusion replacing the frantic energy he’d burst in with. “Mr. Adair? Is everything okay?”

“Time will tell, I suppose. But you’ve been a good employee. Perhaps even a friend. There is a chance this day ends without any incident whatsoever. There is also a chance that today is the day my entire world comes burning down. Most of my people have been carefully compartmentalized, kept so far away from understanding that the light of suspicion could never fall on them. You, however, have been with me too long. I fear there will be those who won’t believe your honest innocence. If all is peaceful, then do your job and enjoy a few days away. If things go wrong… well, arrangements for my staff have been made. Take care of yourself, Simon.”

“I will.” Simon paused, looking at the boss he’d spent years working under and learning from. “Sir, whatever you’ve had to do, I want you to know that I have complete faith it was necessary. You may be a hard man, but I don’t think you’re a cruel one.”

A flicker of a smile appeared for a flash on Charles’s face. “Optimism and faith. I do enjoy those, even if they are things I can no longer have. Now go. I’ve got work to do, and you have a plane to catch.”

As Simon left, Charles picked up the phone and began to dial. The upside of always assuming the worst, always knowing this battle would come, was that it allowed one to plan for such contingencies. Phil was strong, determined, and capable of building a powerful team, but foresight was never his greatest asset. That was something the lesser Supers had to use, ones like Charles who lacked the raw power to force an outcome to unfold the way they wanted. Plans were already laid; they just needed a small push to get moving.

“Reports are in, Globe is making his assault.” His voice echoed through the spacious office as Charles spat orders quickly into the phone. “Security staff on site will no doubt be responding, but we need to flank him to have a chance. Gather the secondary force and pin Globe in the moment they breach the first layer. Once that’s in motion, activate all contingencies.”

Charles had to pause as a voice came over the line, asking a question. There weren’t a lot he would tolerate in a moment like this, but it was a fair one to ask. Turning to the window, Charles stared out into the sunlight streaming down onto his garden. Shelby’s garden, really, since he’d planted it for her. He wanted her to see it, just once. He wanted her to walk through the vines and flowers, smiling as she took in the wonders of nature. Sometimes, Charles liked to picture Alice with her too, the pair of them looking so alike, happily strolling together. He never put himself in that fantasy, though. That sort of moment was beyond him. Charles had done too many horrible things to ever stand at Shelby’s side again... so in the end, what was one more if it meant that someday she might get that stroll in the garden?

“Yes. The latest contingency as well. Send someone right away, and offer whatever it takes. Overpay as much as needed. Speed is more important than anything else right now. Globe will come in gently at first; he hates to kill if it can be avoided. We use that time to prepare. Once the fight turns deadly, all hell will break loose.”

Swiveling the chair, Charles turned away from the garden, a sight more lovely than he felt he deserved. “When it comes to that, let’s make sure we have the biggest demons.”

274.

If Vince had been nervous about the first fight, he was bordering on skittish for the second. Not only had he gotten a very real reminder of how even the best of the class could lose, but by the accounts he could gather, Lucinda had handily crushed her first opponent. Although Grave Robber had been strong, he let the chip on his shoulder about Lander’s reputation slightly cloud his judgment, and that had opened up opportunities. If Lucinda was really on top of her game, Vince couldn’t count on the same advantage. So far in the second round of fights Chad had lost and Alice had been driven to show her real power to the crowd. Between the two, Vince would rather be in Alice’s shoes than Chad’s, so he was entering this fight ready to give whatever it took.

They were in a large area: rocky, open terrain without any grass or landscaping. No fake sky, but a ceiling much higher than in a normal combat cell. Everything was bigger, in fact. The whole thing sort of looked like a battered reproduction of a coliseum. It occurred to Vince that maybe not every battlefield here was designed specifically for Intramurals; maybe some of these were old Lander training grounds that had been repurposed to the task.

Across the terrain, his opponent stepped into view. She didn’t bother waiting for Victor, signaling Vince with a cheerful wave. “Hey there! I’m Lucinda Cherry, Control major, and my code name will be Slow Burn.”

“Vince Reynolds, Close Combat major. Still no name picked out yet.”

“Sure, what’s the rush, graduation is only a few weeks away. Can’t imagine you’ll need a Hero name anytime soon.” While her tone was playful, there was something dangerous in the half-smile that hung lazily on her face. Without fully understanding why, Vince shifted his footing, mentally preparing for defense. His instincts were screaming that she was dangerous, and with so much on the line, Vince couldn’t risk ignoring them.

The crackle of the speaker sounded slightly annoyed, somehow. “Since you both jumped ahead of the script, we may as well go ahead and start the match. This fight begins now!”

Lucinda’s hands both rose instantly, and she met Vince’s eyes for a split-second. “Sorry, but I heard you’re strong. That means I can’t take any chances.”

Twin blasts of fire roared away from her fists, surging through the air toward Vince. He readied himself to dodge, with absorption in his back pocket if he was too slow, but five feet from impact the fireballs suddenly exploded outward, wrapping around and engulfing Vince in a perfect cone of flame. Five feet away on all sides the fires burned, his body sweating instantly from the sudden influx of heat. Lucinda was corralling him, cutting off Vince’s vision so he couldn’t shoot and overheating him until he passed out. It was a sound strategy for non-lethal subjugation, but there was a flaw in showing off this kind of technique. To have this level of control meant that the only thing she could be was a fire manipulator, and Vince was more than capable of dealing with that.

The flames vanished as Vince quickly pulled them in, clearing his vision to reveal Lucinda looking slightly surprised. Not quite the shock and devastation he was expecting, but after four years of HCP training, keeping a poker face was somewhat expected. They had locked eyes again, and this time it was Vince’s turn to apologize.

“Sorry to you, too. That’s a great power. It really is. And you’ve clearly got amazing control over it. This whole match is really unfair; I just happened to be the perfect counter to your ability. I wish I felt better about this win, but I’m afraid I can’t afford to lose.”

In the time he’d bought by talking, Vince had shuffled slightly over and lined up his shot. He’d had to give away his absorption ability, but the trade was well worth it. One bolt of lightning and this would be over, a step closer to the finals. Raising his arm with a quick, practiced motion, Vince sent a surge of electricity blasting across the battlefield toward Lucinda. He was expecting her to dodge, which he would follow up with another set of shots wherever she landed. Or maybe she would shoot back, not that the fireballs would be fast enough.

What Vince was not prepared for was his lightning bolt to travel ten feet before igniting a tremendous blast of fire. It was so much, so hot and so fast, that Vince was knocked backward, barely managing to stay on his feet. How… she could conjure flames away from her body too? And use them defensively? It didn’t seem possible, but the force of the explosion had been perfect, just enough to knock him off-balance and injure without risking serious damage. It had to be Lucinda, he just didn’t understand how. Was she really fast enough to block lightning?

“Absorber, right? I had my suspicions after I caught the end of your last fight, but it wasn’t until you stole my fire that I knew for sure. You’ve got a lot of variety, I’ll give you that. Problem is, it looks like you’re also vulnerable when attacking. Seems almost like a stalemate, doesn’t it?”

Vince staggered slightly, finding his footing. He was breathing hard, even though he’d barely moved so far in the fight. That blast must have taken more out of him than he realized… except that didn’t make any sense. Vince was used to fighting and taking injury, all without losing a step. He’d spent four years in HCP training; there was no way he should already be short of breath. None of this made sense. Why was he panting? How was she blocking his attacks? For that matter, why was she standing there talking instead of pressing her advantage? There had to be an answer, or at least a tactic he could use to buy time. Something in the arsenal, kinetic, electric, fire-

It was hard to say what made everything click – a combination of forces and information slamming together at once, aided by the intuition Vince was trying so desperately to listen to. But the instant it did, Vince understood. He knew Lucinda’s trick, and what he had to do next.

Leaning back, Vince blasted himself up into the air, high as he could go without risking contact with the ceiling. As he flew, he took the deepest breaths possible before slamming back down to the ground and absorbing his own impact. Lucinda had moved position to something slightly more defensive as he flew, but she resumed her aggressive posture once he landed.

“Damn. I thought I was going to be able to sell this for at least a few more matches.”

“If it was anything else, you might have,” Vince said. “But fire was my first energy to really control. I know it better than any of the others, and I have a good understanding of how it works. Plus, I know my body, and there’s no way I was actually worn out yet. You should have waited a little longer to make it seem natural.”

“Like I said, I heard you were strong and didn’t want to take chances. Neat trick you pulled there, I’m not too proud to admit I admire it.” Lucinda had lifted her hands once more, with a careful aim at Vince. “Think you can manage it again?”

Truthfully, Vince wasn’t sure. Hanging in the air like that left him vulnerable, and if she attacked when he landed then Vince would have to choose between absorbing the fire or the kinetic energy. But he was going to have to think of something, fast. Already the air around him was shifting. It was so subtle that it would be impossible to notice if one wasn’t looking for the change. That was part of what made her so dangerous: with the chatter and the fire, it was easy to fall for Lucinda’s bluff. Because while she was a manipulator, it wasn’t fire she had domain over. No, she was something much worse.

Lucinda Cherry was an oxygen manipulator.

275.

“Figured it out yet?” There was a twinkle of wicked joy in Nick’s eyes, making it all the more blatant that he’d understood Lucinda’s true nature before the fight even started.

“After all that, I think most of the room has put it together,” Alice replied. “Lucinda is manipulating the oxygen around them. She’s got spark-mechanisms on the gloves of her uniform, and she creates hyper-oxygenated trails and pockets for the flames to travel along. At high enough concentrations, even the dust or normally-trace amounts of flammable gas in the air could be combustible enough to act as temporary fuel. For the tornado, I’m guessing she was burning the ground and using oxygen to guide the flames. She also put a big wall of concentrated oxygen between her and Vince that first time, which the electricity ignited, breaking his aim and focus with an explosion. And all of that was really just a diversion so she could decrease the oxygen in the air around Vince until he passed out. She is good.”

Nick was still watching the screen, waiting for the action to resume. “A thinking opponent: one of the most dangerous types to face. Even worse, she’s well-trained. Every movement is precise and practiced; she has been using the perfect amount of force at each turn to be effective without crossing into lethal danger. She even lowered the oxygen around Vince at a slow pace to ensure there wouldn’t be unpredictable side-effects. I haven’t seen the stats, but I’d wager Lucinda might be the best of her class.”

“Which brings us to the real question: can Vince win this one? I know what I’d do to try and counter her, but I’m not sure it would work. With Vince, he’s fighting something he can’t absorb and she’s cut off a lot of his fire and electricity ranged options. The orange energy would get through, but he’s slow with it, so she could probably dodge. All he’s got left is kinetic, which means getting in close. That should put him at an advantage; although I can’t shake the feeling she’s got a plan for that.” Alice glanced briefly around the room to the rest of the students. Round two was showing what people could really do. She wondered how many surprises would be left for round three.

Absentmindedly, Nick pulled out the playing cards from his pocket and began to shuffle them. “I genuinely don’t know how this one will shake out. I had some concerns going in, but Vince caught on faster than I expected. Now that he knows what he’s fighting, he has a chance. It’s up to him how much he makes of it.”

*             *             *

Lucinda didn’t look bothered by her secret being uncovered. If anything, there was a touch of relief in her posture, as though she felt glad not to be preoccupied with the farce. It wasn’t hard to understand the sense of ease; she was definitely the one running this fight, and had been since it started. She stood there, waiting for Vince to move, content to let him take his time and puzzle it over. Of course, the only reason she was so accommodating was that the longer Vince waited, the greater a chance he’d run low on oxygen and pass out. Already he was panting again, even after the deep gulps of air from above. Time was against him. So was distance, for that matter, since she could make everything Vince shot literally blow up in his face. The only option he had was to get in close. Powerful as she might be, the odds of her having any physical defenses were low. In melee, Vince was an opponent; out here he was just a target.

“Come on already. We both know where this is going. Only one path to victory.” Lucinda pointed to a patch of ground three feet away. “Trust me, you don’t have time to waste. Better make that play while you’re still conscious.”

So, Lucinda knew he was going to rush her. Not a great shock, as she’d been a step ahead the entire time. It might be a bluff, an attempt to make him think she had a counter ready so he’d choose another tactic. Or maybe she wanted him to think that so he’d charge in to whatever trap she had planned. Vince spared a few precious seconds to shake his head roughly. This was pointless. He wasn’t going to outthink Lucinda. She was cunning, confident, and capable. But there was one factor Vince could control. Even if she knew what he was going to do, it didn’t mean she knew how effective he’d be at it. Battles of the mind might not be his forte, but Vince could usually hold his own in duels of the fist.

Speed was the first priority. A regular charge would just give her time to move, so he was going to have to close the gap fast. Leaning back onto one foot, Vince launched himself into a horizontal leap, blasting across the battlefield. He still didn’t have Roy’s aim or control in this method, but Vince could make it to a general area. Lucinda was, unsurprisingly, ready for this tactic. A quick motion of her hands and a spark leapt, turning quickly into a fireball that roared toward Vince at an incredible pace. It exploded right in front of him, creating a wall of fire he’d have to travel through, but now it was Vince’s turn to be prepared. He absorbed the fire in mid-jump, barely switching to kinetic absorption in time to land without snapping an ankle.

The jump had landed him less than ten feet from Lucinda, who had slightly changed positions. Vince raced toward her, taking a swing as soon as he was in range. To his shock, she nimbly stepped aside, countering with a punch to his stomach. Vince didn’t let the pain distract him as he went for a grab, only to have his hands close on empty air. This was crazy, how was she keeping up in hand-to-hand when he’d been training as a Close Combat major for years? Vince darted away to try and get his bearings, and the truth snapped into place as he staggered for footing.

“I’m slow. It’s not that you’re fast, I’m just moving slowly because I’m constantly out of breath.”

“That, and my blood is hyper-oxygenated,” Lucinda added. “Think of it like blood-doping, except I can do it myself.”

Weakening her opponent while strengthening herself enough to close the gaps in skill. Despite how dire his situation was looking, Vince found himself wondering where Lucinda would intern after graduation. She seemed like the kind of Hero he’d like to share a team with.

“You are… crazy strong.” Vince’s breath was coming in gasps now; those failed swings had cost him dearly. “I love it.”

“Not too bad yourself. Most people go down by now,” Lucinda replied.

“Yeah, that’s always been my problem. Too stupid to know when to quit.” Vince steadied himself, trying desperately to think of what he could do. She was keeping perfect control of the oxygen in the battlefield, letting herself breathe while starving him out. That had to require a lot of concentration. He needed to break it, catch her off-guard if only for a second, in hopes of getting more actual air. Absorbing was no good; even if he could get the room cold fast enough, all it would do was hinder his own mobility as he suffocated, and none of his offensive energies could punch through her defenses without blowing up. He needed something, anything, to knock her off her feet for a few… that was it. That was his one shot.

Summoning the last bit of his focus, Vince ran for Lucinda again. He took another half-hearted swing, only to have his right arm caught in a lock, just like he’d expected from someone with so much training. Lucinda twisted, bringing Vince to his knees, his left palm pressed against the ground.

“Well, a little anti-climactic, but I respect the determination. How about you give up now, and I don’t have to make you pass out? Or, if you struggle, I’ll break your arm. I’m trying to be fair here, but we are still in a match. Oh, and you’ve got a few high-oxygen pockets right around you, so try shocking me and you’ll light yourself on fire.”

Vince mumbled something under his breath, drawing Lucinda a few inches nearer. She was keeping a safe distance though; the woman was no fool. It seemed like this was as close as he was going to get. Looking up, Vince repeated himself, this time staring right into Lucinda’s eyes as he did.

“Jump.”

The blast of kinetic energy from Vince’s palm tore through the ground at their feet, shattering it into rubble even as Vince was thrown wildly across the cell. Lucinda tumbled to the ground, scrambling back to her feet over the broken floor as fast as she could. It was too late, however. Vince had earned himself some distance, and a few breaths of air in the process. She’d reestablish control in no time though, and they both knew it.

“So we’re back to where we started. You over there, me over here, and no way for you to win.” There wasn’t any relaxation in Lucinda’s stance now; she was wary. Vince had taken her by surprise, and that apparently didn’t happen too often.

“We are back to where we started,” Vince said. “But I don’t know that I agree on that second part. Look around, Lucinda. We’re in an enclosed space. While I’m sure there are vents somewhere, they can only move so much air at a time. You have an incredible ability, one that has clearly been honed through countless hours of practice. All the same, you still only control one element. So, what happens when someone has a gun with no bullets?”

She took a step back, on the defensive for the first time. “You haven’t absorbed nearly enough fire from me to pull that off. Even if you did, that would still be crazy.”

“No, but I brought plenty of my own flames. And it is crazy, I’ll give you that.” Vince steadied himself, all too aware of how last-ditch this gambit really was. Even he knew how impossible the task before him was. But that didn’t matter. Vince didn’t actually need to succeed. He just had to make Lucinda think he could. “But we’re the Class of Nightmares. Crazy is what we do.”

With that, Vince lifted his arms and summoned an inferno.

276.

There was no grace or plan to it. Vince couldn’t use those, even if he wanted to. Lucinda was trying to smother his flames by creating oxygen voids as fast as she could, so he had to keep blasting fire in every direction, too chaotic for her to stop. Sometimes it would hit one of her concentrated oxygen pockets and explode, but such instances were rare and fleeting. She couldn’t afford to create many of those now, not with Vince doing his best to burn out every bit of oxygen around them. He was a pillar of flame, fire pouring out in all directions, torching everything it could touch. It would have been easier if there were more than rocks around them, trees or grass that could serve as easy fuel. As it stood, Vince’s stolen fire was the only source he had, so he was pouring on as much as he could muster. This wasn’t quite how he’d expected to use his Lander East training on summoning big bursts of power, but anything that worked in a fight was a tactic he was happy to embrace.

The thing was, Vince already knew he couldn’t pull it off. There had to be sources of fresh air coming into the cell, and no matter how fast he burned the oxygen, Lucinda would be able to pull from those unseen vents and refuel herself. Choking her out was impossible. All he was really doing, all he’d ever been trying for, was distracting her. Breaking that concentration. Giving her too many threats to deal with so that one could slip past.

The moment came after thirty seconds of trying to burn the room down. The circle of flames around Vince parted for an instant, showing him Lucinda waving her arms around, frantically trying to get control of the battlefield once more. Lifting his hand, Vince halted the flames and switched energy as fast as he could, getting off a single blast of electricity. It raced across the field, unbothered by pockets of oxygen, before slamming into Lucinda’s shoulder and knocking her back.

“Oh you fucker. All that for a potshot?” She was staggered, but not down. He apparently hadn’t hit her with enough juice to end things.

“You have no idea what people in my class will do to land one blow.” Vince didn’t reignite the fire. Instead, he started absorbing. Not the dying flames around him or the heat burning the air. No, he took something almost as precious as the oxygen itself. Vince stole the light.

“The hell?” Lucinda was plunged into darkness, as was the rest of the cell.

Vince dearly hoped the people watching had some way of seeing what was going on, but he couldn’t worry about that just yet, instead focusing on racing toward his opponent. Lucinda was going to be weakened by getting a sudden electric shock, enough to slow her down slightly. Between that and the fact that she’d be fighting in darkness while he could still sense her location, it might be enough to make up for the fact that Vince was essentially suffocating. He didn’t have much left in him. Those last few breaths felt hours away, and every limb was moving heavily. If this didn’t work, he’d probably pass out before there was another chance to attack.

Quickly closing the gap, Vince managed to land a jab on Lucinda’s ribs. She let out a curse and a gasp of breath as she leapt back and flicked the devices on her gloves. Suddenly, she was ringed by flames, unseen in the darkness as Vince drank their light. He could switch over and absorb them quickly, but there was no chance Lucinda wouldn’t attack in the brief moment of light she had. That shouldn’t be enough to change things, but against an opponent like her, it seemed idiotic not to assume she had some sort of plan tucked away.

“I call this move the Johnny Cash. Absorbers do one at a time, right? If you want to get rid of my ring of fire then you’ll have to show yourself, Vince.”

No, she was wrong. He had to switch if he wanted to safely get past her defenses, that part was true. But there was still a way forward, a path to victory, for those willing to pay the toll. Vince didn’t hesitate. He ran through the flames, feeling a familiar sear on his skin as they burned his flesh. His reward for the burns was landing another punch to her ribs, this time much harder than a mere jab. Lucinda tried to jump away again, but Vince wasn’t giving her the chance. A kick to her knee sent her sprawling to the ground, and Vince was right behind. He pinned her legs with his knee, placing a fist against her stomach. The lights flashed on as Vince quit absorbing; he was going to need access to kinetic energy for this part.

“So, that’s it huh? You’ve got me pinned, that must mean you’re pretty sure this is done.” Lucinda was still calm, unnervingly so. Though her left arm had gotten pinned under her back in the fall, she was still moving her free hand slowly, almost at random. “This is the part where you try and talk me into surrender, right?”

“Maybe.” Vince leaned forward, grabbing Lucinda’s elbow and jam her free hand against the ground, eventually dragging it around behind her head. “But first I’m going to make sure you don’t torch me. Or did you think I wouldn’t figure out that you don’t actually need to aim directly at me to score a hit? Just a spark would do it, once you had the oxygen moved.”

Lucinda stared at Vince for several seconds, her arm twitching as she struggled to get it free. Finally, she went limp. With a weary sigh, Lucinda leaned her head back down to the ground. “Damnit. Thought that would buy me enough time to counterattack if I kept you talking. Fine. I’ve got my pride. I can admit when I’m bested; you’ve pretty clearly got me in a deathblow. It’s your win, Vince. I give.”

“And Vince Reynolds wins another match by locking his enemy in a deathblow! Looks like Lander is back on track.” Victor was as enthusiastic as ever; apparently unbothered by the destruction this last match had left in its wake. “Lucinda, please let Vince breathe normally again, and then both of you get over to the med rooms. Vince, you can skip depleting your energy source since your opponent gave up.”

Pushing himself to his feet, Vince enjoyed a deep, oxygen-rich breath as he helped Lucinda up. She was largely unharmed except for a few broken ribs. Now that he had a moment to think, Vince realized how much his face and arms hurt from running through the fire. The sooner he got to a healer, the better.

“How did you know?” Lucinda asked. “That I was bluffing to buy time, I mean.”

“I’m pretty good at fighting. Not much else, honestly, but that I’m good at. Part of that means getting a sense of what my opponents can do. Since you were able to guide the fire after it left your hand, it only made sense that you could still strike, even with your arm on the ground. Also, my best friend is a really good liar. It’s given me a lot of practice in seeing people bluff.”

“Kind of weird, but whatever works I guess,” Lucinda replied. “That was a ballsy move, jumping through the fire.”

“You’re really hard to fight. I had to do whatever it took. Besides, I’m used to being burned.” Vince hesitated, suddenly unsure of how much he should say about his past. “It, um, took me a while to get control of my power, so I burned myself a lot by accident.”

Lucinda chuckled. “Seems like you’ve got it well in hand now. You’re damn strong yourself, you know. Maybe too strong.”

“What do you mean?”

She stopped walking, looking at him with a surprising expression of concern. “Haven’t you noticed? Even if I technically gave up, so far you’re the lone student here to win both fights securing deathblows. You’ve got so much power that it seems like the only way you can stop an enemy is by killing them. I’m glad you’re on the side of the Heroes, but that’s a scary amount of power for anyone to wield.”

Vince followed as she started walking once more, suddenly feeling far less exhilarated about his victory than he had moments prior.

277.

It shouldn’t have been that surprising. Charles Adair, before he was a titan of industry, before he was the Hero called Alchemist, even before he was husband to Shelby Hill, had been a Lander HCP student. Four years of his life had been spent roaming the halls, using the facilities, and sneaking away into hidden lift entrances. So when it came time for him to create a secure facility, one capable of withstanding attacks from multiple Supers at once, what else would he emulate but the place he’d probably felt the safest in his life?

The above-ground building was just a shell, that much was clear now. It existed as a front, a place to store useless people and equipment, but more importantly it was there to slow things down. Globe and his team had wasted precious time hunting through the building, restraining guards and searching for Shelby, before they finally uncovered a hatch leading deeper into the ground. Of course Charles would leave an empty front for the curious to find, keeping the real secrets tucked away underground.

There was no way of knowing how far down they’d have to go, or what would be waiting for them there. Technically, Globe could just start ripping up the floors and bring his team all the way to the bottom, but that came with serious risk. Charles was wily; he may not necessarily store his darkest secrets on the deepest floor. And there was a very real chance that so much damage could compromise the structural integrity of the underground base. Shimmerpath might be able to portal them all out of danger while Globe held back a collapse, but everyone else down there would be lost, Shelby included.

Globe took point, stepping into the dark tunnel. With a thought, he generated lights that danced through the air, illuminating a concrete hallway that might as well have screamed “HCP-style-construction” for how much it resembled the world under Lander. He waited patiently while the rest of his team came through. Only when they were all in did Globe seal the entrance, turning the metal door into a solid hunk of steel by fusing it all together. It might slow them down getting out if anything happened to him or Shimmerpath, but it was better than risking a foe slipping through behind them. Besides, the others were amped up to potent levels. Most of them could manage an obstacle like that without issue.

They didn’t dally once the door was shut, racing down a hall as fast as they could. Time was the enemy. The longer they took, the more Charles would be able to mount a defense. And worse, every passing second brought them closer to the end of their amplification. Once that gave, this would be a far tougher fight. Their best shot was to have everything settled by the time they were back to normal.

Even as he thought this, though, Globe knew Chuck would never make things that easy on them.

*             *             *

The clang of the opening door was a surprise. Dinner wasn’t scheduled for several hours, and no one had been to visit since the last round of interrogations. Perhaps it was time for more questions, although what was left to ask he couldn’t imagine. Everything had been taken, his life’s work dismantled. What more did they think he had to give?

“Good morning, Crispin.”

The fellow who stepped through wore a dark suit with a black tie, and that plain outfit was quite literally the most remarkable thing about him. If Crispin blinked, he wouldn’t have been able to pick the man strolling into his cell out of a crowd. It might be an ability, or maybe he was simply extraordinarily ordinary. Whatever the case, he was something new in the routine, and Crispin was a fan of that.

“Morning to you as well, stranger.” Crispin made no move to rise from his prison cot, the white fabric of his jumper creasing as he slightly shifted position. This felt interesting, but someone being sent to secretly kill him would also fit that descriptor. Best to be on guard for now.

Outside the cell, there was the sound of yelling and running, to which the stranger paid only the barest amount of attention. “It seems we won’t have long to talk, I’m afraid. Even for someone as powerful and connected as my employer, there are limits as to what can be managed, especially on short notice. You’ll forgive me if I skip the formalities and cut to the chase. We have a job you’re needed for. Come with me, right now, and use your incredible gift. When the work is done, you’ll be able to walk away. Still a wanted man, of course, but one on the outside.”

“That’s all I get? A ‘job’ with no details and a vague promise of spending the rest of my life on the run? Not the most appealing of offers, and you skimped on the details.” Crispin paused, noting that the sounds of approach were getting closer. “Although I suppose that latter part is understandable, given the circumstances.”

“The work is simple. Someone is trying to break into a place my employer owns and he wants you to help his forces be strong enough to repel them. I’ve also been authorized to hand over a million dollars when the work is done. Seed money, to restart your life and perhaps make it out of the country where Heroes can’t reach you. But that’s all the information you get. The matter we’re dealing with is highly sensitive. I can’t even tell you where we’ll be going.”

A million dollars and a shot at freedom. There would be strings attached, there always were, however that was still good pay for a day’s work. “You know, when I was captured, the HCP dean who choked me knew that someone would come for me. He said that when this moment came, I should hide and refuse you, because he would stop at nothing to hunt me down and finish me for good.”

“Yet I notice you aren’t cowering under your cot.”

“No, I’m not,” Crispin agreed. He rose off the poor excuse for a bed, smoothing his jumpsuit out of habit rather than necessity. “I think I’d rather like the chance to prove him wrong. And pay him back for how I was treated at his hands. You’ve got a deal, stranger. Take me to your soldiers, and I’ll turn them into gods.”

The strange, plain man held out his hand, and Crispin took hold. They were gone seconds later when prison guards came rushing in to find only an empty cell.

278.

Shane had his mind made up; he was going to end this fight quickly. Keeping his ability to strike someone with their own shadow secret had been the right call during the first match, but after seeing Alice fight and hearing about Chad’s loss, it was clear that the stakes had been raised. He couldn’t afford to keep that tactic off the table for another round, especially not if Vince made it through his fight. One blow, at the start of the match, to get Shane into the next bout.

This was an odd field, one that looked like a deserted farm with a small patch of corn and a dilapidated barn. What had Lander used this field to train for? Probably better not to wonder, all things considered. Across the stretch of open, yellowed grass stood Shane’s opponent. She was watching his every movement closely, keeping careful tabs on how he held himself. From what Shane had gathered, she’d won her fight using a set of guns and rubber-bullets, meaning it was all the more important that he take her out quickly. As a Super without any kind of endurance abilities, getting shot by one of those in a vital spot would count as a deathblow. It spared the students from actual lethal injury by dealing with live-ammo, but it was still a humiliating way to go all the same. Shane couldn’t say it wasn’t a fair metric, though. The people they fought in the real world would absolutely have guns, and they wouldn’t be using rubber bullets.

“Introductions, please,” Victor commanded them.

“Lesley Huber, Weapons major. I’m going with the code name Dodge.”

“Shane DeSoto, Control major. My Hero name is going to be Styx.”

There was a brief pause before the crackle of static, and Shane couldn’t help but wonder if Victor was trying to build tension in the audience. “Very well then, time to begin!”

Shane didn’t delay for even a second. As soon as Victor gave the word, his sclera turned black as he willed Lesley’s shadow into movement. It arched up, ready to take out every muscle in the back of her calves with a single swipe. The blade jerked suddenly, slicing through the air… and connecting with nothing.

Somehow, Lesley had seen the attack coming. She’d flipped backward from a standing position, spinning in the air and keeping her legs out of range. It was an amazing move, so stunning Shane almost paused to admire it. Then he saw the glint of a muzzle in her hand as it raised to take aim. The idea was mad; there was no way she could land a shot like that while flipping backward. And yet, Shane still dove out of the way, barely avoiding the bullet that came racing through the air, directly on path with where his heart had been. He refused to take any opponent on this stage lightly, and it was an attitude that had just spared him a quick defeat.

Now on the defensive, Shane formed a barrier of whipping shadows around himself, similar to the technique he’d used against Professor Pendleton’s fog. Lesley had already landed and was still standing out in the open, gun raised, as she studied the frenzied barrier he’d surrounded himself with. One shot rang out, slamming against the edge of a shadow that cut it in half. A miss, but a closer miss than it should have been. How was she this good of a shot? Shane needed to figure out her power, and fast, if he wanted to have a chance of winning. But first, he needed to retake control of the fight.

A barrage of shadows swarmed around Lesley, striking from half a dozen different angles. Credit where it was due: the woman had chosen an apt Hero name. With seemingly no effort, she dove and ducked between the blades, still managing to fire off shots that came a little closer to breaking through his defense each time. Nothing took her by surprise, no matter the angle of the attack.

This wasn’t working. She was getting nearer to victory, while he was staying as ineffectual as before. Deciding it was time to use some strategy, Shane waited until her back was turned in a roll and then bolted for the withered patch of corn. Getting out of her line of sight should at least buy him some breathing room. Hopefully he’d be able to think of a new attack pattern with a few seconds of peace.

Shane made it into the corn without issue, rustling the stalks as he ran deeper into the paltry cover. He heard the crack of a gunshot seconds before the rubber bullet came tearing through the corn. The bullet slammed into his left forearm, smarting like hell but not leaving anything more than a bruise.

“Damn rubber bullets. A real one wouldn’t have been knocked off track by the corn.” Lesley sounded more annoyed than anything. And really, why wouldn’t she be? It was clear to Shane which of them had been running this fight since it started, so it was damn sure obvious to all the people watching. Shane had the power to animate shadows into living weapons while Lesley had a gun with fake bullets, and she’d driven him into hiding within the span of minutes.

Hunkering down, Shane reformed his barrier of shadows, hoping that the addition of cover by the corn would keep him safe. He needed to think of something. She was learning the timing of his shadows with every shot, and while he could make them go faster or slower with concentration, they’d default to a natural rhythm when he split his focus to attack. The bigger question was what the hell Lesley’s power was. She was able to avoid every attack he sent her way, often by less than an inch, and her aim was beyond good. So, a power that allowed surgically-precise dodging and near-perfect aim. Shane had grown up around Heroes; he’d seen a bevy of abilities in person and heard about more through his grandfather’s lessons.

The trouble was, there were too many options. Maybe she was using illusions to make him think he was attacking her while she carefully lined up shots. Or she was seeing through his eyes, knowing every move he was making and what his weak spots were. Hell, maybe she could look a few heartbeats into the future for all he knew. There just wasn’t enough information.

So what did he know? She favored ranged attacks, but she wasn’t a Ranged Combat major. Her training was in using normal bullets, since she hadn’t accounted for how the corn would affect the rubber ammo. The attack style she used focused on precision over quantity: every shot had been intended as a hit. Lesley didn’t waste her bullets. But why? If she fired more, she could have put extra pressure on him, maybe even scoring a few more hits. Was she starting off slow, taking a gauge of him at the start of the fight?

No; that might be true but it was only part of the explanation. Lesley chose her shots carefully because guns could only fire so many times before they needed to be reloaded, and that would be her most vulnerable moment. She was trying to delay it by making every bullet count. Shane hadn’t been keeping track of her ammo, and he had to assume she was using this chance to reload. In fact, that explained why he hadn’t seen any bullets fly by for several seconds.

His best chance was to make her drain the magazine again. Even if she had more guns and merely swapped them out, it would still be a moment where she was unarmed. That was the window Shane was aiming for, the short time where she’d be unable to counterattack.

Rising to his feet, Shane got ready to run. It was time to start drawing some fire.

279.

If Shane had been asked before the match whether or not he could keep the barrier of slicing shadows around himself while moving, he would have said maybe, if it was a skill he honed and practiced for a while. In the heat of battle, however, he didn’t waste time wondering if it was viable or not. Shane simply ran for all he was worth, forcing the shadows to keep up. The result was a barrier that was nowhere near as stable or potent as the one when he stood still, but that still was able to offer some manner of protection. Given the fight he was in, Shane would take any advantage he could.

Breaking out from the corn, Shane stepped into plain view, unsurprised to find Lesley already lining up her shot. If all he did was run, she’d hit him in no time. That was why the shadows around her sprang to life once more, swinging and slicing at Lesley’s body. By this point, Shane knew he wasn’t going to land a blow with such a casual attack. No, all he wanted to do was keep her on the defensive while she aimed, splitting her attention and making those shots a little less precise. Unfortunately, it was taking a lot of mental effort to attack, defend himself, and race around the field, so he couldn’t keep this up forever either.

His best hope was, oddly enough, Lesley’s own talent. She was so accurate, so skillful, that most of her fights probably didn’t last too long. Either her opponent went down early, or they knew the trick to whatever she was doing and countered it. Whichever way her usual matches went, most likely hadn’t been drawn out, so Shane had to bet on his endurance being higher than hers. Shane never seemed to get the easy fights: not against Angela, or Chad, or the professors. Nothing was ever easy for him; he was eternally trapped in second place, fighting with everything he had to make it that little extra bit further.

The first shot missed, barely, as Lesley had to swing to a wide angle as a shadow blade forced her to shift sideways. The second shot, close on the heels of the first, struck the shadow barrier that was trying to keep up with Shane’s mad dashing. No doubt about it, Lesley had increased her rate of fire. She knew what he was trying to do and didn’t want to let him wear her down. He didn’t stop, didn’t even dare to slow down. This was the best chance he had, and she was already two bullets down.

More gunshots rang as Shane weaved in and out of the corn, leaving a trail of slashed stalks behind him. Three, four, five shots down now. Judging by the make and size of the gun – identifying information Shane hadn’t understood why his grandfather grilled him on as a child but sure as hell did now – she was probably working with eight bullets. That meant he was over halfway there. The trouble was, Lesley knew that too, and she grew much more careful with her next shot.

A rogue shadow blade forced her to dodge slightly at the last moment, and that was all that saved Shane. The bullet easily cleared the shadow barrier around him, whizzing past the back of his head so close that Shane could feel the wind from it on his neck. Damn, she was a crazy good shot. If she went sniper like Professor Baker then Lesley would be one of the most dangerous people on the planet.

Wait… why hadn’t she gone sniper? Lesley was a Weapons major, not a Ranged Combat one. But with aim like hers, there was no threat she’d ever need to get up close and personal with unless there was some reason she couldn’t strike from afar, some aspect of her power that limited that kind of technique.

Shot number seven was cut in two by the shadows, both pieces spinning through the air past Shane’s face. One bullet left now. Jerking to a halt, Shane turned his focus back to the shadow barrier around himself and the attack on Lesley. She wouldn’t waste her last bullet, and if he turned his back for even a second, she’d use the chance to reload. Lesley and Shane locked eyes across the open stretch of land, nothing between them except some sliced bits of corn stalk drifting on the soft artificial wind. As they stood like that, aware of how much rested on the next move, a small bit of leaf drifted near Lesley’s face. Without breaking eye contact, she let out a puff of breath from the side of her mouth, blowing it easily out of the way.

That set everything in place for Shane. In that moment, watching her almost indifferent expression, Shane finally realized he’d been searching the wrong part of his memory for a power like Lesley’s. She didn’t have a similar ability to any of the Heroes he’d known or studied at all. No, it was in a wholly different part of his life where Shane found the answer; one that Angela had dragged him to in spite of their grandfather insisting it was a waste of time.

“Perfect Catch. That’s what they called him. I don’t remember his real name, or who he played for, but I remember seeing him on the SAA football field. A player who could avoid every tackle, who could catch a ball as long as it was even remotely close to him, not with flashy telekinesis or brute force, but with something much easier to underestimate. You’re like him, aren’t you, Lesley? While your powers might not work in the exact same way, you two fundamentally have the same ability: perfect spatial awareness. Within a certain range, you know the precise location of everything and your relation to it. That’s why you can dodge by less than an inch without looking scared; you know exactly where those blades are. And your shots are so good because you know where your gun is aimed in relation to your target, making it easy to find the perfect moment to shoot. Even with all that, you must have trained like crazy to have those moves and reflexes.”

“Damn. It took my class a lot longer to put that together. I was hoping to get through Intramurals without anyone catching on.” Lesley’s grip on the gun adjusted slightly, and a dangerous look gleamed in her eye. “But still, knowing what I can do and being able to beat it are different things. Even if you block this shot, do you really think you’ll survive another magazine? I’ve got your timing now.”

To his own surprise, Shane laughed. “Sorry, sorry. I’m not laughing at you. You are a very serious threat and a skilled opponent. I’m laughing at myself. I worked so hard to come in here and show that I could win using precise, calculated strikes. That I was more than what my power made me. And now, out of all the people I might have to face, I end up with one who can’t be defeated using those methods.”

“If this is you giving up, it’s a bit long-winded,” Lesley pointed out.

“No, this isn’t me giving up, it’s–”

The shot rang out, cutting Shane off and nearly hitting him dead center. She’d played along with the conversation to lure him into dropping his guard. A good tactic, but one Angela had used up years ago. Shane was still waiting, still ready. His blades quickened as soon as he saw her hand tighten, slicing the bullet as soon as it drew near. Lesley’s eyes widened, just by a hair, as she realized she was either going to have to reload or change weapons. No matter which she picked, there would be a time where she couldn’t counterattack.

“As I was saying, no, this isn’t me giving up. Think of it more as me giving in. While I very much want to be a Hero who can be relied on for precision and careful work, it’s not what I’m best at or naturally suited for.” Shane lifted his hand, calling to all the shadows around them. “This is my real power, the one I try so hard not to use on anything but Sims. The kind that’s impossible to dodge.”

He closed his hand into a fist, and suddenly the world grew darker. Lesley was surrounded by blades, all moving, all spinning, a rapidly-forming sphere that closed in on her like a demonic blender. For some, it would have taken longer to see the truth, but Lesley could tell at once that she was done. The way the blades were closing in, there was no space to avoid them. This wasn’t a move to stop an enemy or injure them. This was a killing technique, one that would leave nothing behind but diced hunks of meat and bone where once a person had stood. Just when it seemed there was no space left, the blades came to a sharp halt.

“Deathblow.” Shane’s voice was a whisper, but even so he knew they could hear him in the viewing room. And he knew how many Heroes had just started thinking of Shane as the kind of Super they could call in when something needed laid to waste. Maybe he’d never be able to completely get away from that. Maybe he would always be called on when wanton destruction was needed. But he could still decide the kind of Hero he was between those moments, and what causes he stepped over the line for. For better or worse, this was part of him, and it was time to stop denying that.

“And Shane DeSoto of Lander wins another match!” Victor was enthusiastic as always, and why not? He’d just seen a hell of a show. “You know the drill, off to the med rooms, both of you!”

With a thought, Shane dispersed the shadows, revealing Lesley posed awkwardly on one foot, the position she’d been forced into just before the blades stopped. She was perfectly unharmed, although looked quite a bit grumpier than she had at the start of the fight.

“If you could do something like that, you should have just opened with it.”

“If I was the kind of man who opened with an attack like that, I don’t think I’d be fit to call myself a Hero,” Shane countered. “It’s the kind of tactic I only use against someone I can’t beat any other way.”

Lesley still looked annoyed, but she nodded her understanding. “That makes it slightly better, I guess. Just don’t do anything crazier in the next fight. You’ll make me look bad.”

280.

No speech this time. No call to arms or promises of glory. It would have been wasted seconds and pointless words. These people knew what they were here for, knew what awaited them if they succeeded. Wealth. Not money, wealth. The kind that would change their lives, and their family’s lives, for generations down. Charles Adair had spared no expense, especially not on this part of his security. Ten trained Supers, each strong enough to be considered a viable threat on their own, plus every guard with a half-decent power that hadn’t run for the hills already. That was who was waiting for Crispin when he appeared in the room.

Wordlessly, he set a hand on each of them, activating his ability and increasing the capacity of their powers. Crispin liked to see it as bringing out their true strength, showing them the best that they could be. The fact that they actually couldn’t be this powerful without him was a detail Crispin chose to overlook. It didn’t fit with the philosophy he espoused, so it was cast aside. One by one he went down the line until every Super present had felt his touch. Crispin turned to the man in the suit, expecting to be teleported out somewhere safe.

“This was just the first batch, the ones that are going to come in from behind and give our intruders trouble. Next we take you deep down, to where our forces are going to hold the line. That’s where you’ll stay until this is all over: protected by the people you enhanced, and easy to grab if we need your help again.”

“And what if the line gives, if these intruders break through your defenses?” Crispin asked.

“Then I imagine they won’t be too happy to see you. Seems like excellent motivation to give everyone you touch as much help as you possibly can.”

“Crafty. I expected as much,” Crispin admitted. “Not like I had much of a choice, though.”

“There’s always a choice. You could have stayed safe in your cell, but you wanted freedom. Freedom comes with risk and danger. Part of the package. But making sure an asset we acquire performs at peak efficiency, that’s just good business sense.” The man turned from Crispin to address the rest of the room. “You all have your orders. Just remember, your families will receive extremely generous compensation packages if you die in battle, but they get nothing if you run and we have to kill you later. Keep that in mind, in case your willpower starts to fade.”

With that done, he took Crispin roughly by the wrist. “Now then, let’s get you down there before it’s too late to make a difference.” The two men vanished, leaving behind a room of amplified, highly-motivated mercenaries, all with one single goal.

Stop Globe and his team, no matter what.

*             *             *

The med checks were getting quicker. Shane suspected the doctors were growing more accustomed to assessing his mind for post-battle issues, since the physical healing was as speedy as ever. Not that he needed much; aside from the rubber bullet to the forearm, he’d barely been struck in the last fight. Lesley had come out even better: she’d avoided every attack so thoroughly that she didn’t even have a small cut to deal with. Fast as they were, Shane was still surprised when he stepped back into the viewing room and found the next fight hadn’t started yet.

Dean Blaine was waiting for him at the entrance. “We’re taking short breaks between bouts now that we’ve reached the semi-finals. Not long, but enough time for everyone to watch the fights before theirs. It gives people a chance to hit the bathroom or grab a snack, plus makes sure you all have a fair amount of information to work with for the final match. Over the years, we found that doing it this way ensures that the last match is as balanced as possible, and that makes it more interesting for the Heroes to watch.”

“Good, I was a little worried I wouldn’t get to see the guy who beat Chad. Speaking of, how’s he doing?”

“Better, but this will require time to mend. You know he’s not a man to take defeat lightly, especially not with stakes like these. I do think that is helping, though.” Dean Blaine nodded across the room, where Shane now saw Chad was standing. It was understandable that he’d missed his friend, since Chad was currently under an assault of affection from a tall blonde woman who obviously had no sense of shame or decorum.

“Well, she made it after all.” Shane wasn’t entirely sure if he was happy or annoyed that Angela had shown up; most likely some combination of the two. That was the nature of their dynamic, and probably always would be to some extent. But as long as the happy outweighed the annoyed, they could make it work. He’d barely formed those thoughts when someone whispered to Angela, who whipped her head around and spotted Shane across the room.

Without a moment’s pause or hesitation she bounded over and wrapped Shane in a strong hug. “Holy shit! Little brother, that was a hell of a fight. I almost thought she had you on the ropes a few times.”

“Please, you think I’m going to let you be the only DeSoto who gets to say they won Intramurals? I came here to make it all the way.” Shane paused, remembering there was a practical issue he needed to sort out quickly. “Wait, who won between Vince and the fire-woman?”

“Oxygen manipulator, actually,” Graham DeSoto interrupted, having quietly made his way over to his grandchildren during the chaos that was Angela. “And she was defeated by Vince Reynolds. You’ll be facing him in the next match. Alice and Conrad have already gone to the prep rooms to prepare for their fight, which should be starting any minute now.”

Quickly doing the math, Shane realized that if Vince won, everyone but the Lander students and Conrad were out of the running. On the surface, that seemed like a great victory for his class, but one glance around the room gave away the issue. Lander was already seen as a bit full of itself, thanks to the reputation they had with the public of churning out more well-known Heroes. Whether they perpetuated the myth or not, it was a reputation that hung on its students’ shoulders, and they’d just wiped every other school from the tournament while losing only one of their own.

Almost every student in that room – and undoubtedly some of the Heroes – was pulling for Conrad to win. Not all out of malice or anger, but simply because they wanted to root for the underdog over the apparent dynasty. Lander had been the dominant force, the one whose students had consistently hidden how strong they really were. Even if the feelings of the crowd changed nothing, it was still a strange sensation to stand there, aware that nearly every eye on him was hoping he would lose.

Angela wrapped an arm around Shane’s shoulder and pulled him close, whispering into his ear. “This is the view from the top of the mountain, little brother. This is what it means to be the best. Even the people who love you hate you just a bit.”

“Any suggestions?” Shane whispered back.

“Yeah. Never give them what they want. Stay here, on top. Stay the best. They don’t have to love you; they just have to trust that when shit gets real, you’re someone they can call on. Respect that you’ve earned is better than mindless adoration. When your turn comes, go out there and show them why you’re a man to be respected.”

281.

No pressure. That was the phrase Alice kept repeating to herself as she stepped into the combat cell. After a field and a mock-city, she’d finally drawn a more boring, straightforward combat arena. It was bigger than the usual cells, about twice the size, with tall ceilings that she absolutely intended to use. Conrad could manipulate something in the ground, rocks or dirt or something, so Alice’s best chance was to stay airborne the whole time. In theory, it should be a pretty straightforward fight. But in theory, Chad should also be her opponent. That was what she’d been expecting if she made it this far, and that idea had been daunting enough. Now she had to defeat the man who’d beaten Chad, a task several degrees harder because she hadn’t been fighting with or against Conrad for the past four years.

But no pressure, right?

Alice took a deep breath, steadying her nerves as Conrad stepped out from his entrance, a door that then closed behind him. Sure, no pressure, except the eyes of every Hero in attendance, all the students who were already out, and her friends who were pinning Lander’s hopes on her victory. Because if she didn’t pull this off, it came down to Vince or Shane, neither of whom could easily avoid the floor falling out from under them, especially not if Conrad was fast enough to also change the spots where they landed.

Alice blocked all that out. It was ancillary information, unrelated to her task at hand. She had to be at the top of her game for this: ready, smart, and above all else – calm. Conrad fought intelligently; he’d neutralized one of Lander’s biggest threats without a single punch. If Alice wanted to win this one, she had to be able to think and adapt on the fly. So she ignored the stares, and the expectations, and the hopes on her shoulders. Or tried to, anyway.

“For our first match of the semi-finals, please introduce yourselves,” Victor called.

“Conrad Booker. I’m a Control major, and my Hero name is Seismic.”

“Nice to meet you, Conrad. I’m Alice Adair, Subtlety major and future owner of the Hero name Legacy.”

As soon as the words were spoken, the air between them grew tense. This was unlike the earlier matches, where a sense of mystery accompanied the start of a fight as opponents tried to figure out what the other could do. Both Alice and Conrad had put cards on the table. He knew she could fly, and she knew he could change the ground. There would be a brief window, just at the start, where she was easily in range. This match kicked off with a race that had the potential to end the fight before it even properly got going.

“Very well, the first match of the semi-finals begins, now!”

The ground didn’t fall away from Alice at all; in fact it did quite the opposite. Hands made of rock shot up, reaching for Alice’s arms and legs, trying to pull her down. A single one would probably be strong enough to keep her grounded, and from there it would be a simple matter of pulling her into the floor just like he’d done to Chad. Even worse, the damn hands were fast. So quick, in fact, that if Alice had tried to fly away they would have easily caught her. But Alice wasn’t trying to fly off at all. She was still standing there, staring at Conrad, not moving a muscle.

There was no warning, no taunt. One second the hands were nearly to her, the next they were slamming violently to the ground, no longer able to hold themselves up. Trying to keep her from getting airborne was the smart move. The trouble was that Alice could also figure out those smart moves, and how to counter them. Eyes still locked on Conrad, she rose up from the floor, positioning herself twenty feet in the air, halfway to the ceiling, putting as much room between her body and any source of rock or stone as possible.

“I get it now. Gravity control. I had my suspicions after hearing about your last match, but that proves it. Incredible, really. And with a mind smart enough to handle a Subtlety major as well. One thing I must say about Lander, they clearly sent us their very best.” As he spoke, Alice noticed that the floor was moving again, this time around Conrad himself. It shot up his legs, forming around his whole body. Smart; he’d locked himself to the floor, meaning she couldn’t send him pinballing around the room. It was a similar move to what Thomas had pulled during their mid-year exam. That was the thing about fighting others with environmental powers; they were used to thinking of how to control a battlefield. “But you should know, Sizemore also sent those with their sights set on victory. I’m glad it went this way, though. A semi-finals with three Lander students and just me. Imagine the respect people will have for Sizemore when I defeat the best Lander has to offer.”

“Bit of a chatterbox, aren’t you?” While Conrad was going on, Alice had chosen her next move. There was no point in not showing off now, so she decided it was best to try and end this quickly. With a burst of focus, she increased the gravity around Conrad. Using as much as she had on the rock-hands would be dangerous, but she could make him too heavy to stand, even with the coating of stone. Once he was struggling to move and his focus was broken, it would be a short matter of tweaking the gravity until he was completely paralyzed. It felt somewhat fitting to beat him by holding him helpless, just like Conrad had trapped Chad.

The sound of scraping rocks echoed through the air as Conrad, completely engulfed in his suit of rubble, fell forward, landing at an awkward squat with his feet still rooted to the floor. He still managed to look up at her, that rock-covered face somehow managing to produce an eerie version of a smile. “No. I’m not.”

From above, two stones fired out of the ceiling, directly toward Alice’s torso. It was an incredible shot with pinpoint accuracy; obviously Conrad had been lining up the strike while talking to Alice. Pity for him, this wasn’t the first surprise attack Alice had ever dealt with. As the stones approached, much too fast to be dodged, they suddenly veered to the left, going off course and smashing harmlessly against the floor.

More burst out of the wall behind her. These fired even harder, but again they suddenly turned, coming nowhere near Alice.

“Damn you. Creating a field of gravity pushing directly back on anything coming in could be overpowered with enough force, but you’re got a bubble moving everything to a slightly different angle, making sure it never comes near you. The momentum of the rocks becomes the very thing that helps carry them out of the way.” Despite the dire situation, Conrad didn’t seem especially bothered. If anything, he sounded like he was trying to suppress laughter. “I wonder how much it can withstand.”

Alice increased the gravity around Conrad, unsure of what he meant but damn positive she didn’t want to find out. Instead of driving him further down, however, Conrad’s whole body suddenly cracked and shattered, crumbling to chunks right before her eyes. For a fleeting moment Alice was sure she’d killed him, but seconds later it became clear that Conrad was still very much in this fight.

All around her, the room began to shake. Cracks appeared through the walls, floors, and ceiling, as soft laughter rang out from within them. The stone was so malleable it rolled like waves, the terrain shifting as spires of stone began to sprout from every surface, the laughter growing steadily louder.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what happened. Conrad had made her think he was covering himself with a rock suit, when in reality he’d used it as camouflage to slip away into the floor, leaving a stone shell behind. Too bad that in this case knowing wasn’t particularly helpful.

Conrad’s power had a much larger range than Alice had anticipated, and that was bad. But far, far worse was the fact that he was hiding in the very element he could control, and she’d yet to think of an idea for how to pull him out without killing him.

Dire as the situation seemed, she fought to keep her cool, sure that she’d come up with something in a few moments. Unfortunately, just as she was settling her nerves, the entire room attacked her at once.

282.

Massive spikes of stone shot forth from the walls, ceiling, and floor, several on a crash course with Alice. Worse, they stayed rooted to their sources, so the damn things would be able to power through her gravity defense field. The defense had been designed for projectiles, not aspiring mountains, and Alice wasn’t sure how much force it would take to knock something so huge askew.

For once, Alice found herself glad she’d spent the early part of her HCP career unable to do anything but fly. While it had tremendously limited her capabilities in terms of offense, the one benefit to being airborne and useless was that Alice had learned to dodge like a motherfucker. She zipped through the air, nimbly avoiding the rising obstacles as they tried to get close. Already, she could see the rock-hands forming on the sides of the spires, hands that would grab her if she drew near. Alice had assumed that she might be able to break out from a stone prison with opposing gravity strong enough to shove the rocks away from her body, but that had been before she saw how much stone Conrad could manipulate. It was insane; he must have been born with an amazing talent and then worked his ass off for years to have this level of control. Conrad wasn’t just strong or dangerous. He was overwhelming: the very idea of fighting him felt like trying to box a force of nature.

Alice couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it felt like for the others to fight some of Lander’s best. If so, then she had a great deal of empathy for them, but she didn’t want to share in the same fate. Conrad had an amazing power, there was no doubt about it. The thing was, Alice controlled a fundamental force of the goddamned universe. She wasn’t going out that easy.

Still zipping around, doing her best to keep distance, Alice began to create new gravity fields. These were just like the ones she used to break limbs, two forces pulling strongly in opposite directions. Only Alice wasn’t going after something as meager as bones. The first spire snapped within seconds, falling off a wall and crashing heavily to the floor. It went easier than she expected; maybe all of the shifting and reforming of the stones had left them weakened. More soon followed as Alice turned her focus, breaking each spire at the base and making sure to steer clear of the raining debris. Conrad might have been able to fill the whole cell with obstacles, but in less than a minute Alice had torn them all down.

The laughter, she noticed, had also stopped. Maybe he’d been trying to play mind games, maybe he’d just been tickled at the idea of getting to finally cut loose. She could understand that; fighting in Intramurals was like tying your own hand behind your back. So much constant measuring of what should be revealed versus how to win; there was a sense of relief to being able to fight full-out. Plus, judging from the fact that Conrad was the only Sizemore student left, it seemed like a fair bet no one in his class had been able to properly challenge him in a long while.

“A fight that comes down to multi-tasking. Not how I saw it going, but I’m not complaining. You’re really giving me a chance to show what the best of Sizemore is capable of.” Conrad’s voice seemed to exist as an echo now, coming from several directions at once. When she squinted, Alice could see small holes dotting the walls, almost like stone speakers. If Conrad was working this hard to mask where his voice was coming from, then it probably meant he had a reason to hide. There was a chance he couldn’t fully turn into stone, which meant he’d be vulnerable. Maybes and ifs, that was all Alice had at this point. No matter what turned out to be true, she had to draw him out, or this was going to be a fight with her constantly on the defensive.

Sadly, there wasn’t much time to think about that. The broken spires were being absorbed into the ground, and several had already started to regrow. Just as Alice was about to knock them down, a blast of rocks came firing at her from the ceiling again, this time managing to graze a leg as they rocketed past. She’d let her projectile defense weaken as she focused on dealing with the spires, and Conrad had just made her pay for that. Quick as she could, Alice recreated it, but while she was distracted the spires continued to form, filling the cell once again.

More stony crests were forming this time. Conrad had seen her avoid the first wave and was cutting off her mobility. Alice set to snapping them, flying at high speeds while ever-larger showers of projectile rocks rained down on her, the debris steered away by her gravity field. He was attacking on every front, yanking her concentration in multiple different directions, daring her to make a single mistake. But Alice refused to yield. She doubled down on cracking the spires, putting in a few extra seconds of effort to make the ones she broke off go slamming into other spires, doubling her destructive output. Up and down, left and right, she rocketed through the cell, whipping about and knocking back everything Conrad threw at her. Abilities took effort and energy to use, and something on this scale had to be draining Conrad’s endurance. If she could outlast him, wear him down, then Alice would have a chance at taking the offensive when he rested.

For a few minutes, it seemed the pair had managed to stalemate each other. However, such a balance was impossible to maintain; eventually one of them would make a mistake. As Alice tore through the room, being sure to give the spires ample room so they couldn’t snare her, she briefly ended up near a flat section of a wall. In her dodging, she’d come close to such surfaces before. It was nigh-impossible to avoid them when darting around the spires. But this time, she was just a little slower as she tried to plot her next angle of attack – a little slower and just close enough that the wall was inside her projectile reorienting field.

A single rock fired off, smashing into the side of Alice’s head and sending her spinning through the air. It wasn’t enough to do serious damage, no stronger than a good punch would have been, but it still broke her concentration. Not for long, not for long at all. It happened, though, and that was the moment Conrad had been waiting for.

By the time Alice shook the stars from her eyes, it was already too late. Stone hands had reached out from a nearby spire and pulled her in, encasing everything but her head. Alice struggled, trying to snap the spire at its base or create enough gravity to crack open the stone shell. Conrad wasn’t giving her the chance, however. The spire shot back down into the floor, taking Alice with it. Hard as she tried, the pain in her head and overall mental exhaustion was slowing her down, and she wasn’t quite fast enough to break free before being sealed in the ground. She kept fighting, even then, refusing to accept the end. Trying to find a way to break free, to use just the right amount of gravity to crack the stone floor without seriously hurting herself. It was a fierce, valiant effort, just as Chad’s had been. And ultimately, it came to the same result.

“That is three minutes, meaning Conrad Booker of Sizemore has just won his third match,” Victor announced. “Thank you both for putting on an incredible show, and I think I speak for everyone when I say we can’t wait to see the final bout. Whoever wins this next fight has their work cut out for them. Now off to the medical rooms, both of you.”

Alice felt the ground shift as her body started to rise, like it was being pushed from below. Across the room, Conrad was doing the same, lifting from the floor without so much as a scratch or a bruise to show for the entire fight. She did note, however, that he was still quite human.

Conrad met Alice’s eyes and gave her a polite nod. “That was an excellent match. I have to say, I thought Chad would be the toughest of you all, since the rumors indicated he was the best. But you were a much harder challenge. Perhaps Lander should re-evaluate its ranking methodology.”

“I might have more raw power than Chad, but he’s the most consistent fighter in our entire class. He’s a man you can trust and rely on, no matter the situation. Don’t you dare talk about him like he was a mere stepping stone. You got lucky, Conrad. Your power happened to be a perfect counter to his.” Alice walked forward, shaking off the dust still clinging to her uniform. “And your information is out of date. Chad lost the top spot earlier this year. So if Shane wins against Vince, you get to fight the current top rank at Lander, and I have a feeling he’s not going down as easily as you might hope.”

“If he’s the top rank, shouldn’t it be a forgone conclusion that he’ll win?” Conrad pointed out.

This time, it was Alice that laughed, although there was nothing theatrical or taunting about it. “You’ve been the top of your class since freshman year, haven’t you?”

Conrad was silent for several seconds, visibly annoyed by her laughter. “As someone who just witnessed my power, I think you can figure it out on your own.”

“See, that’s going to be a problem for you. Because at Lander, we’ve all been fighting, clawing, and scraping to get a little bit stronger, to come a hair closer to being the best. We’ve all lost, all felt the pain of being not good enough. You think once the best is done, you’ve got smooth sailing, but in all honesty, I don’t even know who Lander’s strongest is anymore.”

In truth, Alice really wasn’t sure how effective Vince or Shane could be against a power like stone manipulation. All she knew was that she refused to let him belittle her class. The fight was lost, there was no changing that, but Alice was still a Subtlety major. She could put a touch of fear into him, if nothing else.

Alice kept walking, going right up to and then past Conrad as she headed for the exit. “But whichever one of them is still left will be coming for you with everything they’ve got. Rest up, Conrad. Your hardest fight of this tournament has yet to come.”

283.

Awareness was Globe’s greatest weakness, and few knew that better than Charles Adair. Globe could stop, change, and react to nearly anything inside his sphere of power, but only with intent. Sure, setting up a small barrier around himself required little concentration to maintain, but in a battle this chaotic there were always more elements to consider.

The new Supers entering the fray demonstrated powers that would have made them exceptional Heroes if they weren’t displaying the telltale control issues of someone using enhancement. That was a symptom Globe could easily recognize, obviously, as he was keenly aware of how much training it took to wield amplified abilities with the same skill as one’s normal set. It was hard to be mad at Charles for using an enhancer; if nothing else, it proved that they still thought alike, just as one would expect from brothers.

No, what annoyed Globe were the numerous traps, devices, and shifting hallways that not only made navigating the underground space slow and tedious, but also split Globe’s attention in a half-dozen directions at any given time. The goal was clear: Charles knew Globe would be doing more than just attacking, he’d also be working to keep his team safe. As Raze destroyed a reinforced door with a mere touch, avoiding the walls lest the structural integrity of the subterranean base be compromised, Globe kept a wild blast of energy and a wave of acid from getting anywhere near Raze or the door. It was like that all over; his team was amazing, but the sheer number of threats they were facing made it virtually impossible for them to deal with each new one that cropped up.

The door in front of Raze turned to dust, revealing a team of four Supers, ready and waiting to strike. They weren’t the only ones who were prepared, though. As soon as Globe saw them and how close they were, he made a small effort of will and all four slumped to the ground. They were alive – temporarily comatose, but alive. Most of the guards had figured out that their best bet was attacking from a long distance, however it seemed a few were still slow to respond.

Not ten seconds after the guards dropped, automated turrets popped out from the floor. They locked on to the nearest targets, some pointing at Raze while others aimed for the guards on the ground. Globe turned them all to scrap with a quick wave, then spun around to block a giant axe that was spinning toward George’s back from seemingly out of nowhere. So many fronts to keep track of, so many people to protect. It wasn’t enough to stop them, but it was slowing their progress.

That was a dangerous game to play. Once Globe and his team’s enhancements wore off, this would be a much more dire fight. Not to mention that the longer this went on, the better a chance of someone out there noticing. If the DVA or local cops showed up, Globe wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep them all safe. Maybe Charles had safeguards in place, or maybe he was going to try and pin all of this on Globe when the dust settled.

None of that mattered, though. The only mission they had, the only purpose of this fight, was to get proof and bring the truth to light. Until that was done or he was dead, Globe would keep going, and he knew his team felt the same.

They surged through the opening Raze had created. Once they were all through, Globe paused briefly to will metal debris into the hole where the door once stood, then fused it together into a solid lump. It wasn’t much, but it might buy them some time. At this point, every minute they could steal was vital. For them, and perhaps for the world.

*             *             *

Mr. Numbers sat quietly, reading the reports. He’d had a hunch this was coming. It was impossible to miss the way Professor Pendleton had been acting, at least for someone with Mr. Numbers’ observation skills. The man was an expert at Subtlety, but he was still human. Flickers of annoyance, the slight tensing of nerves, these things had to be repressed, which meant there would be signs of them trying to get through. And every one of those signs had grown worse as this day approached: the day of Intramurals, when the DVA and the Heroes would be watching every HCP campus with unwavering focus. The day when the rest of the country might just be a little less observed for all the attention being paid to ensure no one repeated last year’s attack.

It was obvious, when one looked at it as data. True, not many people were privy to as much information as Mr. Numbers, so it was forgivable that more hadn’t seen this coming. But for him, it was such a given that he wasn’t remotely surprised when reports began to come through about a seemingly unrelated data point: employees of their company were suddenly turning up missing. To Mr. Numbers – who had seen a lot and was, quite obviously, preternaturally good at this sort of thing – it was clear that Charles Adair had been helping himself to the company’s talent for quite a while. Already this morning, Mr. Stop and Mrs. Tracking had both been called in to deal with sudden disappearing employees, and word was that Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport might be pulled away from their Lander duties at any moment. The data points all led to the uncontrivable conclusion: today was the day.

He hadn’t bothered to tell Mr. Transport, who was hanging around the HCP, hoping to get the results of the students’ matches. Whether the order came from management, Charles Adair, or even Isaac Lamont himself, Mr. Numbers had no intention to join the fray just yet.

A man with his gift could figure out quite a lot, and it was plain early on that one way or another, it was always going to come to this. Truth against lies, brother against brother, Globe and Charles were on a collision course from the start. That was why he’d stayed silent, even as the pieces fell into place. Mr. Numbers couldn’t have stopped it; the most he might have accomplished was a brief delay. But now that the conflict was finally here, there would be new possibilities, fresh data to consider. When and how Mr. Numbers intervened, if indeed he chose to do so at all, would hinge on how much a difference he might be able to make. And what he was able to save.

It was almost a given that the company would be pulled down with Charles Adair, if the latter sank. They were too interconnected, both fiscally and with deeds in the shadows. Too many of Mr. Numbers’ compatriots had been lured away by the temptation of endless funds. To save the company would require saving Charles Adair, and that was not an idea in which Mr. Numbers took much joy. Still, he had to consider it, because that was what he did. Every possibility, every angle, every factor, all of it had to be crunched in that unnatural brain of his.

There had always been other Supers who were stronger than Mr. Numbers – or tougher, or faster, or sometimes even flat-out smarter. But he understood his strength better than they did. Mr. Numbers knew that one didn’t need snow or rock manipulation powers to start an avalanche. Sometimes all that was required was a single stone and a perfect throw.

Mr. Numbers sat at his desk, computer open as more reports of strange lights and fire came from a supposedly uninhabited section of woodlands in a flyover state. It was unfolding right there in front of him, and he didn’t let a single bit escape his notice.

When the time came, he would be sure he knew exactly where to throw his stone.

284.

They’d drawn a semi-city environment. Although this one was visibly barren and derelict – more parking lots than buildings, and the few structures that were around them were rundown. Weaker too, no doubt. This was probably a training room that had been used to make students hyper-aware of potential collateral damage; one rogue strike could bring down a building full of hypothetical people. It was strangely heartening for Vince to see a familiar face across from him, lit by the flickering neon of a nearby sign. Shane was a way off, nothing between them but painted asphalt.

“Students, since you both come from Lander I’m sure you know each other, but for the sake of formality let’s go ahead and do introductions anyway,” Victor’s voice instructed.

The tension in the air lifted slightly as Shane permitted himself a small grin. “Shane DeSoto, Control major. My Hero name is going to be Styx.”

“Vince Reynolds, Close Combat major. Still haven’t found a good name.”

“You really need to get on that, Vince.” Shane’s smile faded as they both tensed, waiting for Victor to signal the start of the match.

“Very well, Lander, time to see which of you will represent your school in the final bout. Students, begin!”

Both men acted at once. Shane didn’t waste a second, summoning a blade from Vince’s own shadow and stabbing toward his leg. The attack succeeded in piercing his uniform, but the burning light that burst forth ripped apart the shadow immediately. All of Vince was shining with the same glow, a constant stream of absorbed light pouring out of his skin.

“Figured that out, huh?” Shane asked.

Vince nodded, never entirely taking his eyes off Shane. “It was pretty obvious after fighting with and against you all these years. Your shadows never get too close to a source of light, because the closer they go, the weaker they become. Release a constant stream of light and your power will be unable to even scratch me. I made a point of absorbing plenty, just in case we got matched up.”

“You’ve come a long way from the early days, I’ll give you that. There is one flaw in your strategy, however.” Shane’s gaze shifted, yet the sclera of his eyes remained dark. He was still in touch with his shadows, ready to summon them with a thought. “If you’re constantly outputting light, it means you’re unable to absorb or shoot anything else. This neutralizes your power too.”

It was Vince’s turn to grin as he raised his fists and adjusted his stance. “I know. Part of why I liked this method. Seemed like a perfect opportunity to show everyone watching that we’re more than just our raw abilities. We’ve got some good old-fashioned hand-to-hand skills as well.”

Shane began to slowly circle Vince, keeping at a healthy distance while scanning the environment. “I’m game for a melee fight, but I’ll warn you now: drop that light for even a second and I’ll strike. You absorb a single punch and I’ll slice you from a half-dozen angles.”

“I’d expect nothing less. You’re not an opponent I can afford to let my guard down around. My best bet of beating you is in a straightforward fight.”

“As I recall from freshman year training, we were pretty evenly matched on that front,” Shane said.

“We were. But I stayed in Close Combat, while you went the Control route. I wonder what sort of gap that creates between us?” Vince was moving too, not in any direction, just shuffling his stance as he watched Shane circle.

Shane kept shifting, probing for any angle of attack that might be slightly more advantageous. “You assume I haven’t kept up with that training on my own.”

“Of course not. You’re Chad’s best friend; I’m sure you’ve been sparring all the time in your off hours. I really don’t know which of us is going to win this match,” Vince admitted. “I just want it to be whoever is truly stronger. We’ve seen what Conrad can do. Lander deserves the best it has remaining to fight him.”

“Hand-to hand-combat isn’t necessarily the best way to determine that,” Shane pointed out.

Vince kept on turning, showing Shane the same stance no matter where he moved. “Maybe not, but given how closely we’re matched, it’s going to come down to judgment, determination, and endurance. Those are factors I could definitely see making the difference in the Conrad fight.”

“Well then, I suppose let’s see which of us wants this more.”

Shane didn’t hesitate. He bolted forward, taking a few careful swings for Vince’s ribs. They were easily blocked, which he’d expected, and Vince countered by throwing some jabs of his own. Shane nimbly moved out of the way, striking back with a kick aimed at Vince’s knee, only to connect with air as Vince yanked it out of the way.

They were testing one another, getting a sense of their opponent’s speed and patterns. It had been a long time since they faced one another like this; each had grown in countless ways. Truth be told, the experience probably would have been enjoyable in other circumstances. But whatever light-hearted joy they took in combat was squashed by the pressure of those watching, unseen, in the viewing room. All those Heroes, scanning them, evaluating them, seeing if they measured up… and one more set of eyes, belonging to the man who had defeated both Chad and Alice. Neither Vince nor Shane ever said the secret advantage to fighting like this, because they didn’t need to. It was understood from the beginning why this method was the best way to determine which of them would advance.

This was the only way to fight in which neither one showed off any more of their power than they already had. It didn’t give Conrad a scrap more to work with. Both men were fighting for victory, and both were giving their all to grasp it, but they were still students of Lander. They knew what it meant to achieve victory for a team over glory for themselves.

Vince landed a half-blocked strike against Shane’s ribs, which he paid back with a knee to Vince’s hip. The two backed off slightly, adjusting their stances and evaluating the other. Yes, they were going to do this the mundane way, with every power except Vince’s glow off the table. Yes, they both wanted Lander as a whole to win, and to pay back Conrad for the way he’d bested Chad and Alice. But they still had to fight to see who would get the honor of trying to take Lander all the way, and neither one was going to yield that easily.

With a quick change to his footing, Shane darted in, feinting another blow for the ribs then launching a jab for Vince’s jaw. Vince jerked away, not quite fast enough to keep Shane’s knuckles from grazing his cheek. The message was clear: the time for testing had passed. Now they fought with all they had to see which one would be left standing.

285.

“Is this… good?” Chad wasn’t used to feeling uncertain. It was a sensation that didn’t hang on him well. But after easing his control of his brain to fully experience his defeat, there were going to be unusual sensations until everything was recalibrated. They weren’t all bad: Angela’s unexpected appearance and kiss had nearly bowled him over with the surge of joy. Still, not being able to view a situation with forced objectivity was leaving him feeling less than steady.

Fortunately, Angela was experiencing no such shadows of doubt. “Our grandfather used to say that fundamentals are always good. In fact, I bet he’s giving that line to the Heroes around him right now. Nobody should rely completely on their powers. Brains, brawn, stealth, tricks, traps, whatever you’ve got, bring it to the table. There are going to be situations where your power doesn’t work, or you can’t use it for one reason or another, so it’s important to have other skills to fall back on. Me, I focused on hand-to-hand and speed-chugging, both of which have served me well in the field.”

Alice’s eyes bored into Angela, taking in everything about her expression. “Nice to know the Hero life hasn’t changed you. Also, I apparently still can’t tell when you’re being serious and when you’re screwing around.”

“Maybe it’s both,” Angela countered. “Besides, why would Hero life change me? I knew what I was signing up for long before I ever set foot on this campus. So did Shane, for that matter. That’s why he’s going to win this thing. He’s got the training, the knowledge, and the perspective. Vince is a nice dude, but my little brother is a force to be reckoned with.”

Just as Alice was about to stick up for Vince, Nick stepped in closer, eyes never leaving the screen. “You’re right on that account. In terms of how well they’ve been prepared for the Hero world, Shane is ahead by leaps and bounds. But here’s the issue with that: they aren’t getting quizzed on what to do when criminals split off in three different directions out of a blind alley. They’re fighting. Pure, simple combat. Shane is a tough bastard who I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of, and he’s got a lot to prove. Trouble is, so does Vince. I’m sure somewhere in that head of his he’s scared that if he doesn’t put on a good showing then that Globe stuff will get in the way of graduation. That means Vince is going to fight as hard as he can within these limitations, and a determined Vince is never something to underestimate.”

“So you think yours will win?” Angela asked.

Nick didn’t give any kind of physical response, as he was still enraptured by the battle on the screen. Even his words were slightly delayed as he took in the action. “I don’t know for sure. This far along, fighting against a friend, it’s impossible to say with certainty who is going to pull this one off. It’s a gamble no matter how you look at it. But I do know one thing, a small tidbit of wisdom I’ve picked up over the years that’s served me well. I’ve said it before, and I’m sure I’ll say it many times again in the year to come.” The barest hint of laughter danced in Nick’s eyes as he saw Vince counter a punch from Shane and go on the offensive.

“When in doubt, I always bet on silver.”

*             *             *

Beating the shit out of one another was, to no one’s surprise, taking something of a toll on both combatants. Truth be told, they’d both scored enough hits to bring down lesser opponents. If they’d fought like this in freshman year, they’d both have already collapsed. In the four years of training, however, they’d grown in strength and skill. And so it was that both young men were still on their feet, albeit with plenty of bruises to show for the trouble.

Still, the fight was wearing them down, and both were growing sloppier in their movements. Shane threw a punch that was a hair too telegraphed, which Vince snared and tried to turn into a throw. Unfortunately, he was slow in the rotation, and Shane had enough time to kick one of Vince’s legs from behind, ruining Vince’s stance while giving Shane a chance to slip free. They backed away from each other again, searching for openings.

In an unexpected way, Vince was enjoying this. It had been a long time since he had a real, proper fight outside of a sparring session. HCP battles these days all came down to powers and tactics, working as a team to suppress an enemy while keeping as many civilians as possible safe. This, on the other hand, was a return to basics for Vince. This was how it had been before he’d been able to control his abilities, when the idea of even being a Super was laughable, let alone a Hero. Back when all he’d had was his own body and the strength with which he moved it.

Shane attacked again, because that was what he did. In the time since they’d last fought like this, Vince had forgotten how aggressive Shane’s technique was. It made sense: the grandson of Captain Starlight was always chasing after someone, always fighting to prove he could live up to the burden of his heritage. Offense would be his natural default setting, even when defense might serve him slightly better.

Jerking his neck, Vince avoided a punch aimed at his head, nimbly twisting to the side to dodge the second jab Shane had hoped would catch him by surprise. Stepping in, Vince sank a fist deep into Shane’s momentarily unguarded stomach. The blow caused Shane to step back but didn’t slow him down. In no time he was swinging for Vince, who’d quickly moved away. Vince didn’t stay that way for long, however. Through most the whole fight, Shane had taken the initiative, and Vince had let him. It made the moments when Vince decided to attack slightly surprising, and against Shane, any advantage Vince could get was worth taking.

Coming in low, Vince aimed a feint for Shane’s stomach. As Shane moved to block it, a moment of inspiration struck Vince. On impulse, he threw out his original plan to capture and lock Shane’s elbow. Instead, he stepped in closer, creating more openings than he should have, and slammed a shoulder into Shane’s sternum. It was the sort of attack that Shane could have easily blocked, except that he was already moving to counter the joint-lock that Vince had abandoned. The blow knocked Shane off balance, and Vince didn’t waste the opportunity. In the instant his opponent was distracted, Vince slammed his foot into Shane’s knee, far harder than he would have dared if they didn’t have healers immediately nearby. Even trying to take it easy, he still heard a few telltale pops as Shane fell hard to the ground, struggling to get back up only to find that his leg would no longer bear weight.

“Why… why did I fall for that?” Shane kept trying to stand, wincing every time his knee betrayed him.

“Chad likes to go for locks and submissions. I may not have gotten a proper match with him, but I’ve seen Chad fight in Close Combat class plenty of times. Since you spar almost exclusively with him, I realized you might have gotten into the habit of instinctively blocking those kinds of attacks.”

“Damnit. Undone by my own training. That hurts worse than my knee.” Shane tried to rise again, and quickly crumpled. “Never mind, scratch that, the knee hurts way more.”

“Look at it this way: you got into a habit because you were chasing Chad and Angela all these years. But I’ve been chasing all of you. A wider perspective is what you get from starting near the back of the crowd in a race. Imagine how much we’ll both see, and learn, if we make it all the way to being Heroes. That’s a whole new race, with people miles out ahead of us. In a few years, we could have a rematch that puts both of our efforts in this one to shame.”

Finally giving up on trying to stand, Shane turned his gaze upward to meet Vince’s eyes. “That’s all well and good for the future, but you understand what winning here means, right? We saw what Conrad could do against Alice, do you think you’re going to be able to beat that?”

“I have no clue. I’ve got a few ideas I can try, but they may not work. Victory is never certain for me, and I won’t pretend today is somehow different.” Vince knelt down, making it easier to look right at Shane. “All I can promise is that I’ll give it everything I’ve got. This is our school, our class, and even if I can’t win, I’ll make sure they don’t forget the Class of Nightmares.”

There were a few moments of hesitation, and then Shane lowered his head. “My knee is toast, and hopping on one foot won’t win this fight. I concede, Vince. You win.”

Instantly, the speakers crackled to life. “That’s right folks, you heard it yourselves. Shane DeSoto has given up, making Vince Reynolds the final man standing for Lander. Both of you head off to go get some healing, and Vince, don’t bother coming back to the viewing room. The final match of Intramurals starts soon.”

286.

There was no warning before they broke into the lab. No subtle signs or arrows pointed the way; there wasn’t even a dated poster urging everyone to keep their safety glasses on during experiments. One moment they were in yet another metal hallway, and then they were through, stepping into an open area filled with computers, desks, and medical equipment.

Wordlessly, George went right for the computer, while Joan started tearing through the desks, reading files. Adam, still in Quentin’s form, followed Joan’s lead, albeit at a much slower pace, while Persephone began looking over the lab’s supplies. Raze tapped Globe gently, pointing to a door on the other side of the room. It was heavily reinforced, stronger than anything they’d encountered so far. With a thought, Globe locked it down, as well as the one they’d come through, making sure nothing else entered the lab. They would have to breach the door eventually, that much was obvious, but not until they were ready.

“God… they really did use Intra for this.” Joan’s face had gone pale as she stared into a manila folder, perusing the contents. “I won’t show you, but there are pictures. Photos of his body, his brain… This is…”

“More of the same on here,” George called. “I’m punching through the security as fast as I can. It’s decent, but not HCP-level, and definitely not designed to keep out an amped-up robot. Should be able to have it on a flash drive shortly.”

Globe heard and processed the words, his attention still on scanning the room for potential threats. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that this place would be connected to the internet. And this far underground, I’m sure cellular options are out. Shims, can you pop a portal? I have a hunch this next part is going to be even harder, and I’d like to know we got the truth out there, just in case.”

“I’ve tried a few times already, no luck. Charles must have teleporters here acting as anchors. Probably a lot of them, and almost certainly enhanced, given what we’ve seen already. Even with the extra power from Quentin, I can’t punch through that many working against me.”

Not great news, but about what Globe had expected. Charles Adair was a smart man, one with ample resources and time to plan. Keeping enemies from teleporting away was likely among the first things he’d considered, especially since he knew Globe didn’t understand spatial movement enough to counteract it. Such was the issue with working against former teammates. Unfortunately, it put them at a crossroads.

Beyond that reinforced door, Globe knew he was likely to find the human subjects: Shelby without a doubt, maybe others who’d gotten less-functional versions of the procedure. Perhaps even Intra’s remains, if they were still being preserved. He had to press on. Leaving people behind wasn’t an option, but he also couldn’t afford to risk everything they’d worked so hard for. If they had proof, then it needed to leave this place. Even if Globe didn’t.

“When the download is finished, all of you retreat. Raze, start smashing your way through walls if you have to. Get far enough away that Shims can open a portal, and bring that data to someone we trust. Go to Lander, take it to Blaine or Graham DeSoto if you can reach them, Sean Pendleton if you can’t. Even if Charles wants to follow, he can’t risk storming the campus with all eyes of the DVA on it.”

“And what will you be doing while we run away?” Raze asked.

Globe pointed to the door looming at the end of the room. “Securing the innocents. Or finding their remains. I can’t abandon them, but they also don’t take a higher priority than bringing the truth to light. This way, we get to do both.”

“Good plan, shitty execution.” Clarissa walked over to Joan, who was skimming a new stack of files. “Given that you’re amplified, do you think you’re strong enough to carry me?”

“Not at top speed,” Joan replied. “Should be doable though, and with all that extra power my mid-speed is still damn fast.”

“Then once George finishes, you take me out of here. By now they’ve probably cleared all the doors we sealed, so hopefully it will be a straight shot. We get far enough away for me to pop a portal, then drop off the information at Lander. The rest of the team stays with our fearless leader to make sure he gets any innocent people back to the top, and himself along with them.” Clarissa paused, looking to the others. “Any arguments?”

Hesitantly, Globe started to speak. “It puts more of us at risk than–”

“Not you; we already know you’ll go for the self-sacrifice move if we give you a chance,” Clarissa snapped. “I meant from the rest of the team.”

“We’re fine.” Persephone was looking through the medical equipment now, searching for tools that might come in handy in the next fight. “We knew what we were signing up for when we followed Globe down here.”

“I can’t ask the rest of you to stay for this, not when we’ve already gotten so much of what we came for,” Globe protested.

Clarissa made her way over and laid a firm hand on his arm. “What did I say last night? I understand that the mission comes first, and that’s what we’re prioritizing. Data is just numbers and files on a computer. Charles will fight it, and he’s got the lawyers to potentially win. We need proof: victims, faces, remains. We need to show the world what was happening in this lab. Yes, it’s smart for Joan and me to ensure some of this makes it out, but the job isn’t done. Let the team do what they came here for and see it through to the end.”

A long moment passed between them, but eventually Globe tilted his head forward in a nod. “I suppose you’re right, as usual. At least you’ll be safely out of here. That’s something.”

“Please, you think I’m not coming back as soon as that data is in safe hands? With Joan’s speed, we’ll catch up to you in no time. Faster if I can find those anchors and take them out.”

“Both of you had better hurry then.” It was always disturbing to hear the mature tones of Adam in Quentin’s voice, but it was an experience they’d all grown used to. “Getting here took a while, since we couldn’t rip through everything without risking the roof coming down. My guess is that the last of us have about twenty minutes left on the enhanced charges, so maybe take Joan for a top-off from Quentin on the way back.”

“Whatever you want to do, I’d suggest getting in gear.” At the computer, George was pulling out a jump drive from a USB port. “It’s done. This has everything from their files: decades of research and experimentation, all right there for anyone to see.” He held it out and Clarissa accepted, tucking the jump drive away carefully. “Get that out of here, no matter what. If you do, then maybe all of this was worth something after all.”

“We will,” Clarissa promised. “And then we’ll be back, right Joan?”

“So fast it won’t even seem like we were gone.” Joan didn’t waste a moment, scooping Clarissa up in her arms and taking a position to sprint as soon as the path was clear. “Globe, if you’d open our exit, please.”

Globe’s hand raised, pointing at the last door they’d come through. Just before he forced it to open, however, he gave Clarissa one last glance. “Be cautious, please. I would really like to avoid attending another funeral, if possible. Especially yours.”

“Of course. When one thinks of Heroes, safety and discretion are the first things that come to mind.” Clarissa flashed him a smile, wild and full of life, the sort of grin she hadn’t worn since her Hero days. It was a sight Globe never thought he’d see again, and it was gone too soon as Joan zipped out of the room, Clarissa clutched tightly in her arms.

With those two gone, Globe turned his attention to the reinforced door barring the way and looked around to his team. “I hope everyone is ready, because Charles will have put the best he has guarding Shelby. Let’s go show them why we’re better.”

287.

One fight left. One more match, and it was over. Win or lose, this was going to be Vince’s last chance as a student to show the Hero world at large what he was made of. There were sure to be more tests to come, probably a big one to make the cut for graduation, but those would be smaller venues. Today, he had the eyes of Heroes upon him. This was where he proved he had what it took to join them, no matter what the DVA thought about his father. Intense as that pressure was, it was made even worse by the knowledge that it wasn’t just his victory on the line. Vince was the last man standing for Lander. If he didn’t find a way to win, the whole school lost. Sure, they’d already put on a strong showing, but Vince couldn’t bear the thought of Lander falling short because he wasn’t strong enough to carry them across the finish line.

“Knock knock.”

The voice came from the open door of Vince’s prep room, an area he’d been actively ignoring. No one ever showed up there except when it was time to lead him off to the next match, so it should have been shocking to see Nick Campbell leaning against the frame, waiting for Vince to realize he had company. However, since it was Nick, Vince was only mildly surprised by the sudden appearance. Nick had a habit of making impossible tasks seem outright mundane.

“Did you sneak down here?” Not the warmest of greetings, but Vince had to figure out whether people were about to storm down and drag Nick off before the conversation went further.

That question drew a laugh from Nick, who stepped fully into the room. “I might have, if I thought it was necessary. Didn’t need to, though. Turns out it’s customary for the students to receive pre-fight pep talk before their last match. Just encouragement, no advice, the Heroes were very clear on that front. Everything down here is monitored anyway, so it’s not like I could slip you secret info even if I had some to share.”

“That seems more like a job for Dean Blaine than a friend who was expelled,” Vince pointed out.

“And he no doubt would be here if I weren’t, but I convinced him to let me handle this one. The guy understands his students better than most people realize, and part of that means knowing how to best help them. In this case, that meant using me.” Nick sauntered over, hopping into a chair next to the counter Vince was perched on and pulling out the deck of cards he’d been shuffling all day, automatically moving them through his hands. “So, worked yourself into a complete mess yet, or did I come too early?”

There was a moment where Vince considered denying the blatant truth, though he quickly dismissed such a senseless notion. He had zero chance of fooling Nick, and even if he could, what did that gain Vince? The illusion of pretending such high-stakes situations didn’t make him nervous? That was a silly thing to choose over a friend’s help.

“Hard to say. I’ve been feeling the pressure all day, but this last one… Conrad beat Chad. And Alice. Two of our strongest people, who I’m not sure I could defeat. I get that no one out there sincerely expects me to win, not when our top people failed. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ll be letting everyone down if I don’t somehow find a way to come out on top.”

“About where I figured you’d be,” Nick said. “That’s the reason I came down here. I know how you get all bunched up in your head. Don’t use too much power, don’t come off as too aggressive, don’t let anyone watching feel too afraid. Just about the only time you let loose is when people are counting on you, and then you risk overcorrecting and coming out way too strong. Well good news, Vince. I came down with a message that will take all that worry and pressure right off your shoulders.”

Vince watched as Nick rose from his chair, setting down the deck of cards and standing right in front of Vince so the two were eye-to-eye. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“It’s not. It’s the simplest thing in the world, you just haven’t realized it yet.” Nick leaned in slightly, shifting his voice to a stage whisper. “Vince, the big secret to why you don’t need to feel so stressed out is… none of this matters.”

The reply sprang to Vince’s lips before he had time to consider it, which was why a simple “Huh?” slid out of his mouth rather than a more targeted request for explanation. Luckily, Nick still got the message.

“It’s just a school contest. A big one, sure, maybe on par with a bowl game at the end of football season, but nothing more than that. You’re fighting for pride and bragging rights. Not your future. Not the soul of Lander. None of that crap.”

“Nick, we’ve both seen how many Heroes are up there–”

“Oh yes, there’s a crowd, no doubt about that.” Now that Nick was on a roll, he didn’t seem willing to let Vince take them off track. “A crowd who has seen you put on a great three matches. A crowd who will trust Dean Blaine when he tells them what kind of man you are, and what kind of Hero he expects you to be. A crowd including Graham DeSoto, new head of the DVA, who sure seems to have reined people in on putting the screws to you. Look, I’m not saying you could go out there and try to murder Conrad without facing consequences, but losing this fight won’t fundamentally change anything about your life. You’ll have a bad day, and our class will be bummed for an afternoon. That’s it. That’s all you’re fighting for.”

Silence fell between the two as Vince considered Nick’s words. Was he right? Had all the pressure been in Vince’s own mind? No, the class was still counting on him, even Nick had admitted that pride was on the line. But compared to fights where he had to prove he belonged or the life and death ordeal of last May, fighting for bragging rights didn’t seem nearly so dire.

“This feels like the opposite of what a pep talk should be. Aren’t you supposed to be riling me up? Talking me into leaving it all out on the floor, fighting like there’s no tomorrow, all those clichés?”

“Shit no. Maybe that’s what most people need, but not you. Nothing puts more pressure on Vince Reynolds than his own unshakeable sense of responsibility. You always fight the hardest for other people. Save the innocents, protect your friends, that kind of thing. And that worked for a while, when you were still figuring yourself out. It’s been four years though, four years that you’ve used to improve in a lot of ways. All that therapy you undertook was part of it. I think you know yourself quite well by this point. What you want. What you can do. What you’re willing to do. Today, it’s time to fight with a clear head. No massive stakes, no people depending on you to keep them safe. Just Vince Reynolds, having a match with some dick trying to show up his school. That’s all. So, knowing that nothing really changes whether you win or lose, what do you want to do?”

Vince tried to imagine what it would feel like to lose if Nick was right, if the fight really had no consequences. His friends would be sad, but they wouldn’t blame him for Lander’s loss just like he hadn’t blamed Chad or Alice. No one questioned that those two tried their best; if there was one thing Hero training had drilled into all of them, it was that everyone lost sometimes. That was why people agreed no Super was invincible. Beyond the initial loss, his class would be disappointed. Again, though, would they really have expected Vince to win when Alice and Chad fell short? The Heroes watching probably wouldn’t think much less of Vince; there was only one Intramurals champion, the rest had to lose by design. As for the DVA, they likely cared more about Vince not burning down the HCP than how he did in the fights.

It was odd. The more Vince thought about it, the more he realized that Nick was right: ultimately this match didn’t matter. But clearing all the anxiety away revealed another truth, one that not even Nick had brought up. Now that there was no more pressure, Vince realized this match did matter to at least one person: him. Even if it was for nothing more than pride, Vince had a tremendous amount of pride to fight for where Lander was concerned. It was his first real home, the place where he’d met the biggest family he ever had, the school that had taken him in and stuck up for him even when the Globe controversy came to light. Maybe Conrad would win, and that would be okay in the long run. But no one would forget that Lander had made it to the final match as well, Vince would make damn certain of that.

“I want to win.” Vince looked up at Nick, his mind already set in determination, to find a knowing grin looking back at him.

“Had a feeling that’s what you’d say.” With that, Nick turned and started for the door. “I should head out, they’ll be coming to get you in no time. Just remember, no matter how crazy things get: none of this matters. Not unless you want it to.”

“Thanks.” Vince set his hand down on the counter, finding his fingers resting on a strange object. A quick glance showed him the stack of playing cards were still there, just where Nick had left them. “Hey, you forgot your cards.”

Nick paused his exit, fixing Vince with a piercing glance. “No, I didn’t. They’re a good luck present. Just normal playing cards, mind you; I even had to get them checked before coming down here. We can’t give you any kind of tangible help, be it equipment or advice. So it’s just a stack of cards to help you remember that everyone is cheering for you. Fitting, too… with all the others knocked out of the tournament, maybe that makes you the King card of the class, if only for Intramurals.”

Nick was gone before Vince could ask any follow-up questions, the stack of cards the only evidence that he’d ever been there at all. That, and the fact that Vince felt worlds better than he had moments ago. It was hard to say why a pep talk telling him that nothing mattered had worked so well, but Vince didn’t care to question it.

Making the impossible seem mundane was simply what Nick Campbell did.

288.

“Dean Blaine. We’ve got an unscheduled teleport onto campus.”

Part of him had wondered if it was overkill to keep a comm in his ear during Intramurals, but as Professor Baker’s voice alerted Dean Blaine to the surprise arrival, he was exceedingly grateful he’d bothered with the precaution. As the Heroes in the room milled about, waiting for the next fight to start, Dean Blaine tried to hide his tension. There were many reasons someone might teleport to Lander that didn’t involve an assault on campus. Hell, it might just be a civilian Super visiting a friend; it wasn’t as though teleportation was illegal. Even as he worked to convince himself, however, Dean Blaine didn’t believe it. This was another attack, another attempt on the HCP, and this time when the dust settled there would be-

“Teleporters located. It’s Shimmerpath and some friend of hers. She says she needs to speak with you or Graham as soon as possible.”

Unexpected relief surged through Dean Blaine. Just Shimmerpath. That probably meant something was up with Globe. Clarissa wasn’t the type to “pop-in” unannounced, but even that situation was far preferable to another army invading Lander. “Let her know I’m with Graham, about to oversee the final match of Intramurals. If she wants to wait in my office, I imagine I won’t be long. By this point, all cards are on the table so the fights tend to be brief.”

“I’ll pass on the message,” Professor Baker replied. It had been tempting to bring her down here to see how Intramurals was run, but the truth was that deans had little role in this part of the competition, aside from the one he’d played for Chad. Having her running the defenses not only gave her better training, it also put Dean Blaine at ease to have someone competent and trustworthy at the helm.

The screens above the massive, dark pane of clear material lit up, but this time they weren’t alone. Light began to flicker on in the depths of the seemingly empty window as well, illuminating the final field of battle. Lesser matches had the random field element added in to keep students on their toes, but the final bout always took place in the same location: a simple combat cell like the students were used to, only far larger. The consensus was that a battle for championship should be focused on the skills of the students, rather than what variables they could spin to their advantage. Across all the HCPs, every year there were only two students who would get to stand in that cell, where so many fights between future Heroes had taken place over the decades. It was a privilege not even Dean Blaine had received.

“Dean Blaine? Shimmerpath is requesting to speak with Professor Pendleton, since you’re unavailable.”

“That’s fine, but unless her friend has Hero credentials it will just be Shimmerpath. Anyone else can wait above-ground. This isn’t the day to flaunt security protocols.”

“That seems to be fine, she says she just wants to pass on a message.”

A message? One she wanted to hand off so quickly that she couldn’t wait for one match? Maybe this was more pressing than Dean Blaine had realized. It didn’t change much, he still had to be here, but he made a mental note to find out what was going on as soon as Intramurals ended.

At that moment, with the dark window finally lit, displaying the massive cell behind it, Victor stepped to the front, signaling that the fight was about to begin. Dean Blaine glanced across the room to Dean Jackson, who paused his chat with Titan to stare right back.

Lander versus Sizemore. Not the first time they’d gone up against one another in the finals, although it had been a while. And if things went the way Dean Blaine was expecting, this would be a fight they’d be talking about for years to come.

*             *             *

Clarissa was less than thrilled at being told to wait in an office, but her team had been the ones who decided to act on Intramurals day without letting Blaine know what they had planned. It made sense at the time: the further they could keep someone like him from this, the better a chance he wouldn’t be swept up in the fallout. Still, the idea of sitting in a chair while her enhancement wore off and her friends fought for their lives was more than Clarissa could stomach, so she made the call to hand the jump drive over to Sean and get back to the fight.

It took all her self-control not to sprint down the halls, compromising with a quick-walk that drew a few stares but didn’t get her stopped by anyone with questions. Navigating to the gym, a place she could have found in total darkness thanks to years trudging there during her own HCP days, Clarissa forced herself not to burst in. She’d already been briefed that Sean was with the non-competing kids, relaying results. Poking her head in, as calmly as she could manage, Clarissa loudly cleared her throat.

“Professor Pendleton, could I speak with you outside for a moment?”

Sean, who was standing in a room of students that seemed to be working out pretty hard on a day off, did a double-take when he saw her. Unlike Blaine, Sean absolutely knew where she was supposed to be, and he almost tripped over himself getting out of the gym.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Following orders.” She grabbed his arm and yanked it forward, putting the jump drive in his palm. “That’s the data. Just the data. The others are still working on the rest. It was decided that, even if my team fails, some truth should escape. Get that somewhere safe, then give it to Blaine or Graham when Intramurals is over. I can’t wait around; the others still need me.”

Clarissa released his arm, turning to go, but it was Sean’s turn to do the grabbing, his thin hands gripping her shoulder. “Not alone you don’t. I’m coming too.”

“Sean, your place is here.”

“My place is wherever I can help my family the most. If they’re that close, if she’s in reach, I can’t not be there.”

“Sean, this isn’t open for discussion…” Clarissa’s words trailed off as a group of DVA agents turned down the hall. They were all running, sprinting really, and for a moment Clarissa thought she was caught. Instead, the DVA agents raced past, all of them yelling orders into their phones. She didn’t catch much, but the few words she made out were hardly encouraging. Phrases like “sudden attack” and “middle of nowhere” were good hints that the assault had finally been noticed, but it was one word that confirmed her suspicions. A DVA agent was trying to whisper into his phone, but he was an expressive fellow, which made reading his lips all-too-easy.

There was no doubt about it; he’d definitely said the word “Globe.” The DVA knew something was happening. They knew, and they’d have to respond. Suddenly the situation wasn’t quite as clear-cut as it had been moments prior.

“Find someone to cover for you,” she instructed. “I have to talk with Joan. Be fast. Once we decide what to do, we’re doing it, with or without you.”

289.

Big and empty. Perhaps not ideal, since it offered Vince little cover against Conrad’s ability to manipulate the floor, walls, and ceiling. Then again, would fake shops or small patches of trees really make much of a difference when his enemy was attacking with the environment itself? If anything, that would only give Conrad more projectiles to toss around. Besides, Vince rather preferred it like this. The same general area as what Alice and Chad had been stuck working with. This way, if he managed to win, Conrad would have no excuses. It was just the two of them, power versus power.

“Welcome competitors. This time, I’ll be handling your intros, since you’ve got better things to keep in mind.” Victor was standing in front of the giant clear window, his back to the competitors as he addressed the viewing room. “From Lander, we have Vince Reynolds, a Close Combat major with no Hero name chosen. From Sizemore, we have Conrad Booker, a Control major who will be operating under the Hero name Seismic. You’ve all gotten to see these fine young men put on dazzling displays of power, strategy, and determination in their first three matches. Now we see who will emerge from this year’s Intramurals as the champion.”

Victor turned around, facing the clear material keeping him safe and staring out to the two competitors below. “Vince, Conrad. Your match begins now.”

Conrad was probably expecting Vince to run. It would have been a tactically sound move, racing about to make himself a harder target. The trouble was, Vince knew how well that worked for Chad, and unlike Alice, Vince didn’t have the ability to fly. Jumping around might buy him an extra few moments, but eventually he’d have to land, which meant coming down into Conrad’s waiting rocks. When he looked at the situation calmly, it was obvious that within the first few seconds of the match Conrad was going to catch him. There was no avoiding it. Rather than waste stamina, Vince stood in place, waiting for the ground to swallow him whole. Either he could beat this technique, or he couldn’t.

It didn’t take Conrad long to notice Vince was standing still. Hands of stone burst forth, gripping Vince across his arms and legs, dragging him quickly down. Vince let them, feeling his body sink deeper. When his belly button had sank past the floor, the time to act finally arrived. With a concerted effort, Vince let loose a blast of kinetic energy through the stone around him, sending dust and bits of debris flying into the air. It was messy, but the ruined rocks could no longer hold him in place as he climbed, slowly and deliberately, out of the hole.

“Sorry, Conrad. I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to capture me. Feel free to keep trying if you want; I’ve got enough kinetic energy stored up to do this for days.” That was, in truth, probably an exaggeration, although shattering the ground had taken a relatively minor amount of the kinetic force Vince was holding. He could do it a lot more before that well ran dry, but the goal was to not bother. If he could make Conrad think it was a waste of time from the start, it would force Conrad to turn his attention to other tactics, which would hopefully allow Vince to move a little more freely.

“Not able? Just because I’m being gentle doesn’t mean I’m incapable of using force.”

That was all the warning Vince had before the ground completely opened under him. It was the same trick Conrad had used on Chad, turning the floor beneath him into a pit. Vince fell quickly, absorbing his landing and lifting his hand upward, even as the stone around him rapidly shifted, sealing him off beneath the floor. The speed and precision of the technique were both impressive; in a stretch of mere seconds Vince had gone from standing in the cell to being buried without a shred of light peeking through.

The trick was rendered somewhat less impressive by a giant blast of rubble shooting up from the ground like a geyser of rock erupting. Moments later Vince leapt out, landing easily and turning back to Conrad’s position. He was still trying to think of a good line to shoot back with, but immediately realized there was no point. Conrad was nowhere to be seen; he’d slipped away beneath the ground while Vince was distracted. Right… Conrad wasn’t some dumb bruiser. He thought tactically and responded to new developments. He’d probably known the bigger pit wouldn’t work on Vince, it was just a distraction creating time to slip away.

“Hiding already?” Vince called. It was a blatant stab to the ego that he didn’t expect to land, but at the moment he couldn’t think of anything better to yell.

“Against the mighty champion of Lander? Of course.” It felt like the voice was coming from all directions, as though it were spitting out of the very walls themselves. Maybe Conrad could project his voice through them or had set up some kind of echo chamber. How he was doing it didn’t matter, but it did confirm that sound was a method Vince couldn’t use to track his enemy down. “You put on a good show. Too bad you, like most other Supers, need a target to fight. Maybe you should have let Lucinda win. At least she had the possibility of suffocating me. That is, if I even still have lungs.”

Taunts. Conrad knew the other students had speculations about how far he could take his power. If he could fully transform into stone, Vince wasn’t sure there was any way to win this fight. As it stood, the ideas he had were half-formed at best. Vince was still debating on the next move when a fist made of rock shot out of the ground, on a crash course for Vince’s knee. Springing mid-chat was a good idea, it stood a better chance of catching an enemy by surprise. Sadly for Conrad, Vince was a little too accustomed to sudden attacks thanks to his training. The stone fist landed directly against the knee, and then merely halted without imparting any damage.

“Sorry Conrad, you’ll have to try something other than brute force. That is, if you even have something other than brute force.” It felt good to throw the taunt right back in Conrad’s face, but Vince readied himself as he spoke. The first few exchanges of the match had made Conrad’s offense look ineffectual. If he had the ego most people with his kind of power did, that wouldn’t be sitting well. The opening phase of the fight would come to an end quickly. Conrad wouldn’t let this stand; he’d want to show the world that he could hurt Vince, that this was a real battle.

The hand shot out of the ground at incredible speed, stopped just before it would have careened into Vince’s jaw. Opening wide, it stretched out, wrapping around Vince’s face to cover his nose and mouth before winding down around the base of his neck. At the same time, Vince noticed a sudden pressure on his legs, something jutting into the back of his calves, before it rescinded.

“You want something new? Fair enough, it’s the finals, you deserve that. Wish granted, Vince. You’re being suffocated; in a minute or so you’ll pass out. Now you could blast that away, no problem, like I’ve watched you do already. But the second you try it, I’ve got stone spikes ready to stab you through the legs. Even kept them a few inches away, since you only seem to blast things you can touch. Good luck concentrating after that one. Everyone knows most absorbers can’t take in and expel energy at the same time, and based on your earlier fights, you’re no exception. I guess the real question is which do you choose? Lose now, painlessly, or struggle and lose a minute later with bleeding legs. Doesn’t really matter to me. I get the same outcome either way.”

On the ground in front of him, Vince saw the dirt sink down an inch in a crescent shape, followed by a pair of circles slightly higher up. A smiley face. Conrad had formed a smiley face on the ground, just as an extra twist of the knife. If Vince had any lingering doubts about how badly he wanted to beat Conrad, the smile on the ground washed them away.

Now he just had to figure out how the hell he was going to pull that off.

290.

Conrad had either merged with, or hidden himself in, the stone of the combat cells. A twisting formation of rock was slowly choking the air from Vince, easing him toward unconsciousness. The moment he blasted it away, he was going to take two strikes from rock spikes waiting near his legs. And even if Vince somehow got out of that, he would still be utterly vulnerable while Conrad remained unseen and untouchable. Vince was no stranger to bad situations, and even he had to admit this wasn’t looking great.

The lone upside was that Conrad seemed content to run out the clock on Vince’s air, so no more attacks were coming at the moment. That gave Vince a few precious seconds to think. There had to be a way to get out of this. He might have enough of Thomas’s energy to make a shield, but that was a resource Vince couldn’t replenish. If he relied on that to beat this technique, sooner or later he’d run out and be back in the same spot. Absorbing was no good; the rock was physically constricted around his neck and face, taking away its kinetic force probably wouldn’t change the fact that it was still smothering him. Even if that did turn out to help, Vince would be stuck in place, unable to stop absorbing without finding himself in the same dilemma. At that point, it would probably count as a capture.

Blasting the bindings on his neck wouldn’t work… wait, wouldn’t it? Conrad had tried to make Vince think that idea was off the table, but that didn’t make it true. Yes, Vince was going to take a blow to the knees as soon as he knocked away the choking rocks… but what if he wasn’t there when the attack landed? After all, he occasionally shot fire with both hands. There was no real reason he couldn’t discharge one energy from other parts of his body at the same time.

Although Vince lacked the ability to carve smiles in the ground, he managed a small grin of his own just before he struck. Vince fired off powerful blasts of kinetic energy from two points of his body: his head and his feet. The rock-collar shot off as Vince tore into the air, the stone scythes meant to pierce his flesh slamming harmlessly into the ground. Vince was surprised to realize he’d blown the soles off his boots again; apparently he’d put more into the jump than he realized. Air whipped by his face as Vince scanned the cell, desperately searching for any clues as to Conrad’s whereabouts. No sign of Sizemore’s champion, although he did see the walls twitching slightly.

Just in time, Vince remembered that Conrad could turn rocks into projectiles and started absorbing in mid-air. Seconds later a stone thudded softly off Vince’s back, kind enough to transfer its force to him before tumbling harmlessly to the ground. Several more followed before Vince landed, although they’d already slowed by the end. Conrad had seen it didn’t work and was no doubt switching strategies.

“I think I’ve been making this too easy on you. What we need here is a shift in terrain.”

Before Conrad’s echo had fully faded, the change began. Stone spires began shooting up, just as they had for Alice, only this time they were sharper, more jagged. The floor itself was changing too, spikes thrusting upward, ready to slice through the first careless foot that tread upon them. All around Vince, the cell seemed to be growing rocky teeth of all sizes. Complete and total alteration to the battlefield in less than a minute. Frustrating as Conrad was to face, Vince had to admit he was glad the guy was on the side of the Heroes. A power like his would be able to save a lot of people.

Such a thought was not great comfort to Vince as he surveyed the landscape, however. Virtually anywhere he went, any step he made, he risked shredding his feet. Maybe if he absorbed the kinetic energy while he walked it would keep him from sinking down on the spikes. It was a technique he’d never tried though, and this didn’t feel like the best time to find out if it worked. Not to mention that being in a state of perpetual absorption would leave Vince virtually incapable of offense.

A spike fired out of the ground, on track for Vince’s hip, and his reflexes screamed at him to dodge. Barely keeping control, Vince instead absorbed the force of the spike, halting it just as it made contact and left a small hole in his uniform. Another came seconds later, this time aimed for his left shoulder, and at the same time one shot out from the right, targeting his spine. What was more worrisome was that the first spike hadn’t vanished yet; it was still there, pressing against him, even as others formed a short distance away from Vince, ready to strike. Conrad was trying to pin Vince down, taking away his ability to maneuver while surrounding him with traps. The shoulder spike had gone high and turned in mid-air, halting when pointed downward, inches from his flesh. If he jumped again, Vince risked impaling his shoulder in the process. Rather than abandoning his tactic from minutes ago, Conrad was modifying and fine-tuning it, working to find a way to breach Vince’s defenses while keeping him from running amok. An aggravating tactic to face, but no one could claim it didn’t fit the ideals of a Hero.

More spikes hit, more stopped stones staying carefully against or near Vince’s skin. The lone exception was one that struck him near the ribs, which hit a minor obstacle it had to drill through: Nick’s good luck gift, the playing cards, were nestled into a pocket in that very spot. If they were supposed to save him from some sort of unexpected attack, they’d failed spectacularly at their job. Then again, how would Nick predict something like that, especially since he wasn’t using his power? It couldn’t be something that simple. That wasn’t the way Nick worked.

“Go on, blast them away. Or run across my spikes. Or jump into the air again. I’m starting to get a sense of what you can do, Vince Reynolds, and it’s only a matter of time until I beat you. I’m the best Sizemore has to offer, the best of this entire year’s Hero Certification Program. Do us both a favor and just give up before I have to make you look bad.”

The best that Sizemore had to offer. The King of their class. Someone at the absolute top of their game. And now all that Lander had left was their fourth pick, the one who’d barely made it in. The man who was only default King because everyone else had lost.

“Nick didn’t say I was the King.”

“Well, that certainly sounds like insane babble. Did you crack?” The echo seemed almost concerned, as well as perhaps a bit uncertain. This probably wasn’t the reaction that Conrad had braced for.

“In my sophomore year team, we use a playing card analogy. The best fighter we have is the King. The top of the class. The pinnacle we all strive for.” Vince was wracking his brain now, trying to figure it out. It didn’t matter, or it shouldn’t in a situation like this. Yet all the same, Vince couldn’t stop pulling on the mental thread. “But Nick didn’t call me the King. He said maybe, like he was unsure. Nick’s never unsure. I’m the one who doesn’t understand things.”

“Oh? Perhaps I can teach you a lesson then.”

The floor around Vince began to rumble. His entire corner of the cell sank down just as dozens of sharp stones grew into a dome overhead. They kept growing, forming into a ceiling, yet the spikes nearby weren’t moving. Conrad was combining his favorite techniques, trying to seal Vince in while preparing half-dozen attacks to strike the moment he stopped absorbing. With a ceiling in place, Vince wouldn’t be able to jump his way to freedom; at best he’d just get knocked back down here, at worst he’d seriously hurt himself.

As the stones moved into place, closing Vince off from the artificial light of the cell, the situation seemed more and more dire. Yet in spite of that, Vince lowered his head as the last bit fell into place. He set his jaw in determination. He got it. Vince thought he understood what Nick was trying to remind him of. Even if he’d gotten it completely wrong, even if there was no meaning to the cards, it didn’t matter. Vince had realized what he needed to see, and that meant the cards had worked.

The massive blast tore apart the stone spikes, shattering the ground for several feet in all directions and completely collapsing the still-forming ceiling. When the dust cleared, it revealed Vince Reynolds kneeling, his fist pressed firmly against the ground that had since been turned into a massive crater. Before Conrad could reform the trap, Vince had leapt once more, soaring through the cell. When he was at the top of his arc, Vince held out his hand, creating a crude hammer of orange energy that stretched down and smashed into the spikey floor. It was gone before he landed, his attention back to absorbing so he didn’t break a leg. He turned around to face the shattered corner where bits of debris were still tumbling down.

“How… how did you create that much force?” Conrad didn’t sound so sure of himself now, and it was hard to blame the man. Vince had never used that kind of power in a match, certainly not here in Intramurals. The hole he’d left when fighting Grave Robber was less than half of this one’s size.

“I did what Roy would do. I put my power into a single blow and smashed my way out by destroying the foundation your spikes were built on.” Vince stepped forward, a small blast of kinetic energy from the sole of his foot flattening the spikes on the floor the moment they touched his skin. “There are a lot of people to draw inspiration from in my class. See, we’re different, you and me. I’m not the King of my class. I’ve had to fight against so many strong people to make it this far. I’ve had to counter them, to learn from them, to steal power from them, and grow from my losses to them. My best friend helped me see the two things I needed to make this fight a real challenge. The first is that none of this matters; it’s just my fight against you. So long as I don’t go into lethal territory, I don’t have to hold back.”

Vince kept walking, flattening the floor and scanning the walls. He had an idea for how to draw Conrad out of hiding, but it centered on putting Sizemore’s champion on the defensive. While beating the last trap was a solid start, he needed to put more pressure on Conrad, make him unsure about what was coming next. “Honestly, the idea of that still scares the hell out of me, yet oddly I also find it somewhat freeing. But that was only half of it. See, it’s not enough to just come at you with everything I’ve got. That wouldn’t be enough. That’s probably why Nick gave me the cards, in the hopes that I wouldn’t get in my head and forget the basic core of my ability: I’m not just me. I’m an absorber, in more ways than just what my power does. Fighting with only my default tactics is just going to lead to another Lander loss, and I’m more than that. I’m everything I’ve learned and stolen and seen in these last four years. Be it power, lesson, or technique, I’ve got something from everyone in my class with me today.” Flexing his fingers, Vince took a deep breath and got ready to turn this into a real match.

“You might be the King of Sizemore, but I’m Lander’s whole damn shuffle.”

291.

“That’s a cute line, but nothing about your situation has changed.”

Conrad was right and wrong. The situation might not have changed, but Vince had. He’d stopped thinking about how to endure the next few minutes and started focusing on how to win. The first step was a very simple one: Vince had to figure out if Conrad was still physically human under all the stone. Until he knew what he was fighting, it was going to stay impossible to plan an appropriate strategy. Luckily, humans had many noticeable differences from rocks, the most relevant of which was a higher natural temperature.

Theoretically, it was just like tracking people when Vince absorbed light. Of course, he wasn’t trying to find them through layers of rock in those situations, so the tactics might not be directly comparable. That didn’t matter, though. Win or lose, this was the path he had to walk. If he couldn’t do it, then he went down trying. If he could… well, Vince would cross those bridges as he came to them.

Weeks at Lander East had taught Vince a lot of things. Releasing larger bursts of energy was certainly one aspect of it, but he’d also focused on faster absorption. In truth, he’d never reached the point where he could flash freeze a large area, not even in the months since then. Of course, that didn’t mean Vince hadn’t been improving; there was a wide stretch between perfection and incompetence. Reaching out to the ambient heat all around him, Vince began to draw it in. Not just letting the heat through, like he once had; Vince was greedier this time, drinking in as much as he could. Water in the air turned to frost on the stones, which were starting to move as Conrad put together the context clues that Vince wasn’t absorbing kinetic energy anymore.

The rocks were a little slower this time, whether because Conrad was feeling cautious or the sudden dip in temperature made them more brittle and harder to control. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. By the time Conrad was moving again, Vince had already gotten what he needed.

“Upper left corner of the ceiling, under one of those spires you like creating so much.” Vince was already pointing up by the time the first rocks bounced ineffectually off him, breath turning to fog in the room’s chill. Switching back to kinetic didn’t return all the heat Vince had leeched, and while he did have to suppress a shiver, he felt no inclination to warm the air back up. With it this cold, he would only need to absorb heat for a few seconds to pin down Conrad’s location again. “Looks like you’re not a full-shift manipulator after all. That, or stone-you still puts off an awful lot of heat.”

“You froze the room to hunt me?”

“It’s what Mary would have done, except I used heat instead of thoughts to run you down.” Vince started to move now, flattening more chunks of ground as he did. The small spikes shattered easily – too easily in fact. All the shifting of the rocks Conrad was doing must have been weakening them. They were formed into unnatural shapes that didn’t hold together well. Once he’d gotten a little distance, Vince pointed upward and let loose a brief torrent of flame. It wasn’t quite at the spot where Conrad was hiding; that would put him at serious risk. Instead, Vince focused on the stones below him, turning up the heat as much as he could. The shot barely lasted a full second before stone spikes shot out and Vince had to absorb their blows. No doubt about it now: Conrad’s attacks were definitely a little slower post-freeze. Whether it was the cold itself or the necessity of splitting his attention to deal with attacks was a discussion for minds smarter than Vince’s. He didn’t especially care why it was working, only that it was.

Another round of heat absorption showed him Conrad moving through the walls, shoved along by his shifting rocks like an automated tunnel. It was tempting to send another blast of fire, but Conrad was wising up: he’d picked a new position with plenty of stone spires in the way. Well, he wasn’t the only Super who could change a battlefield.

One of the unexpected advantages to knowing where Conrad was hiding was that Vince also knew where Conrad wasn’t tucked away. That meant he had a very clear idea of which parts of the cell he could attack without risking lethal damage. Doing a horizontal leap, Vince flung himself at the nearest stone spire in his way. Landing at the base, he was barely there for a second before his fist slammed into the bottom of the massive spire, snapping it off at the root and sending it tumbling down. He was gone before it landed on another spire, shoving both into a section of still-spikey ground. It was a mix of Roy and Alice, brute force combined with altering the battlefield. Flecks of broken rock bounced off every section of the cell. Vince had to make Conrad afraid, force him to go deep. That was the only way to end this safely.

“This is insane, how much strength have you stolen?” A new flurry of rocks shot toward Vince. He absorbed the force in time, but these moved slightly faster than the last batch. One way or another, Conrad was recovering, and Vince couldn’t allow that to happen.

“It was given freely, actually, and I haven’t even begun to scratch the surface of how much raw power Roy was able to impart. That man has strength to spare. Which means so do I.” Risking a quick switch to absorbing heat, Vince double-checked Conrad’s position and then picked a totally different spot on the floor. Dropping his fist to it, Vince let out enough of Roy’s force to form another huge crater in the ground. “See, if that had been you, I’m guessing you’d be feeling pretty rough at the moment. Don’t worry, though. I’m not going to come after your real body like that. Not until I’ve figured out exactly how much power it takes to cave in the stone and wound your body without killing you outright. No lethal damage, you know.”

If Vince had been facing someone from Lander, they would have never bought it. His classmates knew him too well. A move like that was inherently risky, no matter how sure Vince might be about the necessary force. But Conrad didn’t know the real Vince; he only knew the student who’d won through achieving deathblows on two of his opponents. He knew the Vince that was tearing apart the cell with seemingly reckless abandon. Conrad knew was he fighting someone who could see through his supposedly perfect hiding spot and punch through what was meant to be unbreachable armor.

Sure enough, another brief heat absorption confirmed that Conrad was burrowing deeper, probably nearing whatever border the cell had. That was the moment Vince had been waiting for, when Conrad was covered by enough rock to have solid protection from the heat.

There was no time to waste. Vince smashed his way across the battlefield, taking down another spire in the process, before he arrived at Conrad’s hiding spot. Not slowing for a moment, Vince put a few craters in the ground encircling Conrad, then summoned the biggest, hottest blast of flame he could manage and sent it roaring into the floor. Within seconds the top layer of stone started to glow. Conrad’s counter was swift, two stone spikes shooting up on a crash course with Vince’s shoulders. This time, he didn’t change energies. Keeping the fire going, Vince stepped to the side, managing to avoid one of the strikes. Unfortunately, the other caught his left arm, cutting a slice in his triceps. Gritting his teeth, Vince ignored the pain and focused on the fire. A little more. A little more. He could see the glow spreading. The rocks were reaching the limit of how hot Vince could safely make them.

Another set of spikes were in route when Vince dropped the flames, barely turning to blast them away before hurling himself at the ground that seemed on the verge of boiling. Hand outstretched, Vince took back his flames, reabsorbing the heat from the rocks as fast as he could pull it in. As the stones cooled, far faster than nature had ever intended, cracks began to form throughout. Between Conrad playing with their structure and the sudden dramatic shift in temperature, the rocks were turning incredibly brittle. By the time Vince landed atop the crumbling floor, he was grinning from ear to ear. He might never be up to snuff on the more advanced physics of his abilities, but even he knew what happened when someone dropped a hot dish in cold water.

Conrad was trying to escape, his heat signature flopping about as he struggled. The brittle rocks around him weren’t as easy to manipulate, however, and passing through Vince’s craters meant risking temporary exposure. He still had to potential to get away though, so Vince didn’t hesitate. Pressing his hand to the top of the floor, Vince summoned up some of the little that remained of Thomas’s energy. An orange tendril appeared, slamming and slithering its way through the fragile rock, drilling to the bottom faster than it could have ever moved through normal stone. The digging grew harder as it went deeper; Vince purposefully hadn’t torched the top long enough to penetrate all the way down, lest he cook Conrad alive. Ready for this moment, Vince widened the orange tendril into a massive cone, shoving away the rest of the rocks and dropping deep into the pit he’d created.

Spikes and stone hands shot out at him, but Vince didn’t absorb them this time. Instead, he took a cue from Thomas’s energy suit, as well as his own previous escape in the match, and let constant kinetic energy surge from all parts of his body, shattering the attacks as they hit. While it was true that the rocks left wounds as they made contact, it was far better than being skewered. Plus, this method had the upside of still allowing Vince to blast offensively, and that was exactly what he planned to do.

Attacking through an entire floor was much too risky for the person being hit, but this close, Vince could work on a smaller scale. He tore apart the ground beneath him, ignoring the steadily increasing torrent of strikes leaving cuts across his side and back. Pain was a good method to stop a lot of Supers. Just not ones from the Class of Nightmares.

Slamming a fist through a layer of rock, Vince caught sight of Conrad’s leg. His real, human leg. At last, there was finally a proper opponent before him, and Vince was ready. He wrapped a hand around Conrad’s ankle and turned up the kinetic force considerably. The bones were hardy, clearly improved endurance was an aspect of Conrad’s power. But Vince had the strength of the son of Titan running through him, and in moments the ankle snapped, eliciting a soft howl of pain from Conrad.

Vince didn’t let go when he felt the break. He dragged Conrad out, dodging a half-hearted attempt at a punch before leaping out of the pit with Conrad still in his grip. They tumbled through the air, breaking apart by inches just as they landed, with only one of them absorbing the force of the fall. Conrad started to sink immediately, but Vince was already there, jerking him back up.

“Go ahead. Seal us.” Vince threw a kinetically-enhanced punch that Conrad blocked, though it shattered his forearm. “You’re just locking yourself in there with me.”

Now that they were out of the hole, Vince noticed that perhaps he’d been taking those attacks more casually than he should have. Blood was running down his limbs and back, staining his white costume wherever it went. Conrad had taken notice too, though his eyes seemed more wide with fear than hope.

“You can’t seriously be that wounded and still keeping focus. It should be impossible. What sort of reckless training do the instructors at Lander give you?”

For the first time in the fight, Vince felt a flash of genuine anger. “They teach us to fight, no matter what, no matter how hopeless, no matter how impossible, because someday we’ll be the only ones who can. You want to know what makes Lander so unstoppable? It’s our teachers. They’ve fought for us, bled for us, and wept for those of us they couldn’t save. They aren’t reckless at all. They’re Heroes, and that’s what they’ve been training us to be – the kind of Heroes who don’t bow to the impossible, who won’t quit until we’re dead. And even then, our bodies will still keep on fighting. Heroes don’t accept the impossible. We don’t have that luxury. That, more than our powers or our training, is what makes us strong.”

His hands slapped against either side of Conrad’s face, like Vince was trying to hold the head in place. “Deathblow. Unless you think you’ve got a way to wriggle free of kinetic blasts to both sides of your brain. Unless you’re ready to fight for an impossible victory.”

Conrad’s eyes blazed and he started to squirm, an act that put pressure on both of his broken limbs. The struggling failed. He glanced to the ground, but they both knew it was pointless. Vince would “kill” him before the first stone rose, especially with Conrad’s injured state muddling his concentration. Another second ticked by and Conrad closed his eyes, all-too-aware of what was inevitably coming.

“And there you have it!” Victor’s voice was booming louder than ever, with something of a frantic edge to it, yet there was also noticeable joy as he yelled the results. “By deathblow, Vince Reynolds has defeated Conrad Booker. That makes him this year’s Intramurals champion!”

292.

The viewing room was going wild. Everyone was yelling, most cheering, some shouting in pure shock. Somewhere along the line, it had failed to matter who represented what school as Heroes and students alike found themselves absorbed in the spectacle. Only a few people maintained their calm, and one such duo stood near the window, watching as a bloody Vince limped his way off the battlefield.

“Did you really expect Vince to figure all that out just from giving him a set of playing cards?” Alice asked.

“You’ve already learned the first rule of Subtlety: always pretend you knew how everything was going to play out. Unofficially, though, there’s a nice thing about helping people like Vince: they never really require that much help. A shove here, a reassurance there. He just needed a reminder and something to puzzle over to keep him from getting stuck in his own doubts. Vince was always going to reach a conclusion that helped, albeit eventually. That’s the only kind of meaning he’d ever be able to find in a last-minute gift from his best friend.”

Taking a quick glance over his shoulder, Nick noticed that no one was paying much attention to the lifts. “I assume he’ll be a few minutes. No way a fight like that doesn’t come with a lengthy debrief. So I think I’m going to slip upstairs and see if I can deliver the news before anyone remembers to tell Professor Pendleton.”

“Not sure you’re allowed up there anymore,” Alice pointed out.

“You are almost certainly correct. All the more reason to go celebrate with my old class while no one is paying attention.” Nick could tell Alice was suspicious, and he didn’t blame her, but there wasn’t time to try and explain why he felt compelled to head toward the gym. “Oh, and in case I don’t get back before Vince does, tell him that I already know what he’s thinking, and if he’s absolutely set on it, then Shuffle is as good a name as any for a Hero. I was hoping he’d land on something more dignified, but a simple, straightforward concept probably fits Vince best anyway.”

Nick didn’t give her a chance to respond, slipping through the crowd as a path to the lifts opened. He made it in without incident, hitting the buttons to take him toward the gym. It was over. Intramurals was over, and nothing had happened. Sure, he’d been able to help Vince a little, but that didn’t seem weighty enough for the weeks of a nagging hunch that demanded he be here. Moreover, the feeling wasn’t gone yet. That was why Nick decided to break for the gym: it felt like a place he should be. Perhaps there was another attack on Lander coming, bold criminals deciding to attack the Heroes head on. That didn’t explain why Nick felt that he should be there though; Lander currently had enough Heroes on hand to repel a modest army, and with countless more ready to move if someone went for any of the HCP campuses.

None of it made sense, which meant the only viable answer was either that something completely unexpected was going to happen, or Nick’s new intuition ability wasn’t as reliable as he’d thought. The latter was certainly possible. That aspect of his power had scarcely been tested, and what had happened so far could be chalked up to coincidence, or even normal, non-power-related luck.

That influx of doubt lasted precisely until the lift arrived at the gym’s floor, doors opening to put Nick face-to-face with Professor Pendleton and Shimmerpath. They’d been running down the hallway, clearly in a hurry, but stopped as soon as their eyes fell upon the former Lander student who shouldn’t have been there.

“Came to tell the class that Vince won.” Not much of an explanation, but it was a way to open dialogue.

“I let them know already. Ran out while everyone was celebrating. Something tells me great minds think alike.” There was something off about Professor Pendleton. His usual calm, apathetic demeanor had slipped, a panicked edge sharpening every word and movement. Virtually nothing got Professor Pendleton this rattled – nothing except the subject of his missing sister and the man who’d faked her death.

Nick could have slapped himself in the skull, he felt so stupid. He’d been so wrapped up in Vince and the others that he’d let his vision slip from the bigger picture. If Globe had a chance to go after Charles Adair, what was the best day to launch an attack with the lowest chance of DVA or Hero involvement? Intramurals. And since he had a mole at Lander, Globe would know exactly when that event was taking place. It was all so obvious when Nick looked at the situation critically. The stranger part was that Shimmerpath was here, clearly taking Professor Pendleton somewhere with her. Why would they strike after the event was over? They wouldn’t. No, the far more likely scenario was that things were going badly, and Shimmerpath was here to get backup.

“Raid on the Adair lab not going well?”

Shimmerpath looked at him in shock, but Professor Pendleton only let out a snort. “Finally put it together, huh Nick? I was wondering when you’d get it figured out. If you’ll excuse us, we need to get going. There’s not much time before that place becomes the most active spot in the Hero world, and I need to have Shelby out by then.”

Was this it? Was this the whole reason he’d had the urge to be here, just to act as a witness to Professor Pendleton’s departure? No… that couldn’t be all. Nick noticed that Shimmerpath’s face had shifted, the shock giving way to a scrunched brow signaling deep thought.

“He said your name was Nick. Nick Campbell, right? The kid who got expelled sophomore year helping Vince?” Shimmerpath took a step closer, her voice instinctively lowering. “The one with the power of luck?”

“It sounds a lot more special than it is. All I can do is control the general flow of good or bad. Not that helpful outside of specific situations.”

“I’d say it can be very helpful, and has been before. Last May, for example.” Shimmerpath was looming over Nick now, maybe to intimidate him into being honest, or perhaps because she thought he was going to run.

“That was a special occasion. I’d been amplified way beyond my normal limits. I can’t manage anything close to that on my own,” Nick explained.

The intensity of Shimmerpath’s stare didn’t lessen; the lone change was that it darted to a watch on her wrist. “A few minutes. I’ve got a few minutes left. They’ve got a few minutes.” Shimmerpath was chewing on her lip, looking between Nick and the watch. “Phil trusted you that night. He believed in you because his son believes in you. I’m not Phil, though, I don’t trust that easily. Give me a reason, Nick. I’m ten seconds away from betting everything we have left on you, because you might be the only person left who can really change things. So give me a reason to believe the way Phil and Vince do.”

At long last, Nick’s stomach finally settled. This was where he was supposed to be. This was the chance encounter his intuition had been leading him toward. This was a point where history could pivot, depending on what he did. Shimmerpath was a trained Hero who was clearly on a clock. There was only one tool to reach someone like that, even if it was one Nick rarely leaned on: the upfront truth.

“Shelby Hill is the mother of my girlfriend, the adopted aunt of my best friend, and the half-sister of my favorite teacher. If you don’t want to trust me – and yeah, fair enough, I get that – then trust that I would never hurt the people I love. They all care about her, which means dollars to donuts those idiots will find a way to get themselves involved in this before all is said and done. So I’d better be there to make sure they all get through it, Shelby included.”

“Well, you’ve got confidence, if nothing else. Maybe a little too much, even with your reputation.”

“No one has ever accused Nick of abundant humility, but he usually delivers.” Professor Pendleton set a hand on Nick’s shoulder, drawing his attention. “You’re not a student, so I can’t order you to stay, and after what you told us about how you helped last year I’m not sure I’d even want to. But make sure you understand what Shimmerpath is asking. This isn’t a school exercise. You follow us, you risk very real death.”

“That and a cup of coffee makes up my morning walk in Vegas,” Nick shot back. “Now hurry on in here, luck doesn’t mean shit if we’re out of time.”

Professor Pendleton and Shimmerpath joined Nick in the lift, heading to the surface to pick up Joan. Their course was set for danger; there was no point in putting off the departure.

293.

Nick had barely left the viewing room when another set of lift doors opened, revealing a crush of DVA agents clamoring to get out. They somehow stampeded their way into freedom, all rushing over to Graham DeSoto and whispering with surprising ferocity. The rest of the room took notice, especially when Graham’s face went from surprised to annoyed to a solemn expression that had far too much gravity for a simple HCP tournament. He whispered back to them, then scanned the room.

“Where is Dean Blaine?”

From Graham’s left, Titan stepped forward. “He went to congratulate Vince, and Dean Jackson is down there talking to Conrad. Post-final match discussions, as usual.”

“Right, of course.” It almost seemed as though Graham had momentarily forgotten Intramurals was happening around them. “Titan, please wait here. When Dean Blaine and Dean Jackson arrive, tell them I have taken over the teleconference room to have a meeting and they are expected to join as soon as possible. The situation is urgent. The rest of the deans, and Casper, please follow me.”

It didn’t escape Alice’s noticed that Angela looked hopeful as Graham was doling out orders, despite the fact that none came for her. Alice and Angela’s eyes met when Graham led the deans to the lift, Angela giving a brief shrug as if to say she was used to it. Alice certainly wasn’t, and she didn’t trust the fact that Nick had vanished moments before things got interesting. Knowing him, there was no chance that was coincidence. What was going on? And how much did Nick already know? They’d be having a long talk about him keeping her in the dark when this was over, but for the moment Alice’s bigger concern was assessing the situation.

Something big was going down. Something that had the head of the DVA calling a meeting with all of the deans. There were plenty of explanations for that, anything from another attack on campus to an Armageddon Super popping up half the country away. That was the lie Alice kept telling herself as she waited for a new development. She didn’t believe it, but it kept her calm. Alice needed to stay like that, collected and ready. If history had taught her anything, it was that when the time came to make a move or a choice, she wouldn’t get much time. She’d have to be ready for it. That was part of what it meant to be a Subtlety Hero.

*             *             *

As far as derelict bases went, it wasn’t bad. Comfy chairs and couches, good roof overhead, solid walls to help with the temperature. Nick had seen people hidden in far worse hovels through the years. The only disconcerting part was the young boy who leapt up from a sofa as soon as they appeared, purple energy crackling across his skin and eyes. Nick recognized the kid on sight. Most of the night Lander was attacked had been burned into Nick’s memory, and Globe’s amplifying lackey was certainly no exception. He didn’t seem as composed this time around, which was odd given the relative peace compared to their last meeting, racing up to Shimmerpath as soon as they’d stepped through the portal.

“You’re running behind, I’ve got a few minutes left to use this. And where are the others? Are they hurt? Are they…” His eyes began to fill with tears. Shimmerpath dropped down to a knee and pulled the boy in for a hug.

“Relax Quentin, it’s fine. We had to split up, you knew that was a possibility. We’re about to go back in, we just needed you to amplify someone first. This is Nick, and he’s going to be a big help to us.”

“We’ve met,” Nick tossed in.

“Nuh-uh.” The kid barely glanced at Nick, his attention solely on Shimmerpath. Maybe he didn’t remember Nick from that night, or maybe it had been Adam that Nick actually saw; one couldn’t rule anything out with a mimic. As the child finally pulled away from the hug, he managed to start speaking again. “I can’t use my power on him. Globe’s not here. Globe has to be here. It hurts too much without him.”

The pain. Now Nick remembered the warning from last May. Quentin’s power apparently hurt quite a bit for those receiving it, and Globe used his ability to take away that physical aspect. Nick could still recall how stretched and out of sorts his mind felt afterward; if his body was going to experience something similar, it seemed highly likely to be unpleasant. Was this an oversight? No, one look at the set expression in Shimmerpath’s eyes made it clear that she’d known what she was asking Nick to do. A cold move, one Nick could respect, even if he was a bit annoyed. They didn’t have time to try and talk Quentin through his little moral roadblock, though. It was time for Nick to lean on a classic method of negotiation: flat-out lying.

“You don’t need to worry about that. Shimmerpath knows you couldn’t amplify someone normal without Globe. That’s why she brought me. See, my power is special. It becomes what I need it to. And in this case, I need it not to hurt, so it won’t. I’m the guy they call in for these exact situations. Go ahead, juice me up. I’ll be perfectly fine, won’t feel so much as a twinge.”

“Really?”

“Of course. You know how great these people are, didn’t you think they’d have a plan for this?”

Quentin wanted to doubt him; the uncertainty was flickering in his eyes. But Nick was an adult, an adult acting with the sort of surety only adults were supposed to wield. The child’s eyes looked to Shimmerpath, who nodded, then to Joan, who did the same, albeit a tad more hesitantly. He didn’t so much as glance at Professor Pendleton, who must have seemed like a tall stranger looming in the shadows. Quentin’s resolve started to cave: he was a good kid, did what he was told and believed what adults said. Slowly, still wary, he began to reach for Nick’s hand.

“It will take about ten seconds for him to fully charge you,” Shimmerpath said. It was a warning, plain as day. If Nick showed that he was in pain, Quentin would probably stop. No matter how much this next part hurt, he was going to have to pretend to feel nothing for the full ten seconds. This wasn’t a situation where a partial charge might be good enough. Nick was planning on strolling into a fight between two brothers of incredible power; he had to walk in there with every advantage he could get. Even that might not turn out to be enough.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Nick sat in a chair with his hand resting on the arm; standing risked his body seizing up and giving away the charade. At least sitting, all he’d have to focus on was keeping his head upright.

Slow and steady, Quentin’s hand crept along until he finally laid it down in Nick’s open palm. With one last worried glance to Nick, Quentin took a deep breath and began to let his power flow.

In the first second, Nick nearly bit part of his tongue off shoving down a scream. The smile on his face was shaky, and beads of sweat were forming around his brow, but Nick looked right at Quentin and nodded that everything was okay. While it wasn’t a celebrated part of his training, Nick had been educated in how to handle pain. It was a necessity, given the world he had been groomed for. Much as he’d hated it at the time, part of Nick dearly wished he’d had more of those lessons.

Because as bad as the pain had been at the start, it was growing worse with every passing moment. And he had to keep smiling.

294.

“The champion of Lander. Not too bad for a young man who walked into his first match with little more than a lighter’s worth of fire and a crippling fear of using his full potential.”

Vince had just finished being healed, warily noting the dangerous look in Camille’s eyes as she saw his wounds, when Dean Blaine arrived and walked him over to another room. Putting off Camille’s forceful discussion of Vince’s tendency to get injured was only going to make it worse, but this was a reprieve he could hardly turn down. The two of them had walked into a small office and taken seats in cushy chairs before Dean Blaine began talking.

“I’ve had a lot of time and training to get better. Not to mention some of the best teachers anyone could hope for.” Vince paused, the adrenaline of battle fading from his system and slightly jumbling his thoughts. “Is it strange that part of me feels… bad? The others wanted this so badly. Chad has worked all four years to be here, and Shane was right on his tail. Even Alice had something to prove. It’s hard not to think that they deserve to be standing here more than me; my mindset during the fight was that it didn’t even matter.”

This time, it was Dean Blaine who paused, considering the question carefully as he chose his reply. “What someone deserves is irrelevant. I’ve seen criminals skate the system for decades with no comeuppance and good people die far before they should have. The world doesn’t care what you deserve; it cares what you can do. Alice, Shane, even Chad, they can’t beat every opponent. And neither can you, for that matter. Today proved that point better than words ever will. There will be enemies you aren’t capable of defeating, Vince. But that’s why Heroes work in teams. From an individual perspective, yes, today we had three losses. If you look at it as Team Lander, on the other hand, we had one member of the group overcome a Super whose ability made him nearly unbeatable for the others.”

“We’re not a team though, not officially,” Vince pointed out.

“Not in terms of who is the victor, but you did all still bring home a win for Lander. While I grant you that’s nothing more than a matter of pride, it’s not as though pride is unimportant. I, for example, take great pride in this school. It’s why I’ve worked so hard to run it all these years, and why I care so deeply for the quality of Heroes we send to the world. And given what you said in that cell, it seems as though you have ample pride in Lander too.”

Vince glanced away, hoping his face didn’t betray his embarrassment by blushing. In the heat of a fight, when he felt like he was alone with his opponent, it was easy to say those sorts of things. He’d almost completely forgotten that the viewing crowd could hear every word he uttered.

“And there is another matter this impacts too,” Dean Blaine continued, gracefully ignoring Vince’s sudden discomfort. “Vince, you just won Intramurals. A former Powered defeated the best every other HCP could send, and there certainly won’t be anyone claiming that you went up against an easy opponent. You and I know it’s more complex than that – different powers in the tournament could have yielded wholly different results – but the rest of the world will only remember the outcome. Sooner or later, and my money is on sooner, your secret procedure won’t be much of a secret anymore. Rumors have already spread through the Hero community, for those who don’t already know outright, and hard as the DVA works to squash those whispers from seeping online, it’s a losing battle. You need to start giving some thought as to how you want to greet the world after graduation.”

“Yeah, I know, I need to pick a name.” Vince had really expected at least one other person to still be floundering on that front during Intramurals; the fact that he’d been the only one nameless made it obvious that he had to get on the ball with that, and soon.

Dean Blaine stared at him, then shook his head. “No, Vince. Let me be clear: barring any major errors in the next few weeks, you are fully expected to graduate. What I mean is that you need to decide if you’ll greet the country as just another Hero, or as one of the world’s first former Powereds to earn the title. Telling everyone upfront is going to make things much harder on you out of the gate, however, if the secret breaks and you’re named as one of the test subjects then you risk losing any trust built with the public.”

“That… feels like something I should discuss with my mentor,” Vince said. “It wouldn’t be right to put that kind of scrutiny on Jeremiah without making sure he was okay with it. Probably worth talking over with Lenny too; he made it sound like he had a plan for telling people about us.”

“Both very good inclinations, and ones you should follow. I am by no means advocating you make this decision right here and now. My intent is to ensure that you’re aware of the choice and thinking it through. The others will make their own decisions in time, but for you there will be more pressure and expectation, at least from other Heroes. You won Intramurals. In every generation of HCP classes, only one student gets to make that claim. It’s the kind of accomplishment that draws attention.”

For a fleeting moment, Vince wondered if he should have lost that last round. He dismissed the idea almost immediately. It was nonsense. When the news that Powereds could become Supers broke, who won a tournament wasn’t going to be high on anyone’s list of concerns. All he’d done was show that his kind could hang with the natural Supers. That might be important, somewhere down the line. Maybe he could give a sliver of hope to some other Powered kid wandering the streets, dreaming of being a Hero against all odds. If that was true, then no amount of attention or scrutiny was going to make Vince sorry that he’d won. In fact, even the idea of that image set his determination. Unless Lenny or Jeremiah had a good reason not to, Vince would come out of the gate as a former Powered made Hero. Humans and Supers already had plenty of their own examples to look toward; Powereds were long overdue for a few as well.

“I’ll have to make sure I point that attention in good directions.” Vince turned his head back to Dean Blaine, the last vestiges of his embarrassment now fully faded.

“Of that, Vince, I have no doubt. I would never ask a student to shoulder the kind of burden you’re going to bear, but if someone had to take it, you’re one of the few I would trust to handle such a task.” Dean Blaine got up, and Vince followed his lead. “Now, let’s get back upstairs. I’ve got visitors to deal with, and you have a crowd waiting to cheer for you. Unless you’d like to go see Ms. Belden alone for a few moments first; from the look in her eyes she seemed quite intent on chatting with you.”

“I’m sure we’ll see her upstairs now that all the healing is done.” Vince nearly stampeded over his own words in the rush to get them out, and even he could see Dean Blaine barely suppressing a smirk. He definitely knew Vince was going to get an earful for all that damage.

“Well then, let’s not keep her, or any of them, waiting on Lander’s Intramurals champion.”

295.

The golden lines wove through the air, the space, the world around him. It was strange; even though he’d only had this power for brief intervals, Nick could still see them when he looked through his memories. The paths of chance, fate, destiny, probability, whatever mythology one wanted to ascribe to the machinations of fortune. Lines that had led him to Lander, to Vince, to Alice, to his friends, to his expulsion, to his return: all of it was there, easy to see and trace. Even the one he’d been unconsciously following all the way to this very moment. Part of him wondered if he’d be able to remember this properly when the amplification passed. It was a small part, though, barely audible over the crashing waves of possibility roaring in his ears. The power was intoxicating, yet he could still see its limits. Nothing existed in isolation. For every change he invoked, every probability he shifted, there would be ripples outward. It wasn’t as simple as shaping the future to his will; rather it was like sorting through a massive puzzle. Every action, each selection locked into place, impacted the pieces around it, often in terrible, deadly ways.

Quentin was panting slightly, the last of the purple energy vanishing from him as it coursed into Nick. Finally done, he pulled his hand away and looked up, letting out a sharp gasp seconds later and quickly backing away. “Your eyes… what happened to them?”

This was why Nick had taken great pains to keep his night-vision goggles on last time. A single glance in a mirror made it obvious why most people would be unsettled by his current appearance. Unlike when Nick normally activated his power, it wasn’t just his irises that were glowing gold. His entire eyeballs were blazing with the light, yes, but that was only a small part of it. To stare into them was to see bits and pieces of what he was controlling, shadows of an unseen fundamental force within the universe. A mortal mind wasn’t made to fathom such concepts. Perhaps that was why Nick’s memory turned so terrible when the amplification was over; not even a brain like his could handle properly recalling this experience.

Reaching into his pocket, Nick produced a pair of sunglasses and slipped them smoothly onto his face, pausing to give Quentin a quick smile. “It’s fine. My eyes always change when I use my power. You did a great job, kid.” Nick looked again at the golden lines, seeing all the possibilities of the day stretched out in the time still to come. “I think you just saved a lot of lives, maybe even the whole world. Although that’s well past the distance I can make out, so take it as optimism more than anything else.”

“Let’s hope so. That’s the last Mobius enhancement we’re going to be able to manage. Adam should still be in Quentin’s form and able to pass his on to one of the others, but it’s a world of difference between this charge and what he can manage on his own after it’s spent.” Shimmerpath was watching him carefully, and in turn Nick paid her a greater amount of attention. She had an interesting path ahead, plenty of room for twists in the road and lucky breaks. If she could make it through the rough patch directly in front of her, that was.

“Then I suppose the first order of business is to make sure we don’t come up short in the arms race.” Nick rolled his shoulders twice and cracked his neck, forcing himself to loosen up after the effort of hiding the tremendous pain from Quentin’s enhancement. It was a distant memory now, but his body knew it had suffered and wanted to stay tense. That wasn’t permissible just yet, however. Nick needed to be clear-headed and focused. There was a lot to do and relatively little time to work with. “Someone grab me a glass of water. By the time you get back I should have the first part in motion.”

Adjusting his glasses slightly, Nick shifted his attention to the paths of probability elsewhere in the world. Specifically, over a school in California where loads of Heroes and the best fighters every HCP in the country had to offer were gathered. Probability was well and good, but in Nick’s experience conflict often came down to a simple game of numbers.

*             *             *

In the moment, it seemed like nothing more than chance. With Dean Blaine off to meet Graham DeSoto, Victor was escorting everyone from the viewing room through the HCP halls to a special banquet. It was a post-Intramurals tradition, a time for all the competitors to eat, talk, and connect with one another in ways other than fighting. They would chat with the Heroes, perhaps getting advice on their missteps or locking down prestigious internships. The mood of the crowd was relaxed, and why wouldn’t it be? Intramurals was over, the fighting done, and nothing had been permanently injured except for a few students’ pride, and even that would eventually heal. Looking back, it would seem so obvious that there had been interference, especially with Ralph Chapman scanning the area for Nick constantly, muttering under his breath. However, in that moment, with no idea what was going on or what had happened to the man with the power of luck, it was forgivable that most perceived the incident as coincidental.

Vince and Alice were near the front of the crowd, with Angela, Shane, and Chad nested more deeply in the center. Thanks to a sudden break in the mass of people, though, all of them could see Mr. Numbers running down the hall only seconds before Mr. Transport turned a corner and the two nearly collided, saved only by Mr. Numbers’ speedy reflexes. Without taking a second to pause, Mr. Numbers grabbed Mr. Transport by the arm and began to quickly lead him away from the crowd.

“I guess they don’t know Lander won yet,” Vince said. “Mr. Transport is usually big on encouragement, I think he would have congratulated us.”

“He must know. Why be down here if he wasn’t waiting for results?” Alice’s eyes narrowed as this new development added fuel to the fire of her already burning suspicions. “And why did the head of the DVA feel the sudden need to call a meeting of the deans? You didn’t see it, but the DVA agents came storming in like something was on fire.”

“Hero work does come with unexpected emergencies,” Vince reminded her.

“Yeah, but it happened literally seconds after Nick offered a half-assed excuse and slipped out of the room.” Alice shot Vince a look from the side of her eyes. “Think that’s not related?”

“It could be.” Even Vince couldn’t hold on to such a delusion for more than a few seconds. “But it probably isn’t. Do you think Nick is in trouble?”

A long, tired sigh escaped Alice’s lips. “Almost always. I doubt he’s made enough of a splash to get the DVA that flustered, though. This feels different. Bigger. Like something huge is going down.”

Neither said it, but both had the same question on their mind. Had it finally happened? Had the stalemate broken at last? The odds were slim; there were any number of potential situations where the DVA might suddenly need Graham’s leadership. Still, it was the sort of idea that was impossible to shake once it had taken hold.

“Let’s go see what’s so important.” Without breaking stride, Alice turned to the nearest, tallest, authority figure she knew. Her voice was raised slightly, just loud enough for others to hear so they wouldn’t be suspicious about her and Vince leaving the group. “Hey Titan, we’re going to break off for a few minutes and swing by the gym. Roy and Hershel will both kill us if we don’t tell them the good news in person.” Without waiting for permission, Alice dragged Vince off down a hall before anyone could object. It was a simple, quick charade that passed by fast enough to fool most of the people there.

Most, but not all.

296.

“So far, satellite images we’ve gotten only show a sizable compound that has taken significant damage. However, we’ve since learned that this building is merely the front door for a much larger subterranean structure. What appears to be a team of mercenary troops has recently gone in through that building and yet to emerge, so we must assume the conflict is ongoing. We’ve got no idea how big the underground area we’re looking at is, but our best analysts believe it goes deep and could be comparable to an entire HCP campus.” Graham stood in the middle of the teleconference room usually filled with holograms, Casper at his side, bringing up satellite pictures of the location as he spoke.

“That’s impossible,” Dean Jackson said, almost reflexively. “Building an underground complex like this takes millions of dollars – probably billions these days – not to mention all the specifically-abled Supers you’d need to make it structurally sound. No single person could create something like that, especially without us knowing.”

“They could if they were patient, determined, and had the ability to produce nearly unlimited wealth.” Dean Blaine didn’t come out and say the name, not yet. This was Graham’s show to run; Blaine was only here as a participant. He’d tried to reach Professor Pendleton as soon as he got the summons, but Sean had apparently left campus. When Professor Baker gave Dean Blaine the report, he’d initially been confused. Now, knowing that Sean had absconded, he was bordering on furious. Sean had found out about this and gone off to join, which was reckless, but far worse was that he hadn’t told Blaine anything about it. It was always his greatest weakness as a Hero: Sean Pendleton had a bad habit of running to fights on his own without communicating to his team. This time, that tendency could cost him his freedom, if not his life.

Dean Fox leaned forward, smoothing his mustache as he looked at the photos. “That’s a very specific set of criteria, Blaine. I can think of a few Supers world-wide who might be able to fulfill those requirements, but only one is a US citizen and has enough clout to pull this off. It doesn’t fit, though. Why would Charles Adair build a secret underground complex in the middle of nowhere?”

“Never trust the rich. The more power they have, the less they feel inclined to play by anyone else’s rules.” Dean Silva was calm as usual, small flowers blooming along the braids of her hair. “However, I will concede, I can’t come up with a reason he would make such a place either. Perhaps we’ve got some international enemies trying to set up shop on our soil.”

“Currently, all we know for certain is that the land is owned by some corporation that, as far as our people can tell, seems to be little more than a shell.” Graham retook control of the meeting, his gaze lingering on Dean Blaine briefly. “As far as the attacker, on that front we have more information. While not every member of the group has been identified yet, accounts from a guard we picked up running through the forest and my DVA scouts confirm who is leading the assault: Globe.”

There was a squeak of a chair as Casper jerked backward in surprise, eyes going wide. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting that. Spent so long thinking he was dead, I still get surprised he turns up. It definitely rules out Charles as the owner, at least. Globe wouldn’t attack him.”

“He killed his best friend, what makes you think Charles is off limits?” Dean Bishop asked.

Casper and Dean Blaine exchanged a brief glance before Graham answered for them. “Enough. I understand the desire to protect the secrets of Heroes you trained with, and I respect it, but we are past the point of such niceties. As the head of the DVA, it’s my call to make this public, and I’m doing so now. Globe’s real name is Phillip Adair, he’s the older brother of Charles. And while it saddens me to say it, I’m afraid Charles Adair is almost certainly the man who owns this land. Come here, Blaine.”

Dean Blaine did as he was instructed, rising from his seat and standing next to the world’s first Hero. He stayed silent, waiting as Graham surveyed the room. Despite being aged down, the weight of Graham’s years was still visible on his shoulders as he looked each dean, and Casper, in the eye. Finally, he spoke again, and this time it was with the gravity only Captain Starlight could command.

“I’ve never done a desk job like this. In my day, it was simpler. Bad guys stood up, we knocked them down. The systems were new back then, no one had figured out how to game them. We all tried our best to make them incorruptible, but in recent years it’s become clear that we failed in that endeavor. For that, I owe you all an apology. However, old failures aside, the world still needs Heroes. I believe that with every ache in my bones and breath in my lungs. Maybe there’s a diplomatic, bureaucratic way to salvage this. If so, I’m not the kind of man who can see it. When this is over, if the world decides there’s blame to be had, I’ll take it. I’ve benefited for years from being perceived as the man who created Heroes, even though countless others helped make it happen. It’s only right that I own the faults in the system, and the people hurt by them.”

Graham paused for a moment, taking a slow breath. As he did, the years seemed to melt away. This wasn’t a power like what Casper wielded; it was the mundane marvel of watching the man who had brought Supers out into the open set his determination. When his eyes opened, they were blazing, showing no trace of the tired old man who’d been there moments prior.

“All of that comes later, though. Right now, there are people who need help – former Heroes and perhaps at least one innocent life. I’m not a wily man, never have been. That means we’re going to deal with this threat the way I used to: storming in and doing our damnedest to keep the good people alive. There will be fallout, and while I’ll try like hell, I can’t promise it will all stop with me.

Measuring the others’ obvious but muted confusion, Graham went on. “In one minute, Dean Blaine is going to read you all in on a secret mission he’s been undertaking to root out corruption in the Hero system. Once you know, you’re in, there’s no going back. Take that minute and think it over. Really consider your positions and your legacy. I won’t fault anyone who leaves. I know you’ve got entire schools counting on you. This is asking you to risk more than just yourselves.”

None of the deans so much as twitched. Their stares were locked on Graham, who was standing patiently as time ticked down. Only Casper spoke, rising swiftly from his chair. “Well, sounds like you all have quite a day ahead. Let me get out of your hair, I’m not sure why I was brought down here in the first place.”

“You were brought down because we’re talking about dealing with Globe and a small army of Supers. That’s the sort of situation where the world’s best healer might come in handy,” Graham told him.

“Then you should probably call the best Hero healer you’ve got. That’s not me. I’m private industry, remember? If you want to cut a check after the fight we can talk, but I don’t do battlefields anymore.” Casper headed for the door, purposefully avoiding everyone’s eyes.

He was nearly there, hand only inches away from the button to call a lift, when Graham spoke again. “There’s one more thing you might want to know. Part of the report I got informed me that there’s been an escape from one of our prisons, a very high-security location. It seems the Super known as Crispin was sprung not long ago. You may remember him as the man who came for Lander a year ago, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.”

Next to Graham, Dean Blaine’s face began to turn red as his fists clenched, but he said nothing.

“And?” Casper’s hand was so close, it would be nothing to shove it that little bit forward.

“And if you think that’s a coincidence, you’re an idiot. Which I know you’re not. Smart money says someone needed an amplifier, so they grabbed a willing one off the shelf. Either Crispin is still there, or he’ll have left a trail to follow. We all just watched a boy barely old enough to buy a beer fight with everything he had to show how much this place meant to him, and that was for a simple contest. I brought you down here with me because I thought that under everything else, if there was any pride or strength left in you, it would show up now, when a man who attacked this place was suddenly set free to kill more innocent people. Maybe I was wrong. It happens. I’m old, I’ve been wrong a lot. The minute is up, Casper. Push the button or take a seat.”

The hand lurched slightly forward. How many times had he been in these situations? How many meetings before the bloodshed? How many more lives would he fail to save this time, how many corpses would be put in the ground, how many grieving family members would stare at him like he should have been able to do something? It was too much. Too much. Most people who knew him thought it had been that day at the elementary school that had shattered Hallow, but the truth was he’d been fraying long before. He couldn’t handle the guilt, the weight, the expectations. At least in the air, he was free. He could go back there, right now. He could be free. All he had to do was turn his back on some people he’d once thought of as friends. It was what he’d been doing for years, so it should be easy.

“Go ahead, Blaine.” Casper lowered his hand and slowly walked back to his chair, sitting down heavily. “But let me make one thing clear: nobody call me Hallow. A Hero’s name is supposed to mean something. I’m just a freelance healer helping some old friends, nothing more.”

“So noted.” The barest twinkle was in Graham’s eye, a mere flash that was easy to miss if one wasn’t paying attention. “Blaine, the time for secrets is over. Tell them everything.”

297.

The two men had barely managed to find a small alcove of privacy, Mr. Transport sputtering protests the whole way, before Mr. Numbers cut him off and began to explain. He kept things quick and vague, a necessity given their surroundings, trying to bring Mr. Transport up to speed enough to understand why they were having the discussion in the first place. Thankfully, some of the benefits to a partnership that spanned decades included lots of trust and speedy communication. In less than a minute, Mr. Transport understood the bare bones of the situation. The trouble was that once he did, he asked the same question that Mr. Numbers was struggling to answer.

“What do we do?”

That was the riddle of the day, it seemed. From what he’d seen, Mr. Numbers was willing to bet that very soon the site would be swarming with Heroes, DVA representatives, and every Super willing to cash one of Charles’ paychecks, all on top of Globe’s team. Nevertheless, there were a lot of variables that Mr. Numbers knew he couldn’t properly calculate, not without insider access to what the DVA was planning. They kept those channels secured for a reason, though. He couldn’t be sure what the right move was. Maybe they’d need to jump in and save Shelby before she could get caught in the crossfire. Maybe they should help Globe’s team try to escape. Perhaps they might even have to lend a hand in the fighting. Too many unknown variables meant they had to be ready for countless situations. There was, however, one component Mr. Numbers was absolutely certain was essential.

“We get you there as fast as possible. Not involved, not until we know more, but you being able to teleport into and out of the fray will be a key to virtually anything we could hope to do. None of the reports gave a location, but I’ve pieced together enough data to narrow it down to a single patch of supposedly undeveloped wilderness.” Mr. Numbers pulled out his phone, opening a map function and showing it to Mr. Transport. “What’s the nearest teleportation point you have to this?”

It took a few seconds, and a bit of fiddling with the screen, but eventually Mr. Transport handed the phone back. “I passed through a town maybe fifty miles away on a road trip once. Too far to drive, but we could hopscotch it in a couple of minutes.”

“That’s going to be conspicuous,” Mr. Numbers pointed out.

“With what’s going on, you think somebody will notice? Or that we’ll be the only ones doing it?” Mr. Transport shook his head. “The last thing anyone will care about is two people like us popping around. Not until we actually do something.”

“Let me take a wild shot here: hopscotching is when you look as far in one direction as you can and then teleport there, then do it again, and again, in rapid succession. Great way to cover a lot of distance, assuming the topography doesn’t make it a pain.” Alice stepped into view from around the corner, with Vince close behind. Although she wore something of a playful expression, there was nothing so easygoing in Vince’s eyes.

Before anyone could say another word, Vince asked the question whose answer determined everything about how he was going to react. “Is it him? Is it my father?”

The nod that Mr. Numbers gave was achingly slow and visibly annoyed. “From all accounts, it seems that way. I’d also like to add that I don’t approve of you eavesdropping.”

“If you hated it that much, you could have said something. I’m pretty good at being sneaky, but we both know your ability must have tipped you off. Taking a guess, you let us listen because we might end up being useful. And now you can honestly say that we brought ourselves into it. Right?” Alice was bobbing about, light on her feet. After suffering a defeat at Intramurals, it felt good to be using her skills once more. “Well good news, it worked. We are definitely in. If you think either of us is going to sit on the sidelines and wait while my mom is in play, even only potentially, then you’d better be hiding by the time we get there.” The cheery mood slipped, revealing the more tumultuous emotions Alice was hiding beneath its veneer. “Because if you try to get between my mother and me, I’m not sure we’ll still see you as allies.”

“Alice.” Vince set a hand on her shoulder, gently moving her back. “I won’t say I know how you feel, but I want to be there too. Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport are our friends, though. Let’s treat them that way. I’m sure they were never going to do anything as inconsiderate or dangerous as leaving us behind.”

Mr. Numbers opened his mouth, but it was Mr. Transport who spoke, stepping closer to look both students in the eye. “Listen, while I’m not sure what Mr. Numbers was thinking, this battlefield isn’t going to be a place for you. Not students your age, not civilians who lack a Hero license, and certainly not the children of Globe and The Alchemist. This is going to be dangerous, and while I know you both think of yourselves as capable, the truth is you’re also potential bargaining chips. If someone takes either of you hostage, they suddenly get a lot of sway on one of the battle’s leaders. You want to help, and I understand. But coming with us might end up putting the people you love in more danger.”

“That was a very nice speech,” Alice told him. “You clearly believed every word of it, and I appreciate the sentiment. Now let me give you my spiel: No. My father has been pulling strings and manipulating events since before I said my first word. What happened to my mother… that wasn’t all his fault. I can see how a desperate man listened to the pleas of someone he loved and made a hard choice. But everything that came afterward is fully on his shoulders. These two have been fighting in shadows for decades, and it always ends in more of the same. So no, I don’t accept your concerns or your desire to keep us safe. If they found the lab, then my mother is there. I couldn’t stop Charles from taking her away last time. This will not be a repeat of that.”

Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport exchanged glances, a silent discussion that consisted of only a single question. Eventually, Mr. Transport turned back, his words hesitant. “A rescue mission. That’s all it would be, nothing more. We hang to the sidelines, and if we see someone who needs help getting out, someone innocent like your mother, then we act. Nothing beyond that. I’m not teleporting you into a swarm of dangerous Supers so you can pick a fight. At this point, you’re more or less trained as Heroes, so I expect you to know the difference between a rescue mission and an assault.”

“I can live with that,” Alice replied. “Vince?”

“I won’t start anything,” Vince said. “But if I see someone in trouble, I’ll help.”

“That’s about as much as I could expect from you.” It almost seemed like there was a flicker of pride in Mr. Transport’s eyes, even as he worked to look annoyed. “I wish Mary was around to keep you both in check, but there’s no sense in dragging others into this.”

Footsteps echoed nearby, and seconds later Mary jogged into view, followed by Roy. She caught sight of the group and let out a quick breath of relief. “Good, we caught you before you left.”

Mr. Transport, fleetingly wondering if he’d just developed the power to summon people by mentioning them, looked from the new arrivals to Vince and Alice, then finally over to Mr. Numbers. “You began loudly thinking that these two should join us the moment Vince and Alice started eavesdropping, didn’t you? Trusting that Mary would be keeping her mind open to scan for any early signs Lander was being attacked again?”

“Time is of the essence.” It was hard to tell if this was Mr. Numbers’ version of an explanation, an apology, or just a general comment. “And, as you said, Mary has a restraining effect on the group’s more impulsive ideas.”

“It’s fine, it saves us the time of running her down and explaining everything.” Alice’s voice halted, her eyes darting between Roy and Vince. “Although, there is still some explaining to do. Vince, Roy, there are facets of what’s been going on we were asked to keep private, but if we’re about to dive in to what I think we are, then you both need to know the whole truth. I’ll fill you in while we’re teleporting, far from prying ears.”

“On the subject of prying, I couldn’t find Nick’s thoughts anywhere,” Mary said. “I’m guessing he somehow got off campus when I was busy doing debriefs.”

A brief pause rippled over them before Alice finally said what they were all thinking. “He’s already there, isn’t he? And he’ll probably never tell us how he pulled it off.”

“That does sound like Nick,” Vince agreed. “Plus, if Mary can’t find him, we don’t have time to search. Let’s just trust he’s taking care of things in his own way and go worry about the people that actually need our help.”

Mr. Transport moved slightly, putting himself in the center of the crowd and sticking out his arms. The HCP students, current and former, understood and grabbed on. “Doing rapid teleports means you all need to hang on tight. I don’t want to accidentally leave someone behind. Mr. Numbers, I trust you’ve already sent a message to the Lander staff so they know four kids didn’t just go missing?”

“Of course. Set to send in a few minutes, once we’re safely out of Dean Blaine’s punching range.” Mr. Numbers was, after all, a man who took all the factors possible into his calculations. “Besides, I have no doubt that word will get around.” Only Alice saw his eyes glance off down a hall, in a direction from which none of them had come. Before she could ask a follow up, Alice was gone, along with the others, as Mr. Transport teleported them away.

A few seconds later, Angela DeSoto stepped into the alcove, slight grin on her face. This was turning out to be a more interesting day than she’d hoped for.

298.

“They’re coming!”

“Well hold them back!” Crispin pressed his hands into the yelling man’s flesh, imparting as much enhancement as he could. The receiving Super fired off a powerful beam of burning white energy, far more intense than anything he could have managed alone. It blazed down the hall, lighting the darkness as it went, before suddenly dying into nothingness. Not a crash, not hitting a shield – it simply ceased to be. No question about it. The lines had broken. The defenses had failed.

Globe was here.

Behind Crispin, the man in a suit who was acting as his handler whispered a few words into a communicator. Without warning, he whipped a hand forward and wrapped it around Crispin’s neck. Instantly, the world shifted. They were still in the bunker, but no longer at the bottom. The sounds of battle were distant, and instead of witnessing the approach of Globe, Crispin was instead staring at a fresh group of Supers equipped with tactical gear.

“Had our teleportation anchors give me a brief window to work in,” the suited man explained. “We can’t hold that position, but from reports we’ve gotten they are starting to weaken and slow down. If they’re using amplification, the effects might be fading. Instead of losing you pointlessly we’re going to give you one more shot: stop them from getting out. This is the exit: make sure Globe and his people never set a single foot past here.”

There were plenty of objections Crispin could have raised, not that any of them would have mattered. He was here, under this man’s power, and nothing he said right now would change that. Better to play along, be a good tool, and wait for a chance to slip free. If things continued their descent into chaos, it probably wouldn’t be much longer.

Grabbing the nearest Super, Crispin began to enhance her. The juice was coming slower now; constant usage took a toll on all powers and Crispin’s was no exception. It had been a very long time since he tried to amplify this many people at once. Perhaps a healer could have aided his endurance, though he’d yet to encounter one among all the armed Supers. If a healer was here, they weren’t anywhere near the fight, a significance that wasn’t lost on Crispin. Win or die: those were the options the owner of this base had left for their employees.

“Any idea how long he’ll be down there?” Crispin asked, not daring to stop working as he did.

“It shouldn’t take him long to get what he’s after, but Globe is the sentimental sort. Hopefully that will buy us some time.” The teleporter in a suit checked his watch, his previously composed face showing signs of anxiety. “Five minutes of mourning, maybe. Potentially less, depending on what he finds first.”

*             *             *

What Globe found first was Intra. In a manner of speaking, anyway.

The metal holding tanks filled with strange fluid contained pieces of the man once known as Joshua Taylor, father of Chad and husband of Miriam. Arm here, leg there, all kept disturbingly fresh, like he’d only died a few weeks ago. The brain was in the largest container, chunks visibly missing, dozens of wires connecting it to unseen devices. Globe might not have known it was his best friend at all, if not for the labels and the container holding what remained of a face.

In battle, Globe had seen this kind of carnage and worse. But that was in the field, when action and desperation gave drew focus elsewhere. Finding it here, like this, he almost lost his stomach right there on the floor.

Raze stood next to him, the only other one still down here who once knew the container’s contents as a man, not a science experiment. “Globe, you need to make me a promise. No matter how this goes, no matter what ends we come to, I think you’re the likeliest one to survive. That means it is your responsibility to make sure Chad and Miriam never see him like this. Never.”

“I’ll do all I can, but I think you might be overestimating my odds of survival.” Globe composed himself; this wasn’t the time to get lost in despair. They still had someone counting on them… assuming she hadn’t met a similar fate somewhere down the line.

From across the room, Adam stepped into view. Minutes earlier he’d discharged his remaining enhanced-amplification power into Globe, restarting his clock to an hour, then given the others the weaker enhancement that was all he could manage alone. With no more reason to keep Quentin’s form after that, he’d returned to his own until they decided what new copy would best help their efforts. “Hey you two, I found a door over here. Powerful locks, on par with the best we’ve seen in this place. Going to need some help.”

The two former Heroes looked at each other, Raze putting their question into words. “You think it’s her?”

“For Alice’s sake, I dearly hope so.” Globe turned away from the remains of his best friend and followed Adam down a hall to the door he’d indicated. With a minor effort Globe forced the door to unlock, keeping his defenses up in case this was some sort of trap.

Nothing leapt out at him as the door slid open, instead it revealed a room that didn’t match the rest of the base’s décor. White walls, soft chairs and blankets, a screen showing shifting high-definition images of a garden, all around a top-of-the-line hospital bed. In an instant, Globe knew the woman lying in it, her eyes trained on the screen, though she didn’t seem to be watching. Even with years since he’d last seen her in person, she was as distinctive as always: same blonde hair, same bright green eyes, same kind expression. He would always recognize Shelby Adair, the woman he’d watched marry his brother all those years ago. Moving slowly, Globe walked over to her, waiting for a reaction. She didn’t turn, didn’t twitch, didn’t blink. Just kept staring blankly at the screen.

“Is she… what’s wrong with her?” Adam asked.

“She’s in the same state she’s been stuck in ever since Charles tried to cure her. Trapped in her own power, unable to see or interact with the real world in any way. All Shelby can see are the potential futures. She’s lost in the lands of what may or may not come to be.”

Adam shuddered involuntarily. “That sounds horrible.”

“It almost certainly is. Yet it pales in comparison to the awful things Charles has done to set her free. But none of that is her fault. He’ll have to answer for his own sins.” With a careful motion, Globe began levitating Shelby off the bed. “Our job is to get her out safely, no matter how many Supers we have to fight our way through to do it.”

“I wish you wouldn’t tempt fate like that. You know they’ve been rallying troops behind us, the others are probably already holding them off,” Raze pointed out. “You’re the only one who is still fully enhanced, and we’re down Joan and Shimmerpath. Getting out is going to be a much harder fight than getting down was.”

“You know, I thought about that as we were coming in, and I realized something.” Globe looked to the ceiling, which began to buckle upward. “Now that we have Shelby, I no longer need to worry about this place’s structural integrity. Why don’t we grab the rest of our team and take the short way out?”

299.

It looked as though Charles was merely sitting at his desk, slowly draining a glass of scotch. Partly because he was, in fact, doing exactly that. But he was also doing more. Charles Adair was waiting. The calls were all in place, the contingencies activated. If the final seal was breached, he’d have to be ready. Should Globe make it that far, then they entered the end game. Charles would only have a few chips left to play, limited tactics he could throw out to try and salvage things.

Perhaps salvage was too strong of a word. The spectacle had already grown too large, the associated digital chatter deafening. The lab’s location was known, and the DVA was running around trying to figure out what to do. No matter how this shook out they were going to search it. Destroying the evidence was an option – explosives had been laid for such a contingency – but not even that was guaranteed to keep determined Supers from information they wanted. Besides, he couldn’t risk such a tactic, not with Shelby still in there. No, this was almost certainly the end of his fiscal spider web. These things tended to snowball, and Graham DeSoto wasn’t a man who could be bought off, so killing the investigation was a lost cause.

None of that really mattered, though. Charles liked luxury, always had, but it was a side effect, a show built up to explain his ruthless business expansion. The only thing he really cared about, the reason he’d started all this, could still be saved. Even if it wasn’t by him. That was the thing about fighting good guys: they played by the rules and conducted themselves with honor. A fine habit as far as the public was concerned, but one that opened itself up to exploitation.

The pale woman with a streak of blue in her hair appeared in front of Charles’ desk without warning. He didn’t so much as shake the glass in his hand; Charles had been expecting this. “The alert triggered?”

“Yes, sir. Shelby Adair has been moved from her bed, and reports from the field confirm our guards abandoned the bottom of the compound. Instead they are going to try and hold Globe at the exit.”

“Pointless.” With a deep gulp, Charles finished his drink and set the empty glass on the desk, replacing it in his hand with a silver gun plucked from a drawer. “No one ever listens when I tell them you can’t stop Phil. I keep trying to tell people, yet all of them think they’ll somehow be the one to do the impossible.”

“What orders would you like me to convey, sir?”

Charles rose from his desk, tucked the gun into a special pocket on his suit jacket, one custom made for just this purpose. “Anything I had you say would be a waste of breath, so you won’t be bothering with that lot. Instead, you’re going to take me there, to where the fight is happening.”

“Sir, I’m not sure–”

“Hush. This is how it must be. I don’t expect you to understand, so stick to doing as you’re told. I bought your service, not your counsel.”

*             *             *

Once the truth was out, there wasn’t any need for the deans to delay. A former Hero was breaking into a hidden lab to expose truth about a massive secret conspiracy. If that wasn’t the kind of situation that called for the response of Heroes, then it was hard to imagine what would. The only slightly difficult call had been whether to bring any of the professors along. Ultimately, Dean Blaine couldn’t bear to weaken his school by leaving it undefended; this situation didn’t eliminate the possibility of another hate group launching a strike on the campus. It was the sort of situation that type would happily take advantage of, given the chance. Plus, with Professor Pendleton suddenly missing and himself heading to the lab, Dean Blaine already felt like he was leaving Lander compromised. Thankfully, the glut of Heroes who had come to watch Intramurals were still there, so they would be able to pitch in if anything happened.

Getting there would be simple – one of the benefits from traveling with the head of the DVA. Graham only had to make a call and in no time a pair of teleporters were there, ready to hop them to the field. It was a far cry from the coach flights Dean Blaine typically had to take, but he didn’t complain. Such were the benefits of high positions, and if it got him to the battle even a second faster, Dean Blaine was fine with it.

The only pause they took was a brief, five-minute changing session which Graham spent arguing down all of his underlings who kept insisting that he couldn’t go into the field. It was a fight they were going to lose, because that was what happened to those who tried to go against Captain Starlight. Dean Blaine paid that little mind; he was more intent on completing his own task.

It was a quick process. Faster than it should have been, but years of practice and habit didn’t fade that easily. Almost a year since he’d done this last, and it still felt like only yesterday. Putting on his armor, his suit, his costume, it was like stepping into a new skin – the skin of another person, one kept deep inside the understanding administrator that was Dean Blaine. Because this version of him wasn’t a teacher, wasn’t thoughtful and patient. This part of him was born from being functionally mortal in a world of the nearly divine, the piece that struck hard and fast because hesitation would almost certainly lead to death. This part of Blaine didn’t have the luxury of patience and kindness. Sometimes, bits of it slipped through, even without the costume, but this was different. This was him giving over to it, trusting it to keep him alive at least long enough to see the job finished.

Slipping his helmet on, Dean Blaine vanished into the mantle of Zero, a change he’d hoped to never make again yet deep down had always known he’d have to. Before he could leave, a knock came on the door, revealing Dean Silva. She grew her own costume, thick bark forming an armor over her skin, a dense moss serving as a thick padding in between bark sections.

“Been a long time since I saw that suit. I heard some of the people you put away used to have nightmares about it, say they could see that white circle coming for them out of the shadows.”

“Are you really one to talk about nightmares? I’ve walked in on entire gangs who would throw down their weapons if they even heard Overgrowth was within their zip code,” Zero replied.

“What’s wrong with nightmares? From what I saw, you’ve raised a whole crop of them.” She crooked a finger, motioning that it was time to head out.

“Let’s go give the poor bastards in our way some new ones.”

300.

It was a standoff, one that couldn’t last long. Whatever plan Charles Adair might have had for this day, there was no chance it included several costumed Heroes gathering at the fringes of a sea of Supers in combat equipment. The tension between both groups, so thick it was nearly visible through the tight faces and firm grips on weapons. Even from their place farther away, off near the tree line, Vince could read the signs of growing escalation.

“The guards are claiming that this is a situation wherein the employees of a privately-held property are responding to an intruder, and that since no police reports or requests have gone out, the Heroes don’t have jurisdiction to intervene. The Heroes are arguing that there have been reports of a wanted criminal showing up – here they’re talking about Globe – and the DVA has ordered investigation. None of the guards want to fight the Heroes, but they will, and worse, they know they’ll have to soon. Once Globe shows up, all bets are off. He’s an Armageddon-level Super; no amount of private property claims will keep the Heroes from going after him.” Mary opened her eyes, momentarily turning her attention away from the waves of thoughts washing over her.

Nearby, Roy finished downing a deep gulp of whiskey from a silver flask. “And until he shows, it’s just a good ole-fashioned dick measuring contest. If things pop off early, are we jumping in?”

“No.” Alice was at the edge of the forest, eyes unwavering from the crowd gathered near the bunker. “The guards have a significant numbers advantage, but the Heroes are much better trained, and they probably already have reinforcements on the way. Heroes can handle themselves. Our goal is to find and protect my mother.”

“Getting her out will be tricky. There are either a lot of anchors or a few very strong ones blocking off teleportation here, so we can’t pop anyone out.” Mr. Transport looked mildly uncomfortable as he spoke, visibly uneasy about not being able to jump through space on a whim. Alice had been the one to get them the last few miles, flying them here at a pace that left everyone feeling vaguely unsafe. To her credit, she’d done the job flawlessly, even putting them down in a tree line with a good view to the scene below. The fact remained, however, that not having teleportation was going to make things much harder.

For his part, Vince was still trying to wrap his mind around everything Alice had told them during the trip. That Globe was innocent came as no real surprise; he’d always known his father wasn’t the kind of man to kill a friend in cold blood. But the revelations about Alice’s own dad were another matter. The mere idea that he’d put all of this together, that he’d been the one responsible for Intra’s death, that the demise of Chad’s father was supposedly the bedrock on which the Powered-to-Super procedure was built… it was a lot to take in. Much as Vince loved being a Super, and perhaps soon a Hero, he couldn’t imagine he’d have taken the bargain if he’d known what it had cost someone else. There was no way to give it back, though – not that doing so would return Intra to life anyway. The most Vince could think of was to make sure he used this gift well, to honor the loss of the man who’d made it possible.

Roy, on the other hand, had taken up different concerns. He gave his bat a careful test swing, feeling the heft in his hands. “I wonder if Coach George will be with them.”

“If he is, you know he’ll technically be on our side, right? No payback for last time.” Mary shot a firm glare over to Roy, making it abundantly clear that she knew what he’d been thinking.

“Sure sure, he’s starting off on our side. I’m just planning to keep an eye out for any back-stabbing.” Another swing, this time a little harder than before.

Mr. Numbers was leaning against a tree, unmoving, as he looked out on the crowd. “I suppose it’s too much to hope you’ve gotten any stray thoughts from Globe or his people?”

“No luck there. I’m guessing he created a shield or something around them to keep thoughts from broadcasting. Makes sense, there’s no way I’m the only telepath here.” With a start, Mary jerked up straight. “Oh no. What if someone down there is listening to us?”

Barely twitching, Mr. Numbers nonetheless managed to shake his head slightly. “Highly unlikely. Remember, few telepaths can function at higher ranges, especially with so many voices to sort through. Anyone else scanning thoughts is going to be focused on the key points of interest, namely the guards, Heroes, and the participants of whatever fighting is happening in the base. We might be noticed, but by my estimations it won’t matter soon. Given the gathering of forces, it seems obvious the plan is to block Globe at the exit. With no one stopping him, it won’t take long for Globe to reach the chokepoint. The real question is whether the guards will be able to halt his advance before the Heroes catch sight of their target.”

“That seems like the sort of firefight that could put my mom at risk,” Alice said.

“From all accounts, Globe is the sort of man who will do anything to keep innocents safe. However, he is not perfect, and people have died in his care before. I won’t make you false promises; that situation will be a dangerous one for both Globe and Shelby.” Mr. Numbers, as usual, was not one to hide the truth for the sake of sentiment.

Alice’s hands were tightening into fists, a clear indicator that she was about to storm down there no matter who was in her way, when Mary suddenly perked up. “Something’s happening. Something neither side was expecting.”

In a rush, they all raced to the tree line to look, except Mr. Numbers, who took his time. Confusion and suspicion were rippling off both parts of the crowd as they milled about, Heroes and guards equally caught unawares.

“It’s the ground.” Mary doled her explanation out with quick words, mind preoccupied by assessing thoughts in real time. “There’s a rumble coming from below their feet, and both sides suspect the other of starting an attack.”

“Are either of them right?” Roy asked.

No one had the chance to respond. The source of the issue became visible before their eyes. The ground bubbled upward in the southeastern section of the bunker, causing the building to rise and crack, revealing even more soldiers inside. The bubble continued, unbothered by the minor inconvenience of the enormous structure just as it had ignored all the previous obstacles. Dirt ran and grass flew as the soil was pushed higher and higher, until finally it burst like a pimple on the face of the Earth, spraying more turf and flecks of metal into the air.

From the hole rose a hunk of flooring, on which stood five figures, with one more supine. A pair of Razes flanked either side of the platform, with Coach George and Coach Persephone taking the middle positions. And there, in the dead center, carefully cradling a limp woman, was the infamous villain Globe.

Briefly the world stood silent in shock at the scene. It was impossible to say who took the first shot: too many people, already instants away from attacking, suddenly had a justified target to go after. It didn’t matter anyway. The first shot was only that by random chance, because it was followed by countless others nanoseconds later. The sky lit up as an unholy torrent of bullets, energy, and various projectiles were all flung at Globe simultaneously.

Over such a commotion, it was perhaps understandable that no one on the battlefield heard the distant voice of a young woman screaming in concern for her mother.

301.

So many attacks striking at once created a dense fog around the target, momentarily obscuring Globe and others from view. Alice was gone before the smoke cleared, rocketing off so fast that the twigs around her shattered from sloppy gravitational pull. As soon as he saw her moving, racing toward the giant ball of destruction, Vince let out a mighty blast of kinetic energy and leapt into the sky after her. Roy was only a few seconds behind, soaring through the air on Vince’s heels.

“Not even a moment’s concern for their safety,” Mr. Numbers noted.

“They all care about their safety, just not as much as they care about someone else’s.” As she spoke, Mary telekinetically knocked over a small tree and levitated it up three feet off the ground. “Alice is worried about her mother, Vince and Roy are worried about Alice, and Vince is also scared for his father. Besides, rushing in when people are in need is supposed to be what Heroes do.”

“And where do you see yourself in all this?” Mr. Transport asked.

With a quick motion, Mary mentally sheared all of the branches off her tree, creating a smooth floating trunk. “Same as you lot. I work in the background now, helping from the sidelines. Although in this case, being nearby is probably a necessity. Either of you want a ride? I made it big enough for more than three.”

“You’re going into the fray?” Mr. Numbers asked.

“Not unless I have to. But that doesn’t mean I can’t be useful.”

“Maybe we’ll catch a ride down, at least until we know where we can do the most good ourselves,” Mr. Transport suggested. Together, he and Mr. Numbers mounted the rear of the tree while Mary took the front. Everyone locked their legs in tightly as it began to move through the air, leaving the ground and soaring toward the battlefield.

For her part, Mary wished she had the floppy hat from her witch costume. May as well complete the look, if she was going this far.

*             *             *

“You okay?” George was inches away, cold metal face peering into their leader’s sweat-glazed expression. Globe was on his knees, body folded over Shelby’s, panting heavily.

Every ability had its cost of use, be it mental or physical. There was always a toll on the mind or body, in the way that no one could hold a weight or tense a muscle indefinitely. Enhanced or not, that was true of Globe as well, and maintaining enough barriers to stop all the attacks they’d had thrown their way, on top of conjuring the fog for temporary concealment, was an enormous task, even for a Hero from the Class of Legends. Without Adam and Quentin’s efforts, Globe doubted he could have pulled it off. Even now, there were still attacks coming, but they were fewer than before. The heavier hitters wouldn’t waste their shots: they’d want to take aim at Globe directly. Withstanding another volley like that was almost certainly beyond him. Luckily, the trip up had given them ample time to plan their next move.

“Everyone else, off the platform. I’ll keep drawing their fire. See if you can get away in the confusion. Above all else, though, protect George. We came up here to make sure they have a target they can’t ignore while he slips away. We must keep them focused on me so they won’t give chase. His escape with Shelby is priority one.” Carefully, Globe rose to his feet, handing Shelby Adair over to the metal man. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere Charles can’t get her. After that, reach out to Blaine. He’ll get you to Graham, and her into safe hands. Now go, as soon as they can see they’ll attack again.”

George had known it would come to this and had properly powered up his thrusters as a result. With a sparing glance to the man who had brought them all together, too aware that this was probably the last time he’d ever see Globe alive, George began to lift from the platform. On cue, the others leapt off, using the smoke as cover as they raced into the crowds of guards and Heroes, splitting focus and kicking up chaos. A small distraction, true, but the best they could manage at this point. Besides, the real distraction, the thing everyone wanted, was Globe. Always had been. That was why Globe put himself front and center, to make sure he was where the attention stayed.

Fully-activating his rockets, George blasted upward just as Globe willed away the smoke, giving everyone a clear view of the nation’s most wanted former-Hero. It was no surprise when most of the eyes turned on Globe, a fresh round of attacks peppering his barriers. All George had to do was get high enough and he’d be nearly home free. He was one of the fastest fliers around, and with no one able to teleport out of here, it would be impossible to catch him. The mission would be a success, if he could just get clear.

Since he was facing upward, George didn’t see the attack that slammed into his left foot, completely blowing out the thruster. It must have been strong – George was no pushover – but the guards had been playing with enhanced powers for a while now so that was hardly a surprise. Struggling to maintain altitude, George poured power into his right leg. It was no use. He’d been climbing too fast, and under the sudden attack he was beginning to spin out. The ground rushed closer; crashing now seemed inevitable. With the last of his control, George flipped over, making sure his back would take the brunt of the fall. It was all he could do to keep Shelby safe.

Just when he was sure it was over, the fall stopped. George was floating in the air, sole remaining jet doing absolutely jack shit, as the grass came up to him gently. It would have been a serene moment, if he weren’t fully surrounded by the sounds of battle. Even from his terrible vantage point, he could see the mayhem that had broken out. Globe’s team jumping from the platform had done more than create multiple targets, it had shattered the momentary peace between guards and Heroes. The former were taking any shot they could at Globe’s people, even if it put Heroes in danger. Between the attempts at murder and disregard for their lives, the Heroes were no longer treating the guards as civilians. Some were actively working to restrain the most reckless ones. It was a good effort, but more guards were pouring out of the remains of the base now, the unit meant to stop Globe at the exit acting as reinforcements to the ones outside. All this chaos, and some prick had managed to take a shot at the man trying to leave the battle.

A cluster of guards from a nearby engagement went sprawling, hurled back by an unseen force. This had the unfortunate effect of putting them directly next to George just as he settled to the ground. They saw him, and he them. Weapons and hands raised as they prepared to attack, and though he rolled to the side to act as a shield, George feared that this would be an onslaught Shelby couldn’t survive.

“Get away from my mother.”

As a former Hero, George had heard many voices and threats in his time. He’d heard anger, despair, determination, desperation, sorrow, joy, surprise, and boldness. This voice, however, had something rarely encountered: pure resolve, unrestrained by any sense of limitation. That was the voice of someone willing to do anything, go to any lengths, to do what they’d set their mind to. Not many people could get to such a point, and for good reason. Even if she didn’t like it, in some ways Alice was more like her father than she realized.

The guards didn’t have George’s experience. They didn’t understand the warning when they heard it. So they looked around, weapons still pointed at George. By the time they saw the threat, it was too late. Yells and the sounds of bones snapping met his ears as the guards were driven to the ground so hard and fast their bodies couldn’t bear it.

Seconds later, a set of white boots, the kind that came with a senior HCP uniform, landed in the grass next to George. Alice Adair stood over him, with Vince Reynolds and Roy Daniels bringing up the rear. George had no idea how they’d gotten here since Globe had tried to keep the kids far away from all of this, but it was hard not to feel a little happy at the sight. Alice knelt down and held out her arms, her demand wordless and impossibly clear.

“She needs to be somewhere safe. Somewhere Charles can’t get to her.” George carefully handed Shelby over, setting the thin woman in the strong, trained arms of her daughter.

“Charles Adair will never lay a hand on this woman ever again. Ever.” For a moment, the fire in Alice’s eyes dimmed as she clutched her mother, touching her for the first time since she was a mere baby. Then her resolve brightened, and she stood up, glancing to her friends. “Let’s get her out of here.”

“No.” Vince stepped forward, looking down at the frail form in Alice’s hands. “You go, Alice. You have to go. And I have to stay. My dad is right there. Right over there, in my reach, maybe for the last time. Saving the innocents is what Heroes do. You got yours, I’m going to get mine.”

George was rising to his feet, taking a better look at the field. “Step into that, you probably won’t make it out. There’s a ton more guards than Heroes, and a chunk of them are amped up. I don’t know that this fight ends well for those of us not on the Adair payroll.”

“Guess that means I’m staying too,” Roy added. “Wouldn’t very well make much of a Hero if I turned my back when future coworkers were in need.”

For the first time, Alice hesitated, looking from the pair to her mother, and then to the nearby fighting. “I don’t want to just leave you here.”

“You’re not. You’re evacuating a helpless innocent caught in a fight that isn’t hers,” Vince told her. “You’re doing exactly what we’ve been training for all this time: keeping people safe. We can only fight because you’re taking her away. So be a Hero, Alice. Get the civilian clear, and trust your team to handle the rest.”

With a face that made evident how unhappy she was, Alice took a few steps back, and then flew off away from the battle. Unlike George, she kept her eyes on the fight, ready to dodge if anything came her way. In no time she was past a line of trees and out of sight.

Testing his left leg, George found that it could still bear weight, even if flying was off the table. “You kids have gotten a lot better at this since I left.”

“We had damn fine teachers.” Roy’s expression couldn’t have been more plain that he wasn’t including George in that statement. “And a lot of motivation to improve.”

“Well, let’s see how much you’ve learned. We’re going to need something miraculous to turn the tide of this one.”

As a veteran Hero, George really should have known better than to offer the universe such a perfect line. No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a massive tree, growing at an impossible rate and racing across the ground like a slithering serpent, burst out from over a nearby hill and slammed into the battlefield. From it, seven figures dismounted, one wearing an armored costume that George would recognize anywhere.

“All of the HCP deans. Damn, that almost feels like overkill.” He turned to Vince and Roy, making sure they’d seen the new players enter the battlefield. “Pay close attention, boys. You’re about to see just how good those teachers really are, and the kind of power it takes to be the dean of an HCP.”

302.

“Attention everyone! This is an official order from the Department of Variant Human Affairs. Capture and restraint of Globe is now officially top priority. Any of you who are not Heroes should leave this area at once. Failure to do so, or continuing to attack Heroes and other DVA representatives, will result in you being treated as hostile enemies and subdued with the necessary amount of force.”

Graham DeSoto’s powerful voice, amplified by a portable megaphone, carried well across the battlefield. From the turns and stares, it was plain that many of the guards heard him. Unfortunately, so far as they could tell he was only one of seven arrivals who’d shown up on a giant tree, and while that was impressive, it didn’t quite convey the full might of the DVA. A few paused, waiting to see how things would go down, but when the other guards pressed the attack the rest soon followed suit.

“They were warned. As far as I’m concerned, what happens from here on out is on their own heads. Deans, go remind them why it’s a good idea to stop when Heroes say so. Casper, help any Heroes who need you. And maybe save a few guards, if you can, although I don’t recommend healing them all the way to full health.”

Dean Jackson, clad in the same clothes as before with a simple gray mask in place, asked the question on everyone’s mind. “What about you, sir?”

“Someone has to guard the tree.” It took a minute for them to realize that Graham DeSoto had just made a joke. Mercifully, he didn’t wait for them to manage forced laughter before continuing. “Listen, as it stands, I can be here as either Captain Starlight or Graham DeSoto, head of the DVA. I can’t be both, because the public will never see it that way. Right now it’s important to show that I can lead from the backfield, at least metaphorically. I’ll jump in if you need me, but otherwise I think the best thing I can do for all of us is leave it to the current Heroes. Besides dealing with any of these idiots dumb enough to get close to our healer, I mean.”

Zero snickered under his helmet. “Not sure we qualify as current Heroes.”

“As long as you’re in costume, you’re Heroes. Go show them why.”

*             *             *

The monster leapt away from the tree as quickly as it had appeared, a hulking four-legged beast sporting thick armor and savage fangs. With a bone-cracking snap it landed on a group of guards, several of whom were too slow to dodge. At the same time, giant branches fired out from the tree, spearing into groups of guards that were shooting at Globe, impaling several through limbs and knocking more down. A section of ground suddenly gave way, sending a trio of guards plummeting into the subterranean base, leaving behind only a man in simple clothes and a gray mask. Not far away, a man in black armor with a white circle on the chest began assaulting one guard after another, each of whom seemed to experience identical processions of surprise followed by pain.

“Holy shit on a skillet,” Roy muttered, taking in the scene. “Those are the other deans?”

“Those are the other deans fighting alongside fellow Heroes they have to protect. You should see them when they don’t need to hold back. Overgrowth can cause and manipulate plant growth on a scale unmatched by any other Super in history. Reaction is a shifter with the power to change aspects of her form to suit the needs of a fight. Grasp is a brilliant hand-to-hand fighter who plays his density manipulation powers like a concert cellist. Blind Spot – well, you probably won’t notice him, and neither will his enemies until he’s put a bullet between their eyes. And, of course, I think you’re familiar with Zero. Not everyone agrees on all the aspects of running an HCP, but it’s generally considered common knowledge that whoever heads it should be able to defend the place.” George’s voice didn’t stammer or waver, despite running full speed. It made sense; robots probably didn’t get short of breath, no matter how hard they were sprinting.

The arrival of the deans was indeed an inspiring sight, one that had spurred the Heroes to fight onward. However, more guards were still pouring out from the bunker, joining the fray to take the place of the ones who’d fallen. And what was worse, these new ones all seemed to come out amped up and ready for a fight.

One guard let loose an energy blast that tore into the mighty beast named Reaction’s flank, cracking the armor and drawing a short whimper of pain before the behemoth rolled to the side. The blaster took aim for another barrage, but before he could fire a single gunshot rang out and he fell to the ground, revealing a mustached man casually holding a pistol. Other guards turned to see the source of the shot, eyes skimming right over the attacker as he took aim and killed another. Reaction managed to get away, running back to the tree. Her skin suddenly healed and the armor reformed, growing back thicker at the cost of mobility, a ripple of change that ran over her entire body.

“She can heal?” Vince asked.

“Not that I know of. They must have brought a healer.” George adjusted the zoom on his eyes, tightening his vision on a man not far from the tree, looking visibly annoyed to be there. “Well I’ll be damned, looks like they brought the healer.”

“Good thing, they’re gonna need it.” Roy pointed at the creatures appearing on the battlefield, guards with shifting abilities whose forms had been too large to deploy indoors. Things were only getting crazier as more Heroes and guards fought each other, attention turning from Globe to pure survival.

George barely registered the movement in time – some sort of dark orb of energy blazing through the air at an impossible clip in exactly their direction. He hadn’t seen this power yet, so there was no telling what it would do. “Get clear!” That was all the warning he had time to give them, and even as the words left his mouth, George knew they wouldn’t be enough.

Vince and Roy both turned in the direction of the orb an unknown assailant had thrown, the former raising a hand on reflex. Too late, George realized that rather than dodge, the kid was going to try and absorb something without even knowing if he could. He started forward, hoping he could at least knock Vince to the ground and give some cover. Globe had given them all hope and purpose; the very least George could do was save the man’s son.

Good intentions or not, George simply wasn’t fast enough from his position. But someone else was. Flinging himself forward, Roy Daniels slammed his bat into the orb full-force, hitting it like a pitch he wanted to put over the fences. It exploded on impact, engulfing Roy in dark flames that tore outward, searing the grass wherever they touched. Horrible as the explosion was, it also occurred at a distance, since Roy had intercepted the attack before it could reach them.

When the dark energy finally cleared, Roy was still standing, albeit barely. His bat was scorched, the upper part of his uniform entirely gone, and horrible burns coated his upper body. Panting, he turned slowly around, revealing the seared flesh of his chest and face. “How good was that healer, exactly?”

That was all he got out before slamming heavily to the ground, no longer able to hold himself up.

303.

Vince’s eyes traveled the battlefield, scanning carefully. It didn’t take long now that he knew what to look for. Some ways off from the main fight, taking shelter on the sidelines not far from Vince’s current position, were a few guards firing off shots into the fray. One of them was conjuring another ball of dark energy like the one that had left Roy a smoldering heap. Short of Titan himself, Roy was one of the toughest people Vince had ever met; he could only imagine what that sort of attack would do to normal flesh. The guard had to know that, had to realize what his power did. He was casually throwing out orbs of unadulterated murder, and that wouldn’t stand.

It was a fair distance off, one farther than Vince would have dared try under other circumstances, but he didn’t even pause. Taking precise aim, Vince shot a bolt of electricity directly into the orb-thrower’s heart, just as he raised another dark ball. Instantly, the guard collapsed, dropping his orb in the process. Just like the other had, it exploded on impact, engulfing many of his fellow guards along the sidelines in the process.

Dimly, Vince realized he’d just intentionally killed someone for the first time. When this was over, when there was time to think, he knew such a fact would hit him hard. Mourning came later, though. Survival was the priority now: his own and that of the people he loved.

“We’re safe to move, or at least we don’t have to worry about that guy. Let’s get Roy to the healer.” Vince turned around to find that Roy was no longer on the ground. Instead, he was laid across the back of a floating tree trunk, held by Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport, who were seated just behind Mary.

“I may have quit the Hero life, but I’m not leaving you idiots on your own,” she explained. “Medical transportation seems like a good gig to take in this fray. We’ll get Roy over to the healer; you keep doing what you came here to do.”

“Mind if I bum a ride?” George asked. “I’d be a lot more effective in the air without this busted thruster.”

Mary’s eyes narrowed. This was the first time she’d seen the man since he tried to kidnap her freshman year. “I hate that I can’t read your mind in robot form. Vince, you make the call.”

“Globe trusts him, and he gave us a warning before the orb hit. In a situation like this, that’s probably as good as we’re going to get.”

After several long seconds, Mary finally nodded. “Tree is full, though. I’ll have to drag you along. Don’t worry, I’ll do my best to be gentle.”

Before George could properly protest he was up in the air, floating below Mary and her tree. She paused only to shoot Vince a quick stare. “If I tell you not to go into the middle of the fight, will you listen?”

“Not as long as that’s where my father is.”

“Then at least be careful. Think about how you felt seeing Roy fall, and imagine what the rest of us would go through if you died. People are counting on you, Vince, so that means you have to stay alive. Death isn’t a luxury Heroes are permitted.”

Then she was gone, zipping around the outskirts of the battlefield as she made her way to the giant tree. A few wild shots would occasionally come near her, but Mr. Numbers was tapping her on the shoulder, detailing evasive maneuvers as they flew.

For the first time since his few minutes in the prep room, Vince was alone. Ahead of him, still some ways off, was the bubble of power moving around the battlefield, drawing the attention of guards and Heroes alike, although more and more of the former than the latter. To get to Globe, all he had to do was cross a sea of amped-up guards firing at everyone that wandered into their path not wearing the same combat gear, plus any Heroes who might mistake him for being on the other side. After all, he wasn’t really wearing a costume either.

“Kinetic is good.” There was no one to talk to, but it felt assuring to hear a voice as he went through his inventory, even if the voice was his own. “Fire is good, as always. Electricity could be higher, but I can manage. Plenty of light, for what that’s worth. Not much of Thomas’s power left; I burned most of that in my fights.” Minimal shielding options, but lots to attack with. Pretty much the opposite of what he wanted for trying to covertly cross a battlefield. Worse, he wouldn’t be able to rely on absorption much: there were too many different and unique forms of attacks being traded. Even if he could learn to take in the new energy forms on the fly (and that was giving himself a huge amount of credit) if more than one came at the same time he would be cooked.

So, all that stood between Vince and reuniting with his father was near-certain death or injury. It was daunting, sure, but compared to when he’d thought the man dead, this was a relatively minor hurdle. Crossing a battlefield was at least possible, unlike bringing someone back from the grave. Which meant Vince had to make sure Globe didn’t cross that line for real.

Taking a short running start, Vince hopped twice to get a rhythm, then leapt high into the air.

*             *             *

“Anchors, give me a five second drop in three, two, one, now!”

The man in a suit, Crispin’s keeper, was barking orders into his communicator. It almost felt like the right time to make a move, but Crispin resisted. There was too much going on; it felt like a setup. When something seemed too easy, it usually was. So he kept at it, amping up another guard even as his hands were starting to shake from exhaustion.

In a formerly empty room, a new group of guards appeared. The upside to controlling the teleportation-blocking Supers was that they managed to create brief, coordinated gaps that were then used to bring in reinforcements. Crispin paid them no mind as they received their orders, the same orders every other batch had gotten. Priority one was killing Globe, priority two was keeping the Heroes out of this base until purging protocol could be fully enacted. Globe’s smashing through had damaged a lot of systems, the self-destruction sequence among them. As soon as it was up and running, they could get rid of the evidence inside, but until then Heroes couldn’t be allowed to get through. The guards would probably die today, and knew it. But the sums their families would receive could change their lives. It was amazing the things people were willing to sacrifice for the ones they loved.

There was one anomaly in this batch, though. Crispin’s keeper began to stammer when a figure not wearing combat gear suddenly stepped into view. “Mr. Adair! What are you doing here, sir?”

“A leader belongs on the front lines, doesn’t he? Or do you think I’m so far removed from my Hero days that I’ve forgotten that lesson?” Charles Adair made his way over, up to and past the suit who had been keeping tabs on Crispin since the escape. He kept walking, all the way to Crispin, the two men meeting face-to-face for the first time.

“You look tired,” Charles noted. “You must be giving everything you have to provide our people with an edge. I appreciate that level of effort, I truly do.”

“Nice of you to notice. I’d be happy to help more if you have a healer that can restore stamina.”

“I’m sure we do somewhere, but this is the last batch we’ll be able to bring in, and you seem to be at your limit. Perhaps rest is the best cure.” Charles Adair smiled, which would have been a clear warning sign if Crispin knew him better. Arm moving like the strike of a serpent, Charles slammed the butt of his gun into Crispin’s temple, sending him to the floor in a crumpled mess.

“Lander was my school too, you know. More importantly, it’s where I met the woman I love. Rest well. I hope Blaine is the first one to find you when this is all over.” Turning back to his troops, Charles raised his voice. “All right, the amplifier is down, but we still have a tremendous numbers advantage. I know the way Heroes fight, and with our superior forces, many of which are still amplified, we can win this day. Just keep your comms on, follow orders, and never give in. Heroes aren’t perfect. They don’t win every fight. I know that firsthand. Today you have a rare chance to show them just how beatable they really are.”

304.

The sudden arrival of the HCP deans had momentarily turned the tide of the battle. Their overwhelming power put on display was enough to scare even the most devoted of soldiers. With different motivations, the guards might have broken into a run. Unfortunately, these were people who knew they’d be better served by a death in the fray than a few extra days on the run, so they continued to fight, even as it seemed increasingly hopeless. Then more guards had begun pouring out of the bunker, greater numbers than anyone expected, and while it didn’t put the Heroes on the ropes, it made things significantly harder on them. Given that many of the new guards were coming out with amped up abilities, a few were even able to take on the Heroes one-on-one. Still, it was a fight, with both sides working hard to overtake the other.

Just when it seemed like the Heroes might retake the advantage, however, the east side of the bunker literally cracked open. Walls exploded as new troops came rushing out, far more than anyone could have anticipated – a fresh wave against the weary Heroes doing their best to hold the line. They surged like insects across the battlefield, sheer numbers managing to overwhelm and push back the already stressed Heroes.

Graham DeSoto watched it all happen from the tree that Dean Silva, the Hero once called Overgrowth, had used to transport them. This was looking bad. As soon as he’d arrived on the scene, he’d put in a call for backup, but the teleportation blocks were making things difficult. By the time more Heroes managed to respond, get to their nearest teleportation point, and make the rest of the trip, it was possible the fight could already be won. Charles had picked a good location: no roads, no clear paths, and now no way to teleport. A few Heroes would be able to cross the distance without issue, speedsters and strongmen who jumped, but most of those couldn’t bring their teammates along. A couple more bodies wouldn’t make the difference; they needed coordination and overwhelming power to turn back that many troops.

There was one chance, though. He could play on their fears, the most primal parts of their minds. Looking at his weathered hand, Graham flexed his fingers, the barest shape of a silver metal blade forming from the light around them. Maybe… maybe seeing Captain Starlight would be enough to scare them, to break their resolve. It was a hell of a gamble, especially given that all his reasons for staying on the sidelines still held true. But in the end, he had to protect his fellow Heroes. If Captain Starlight had even the chance of doing that, then wasn’t it worth the risk?

“Incoming.” Casper was surprisingly blasé as he announced the flying tree trunk that was zooming in to them. Before they could wonder if it bore friend or foe, the tree had arrived. A small young woman sat on the front, two men in suits on the back holding a shirtless fellow who looked like he’d walked through hellfire, and a robot wobbling a few feet below them. As soon as they stopped, the robot fell to the ground roughly, picking itself up in a hurry.

“Mr. DeSoto, my name is Mary, I’m a former student from Lander. The guy with the burns is Roy, or maybe I should call him Ettin out here. Anyway, he really needs healing, so I was hoping you could talk your lackey into helping.” She paused briefly, glancing over at the metal man. “Oh, and Coach George, the wanted criminal, would also like some help. He can make his own case to you.”

It was a lot to take in without warning, but this was hardly Graham’s first time in combat. He broke down the information in seconds and reached a decision. “Casper, heal the boy. I’ll figure out what to do about George.”

“He’s a student,” Casper pointed out. “Maybe it’s better to just heal him enough so he isn’t in danger while keeping him out of the fight. Unless you want children in that chaos.”

“If this year’s Intramurals showed me nothing else, it’s that this year’s students are more than capable of taking on the mantle of Hero. Besides, they’re weeks from graduation, and at this point an almost-Hero is better than none at all.” Graham stopped, giving a heavy shrug that there was no way Casper could miss. “Of course, if you want to tell Titan that you wouldn’t heal his son, you can go right ahead and do it. Just be sure to mention that I was all for patching the boy up.”

Casper’s face flushed and his eyes went wide as understanding set in. Without another word, he jumped over to Roy and began to remove the burns. It was hard not to smile to himself, but Graham managed. This was not the time for joy or grins. They were still on the losing side of a hard battle… one that he might have to join soon.

“With respect, sir, might I recommend waiting a little longer?” Mary was still floating there, although unlike the others, her attention was on Graham instead of Roy. “Sorry, I think you probably didn’t mean to let that slip, but in a fight like this I have to keep my mind open.”

Petite, telepathic, able to mentally lift so much without visible strain; suddenly it all clicked into place for Graham. “You’re the one who dropped out midway through the year. The advanced mind Blaine thought might take top of the class.”

“He told you about me?” To her own surprise, Mary was a touch embarrassed to have been talked up to such a legend.

“Couldn’t very well bring me up to speed on all of this without mentioning you,” Graham replied. “I’ll take the bait. Why should I wait to get involved? Most of my reinforcements are still a way off from joining us.”

Mary’s reply was coupled with a simple, coy grin. “There’s a fight here, isn’t there? A big fight, with lots of stakes, and odds stacked against us. Did you really think she wouldn’t show up? Based on the locations in her mind, it shouldn’t be long at all now.”

*             *             *

Patience was its own power, in a way. Crispin could have gotten back up after the blow, prattling on about how he’d had training of his own and taken far tougher hits than that. Instead, he waited, lying on the ground, shamefully prone, as the others filed out. No one spared a thought for him; he was a battery that had been temporarily used up. He was irrelevant in the face of the Heroes they had to battle. So Crispin stayed like that until almost everyone was gone, and the few who remained weren’t paying him any attention.

Finally, at just the right moment, he silently climbed to his feet and dashed out the nearest exit, a part of the bunker that had once been a wall. By sheer fortune, he found himself running away from the fight. Behind him was a sea of blood and battle, but ahead there was a large hill dotted by trees. If he could make his way over it, get out of sight, then he had a fighting chance to vanish in the confusion. Crispin would live to fight another day, and when he came back it would be with enough force to crush the entire Hero system and everyone in it. Only such absolute victory would sate his thirst for revenge.

The golden blades fell perfectly across his path, seven swords stabbing into the ground, forcing Crispin to come to a skidding halt like he was sliding for second base. He scrambled to his feet in no time to find a person in golden armor landing behind the swords.

“Well damn! Here I was expecting you to be in the middle of everything, the prize at the bottom of the cereal I would have to fight my way through bullshit to get. I guess this is a freebie.”

Bad, this was bad. Crispin had kept tabs on the Hero world by necessity; he was keenly aware of the Hero named Charon who wielded golden weapons with dangerous accuracy. There was only one card he had to play, so he didn’t waste time busting it out. “You could catch me, yes. I won’t deny that. But look behind me, to all the fighting going on. The others need you, Charon. They need more than you, really. They need an army. I can give you that kind of power. A Super like you has nearly boundless potential. Let me go, and I’ll make you so strong that you’ll be comparable to the army they need.”

“Hmm… tempting. Really tempting. Except, there’s one little problem with that. I don’t actually need to be the equivalent of an army.” Charon clapped her gauntlet-covered hands together twice. Behind her, perfectly in Crispin’s view, a new shape began to rise over the hill: A living wave of dirt and earth, at least two dozen figures perched atop it.

“Too bad for you, fucker. I brought my own.”

305.

“Not yet.”

Joan was fuming, and Clarissa shot Nick a glare that could have withered roses. They were all there, tucked away at the tree line, watching from cover. He’d been in no hurry to arrive, saying their role was some time off, and even upon arrival Nick told them to stay put. As he explained it, there was a moment when their fortunes were most suited to entering the fray, and that point had not arrived yet. It was hard to stay here, watching their friends fight, seeing Globe take endless fire as he floated around the field drawing attention. Finally, Clarissa’s patience wore thin.

“That’s it. Luck or not, we’re going in. I can’t sit here and–”

Her words trailed off as, across the battlefield, she saw a wave of earth rise over a hill, the telltale white uniforms of HCP seniors riding the crest. Clarissa’s eyes darted to Nick, who was still standing there peacefully. “You knew this was coming?”

“I knew what would happen if Angela DeSoto overheard key information. She’s wild in battle but predictable in life. And there was a slim chance that she would receive that information. I just gave a little nudge to make sure she got it. Now, are you going to charge on to a battlefield where you can’t even use your teleportation powers, or will you trust me a little longer?”

Even she wasn’t sure of the answer until her hand came up, motioning for Joan to stand down. “A little longer. As soon as someone deals with the anchors, I’m getting back out there.”

“Of course,” Nick agreed. “But for now, I recommend you get a good seat. This should be a fun show.”

*             *             *

“H-how? How are you…” Crispin was sputtering, the sudden appearance of more enemies one more surprise than even he could deal with so quickly.

“I heard there was going to be a dust-up, and that sounded fun. Then I dug a little deeper with some DVA contacts and found out that you were here, and that’s a different matter. Because here’s the thing about Heroes: we might compete, and fight, and sometimes genuinely not even like each other, but at the end of the day we know whose side we’re on. Who our people are. You attacked an HCP, Crispin, and you put one of us in the ground. When I told the others they had a chance to fuck up your day, I literally couldn’t take names fast enough.”

A figure hurled itself from the top of the hill, soaring through the air and clearing the battlefield. More followed, paths of dirt spilling down to drop them into the fray. One woman landed, took two steps, and proceeded to conjure a wall of fire that completely surrounded a section of unprepared guards.

“Not just Lander people, either. Today, you get the best we have to offer.” Charon pointed a gauntlet finger back toward the battle. “Shouldn’t you be running by now?”

“So you can stab me in the back?”

To Crispin’s surprise, that drew a genuine laugh from Charon, one that echoed inside her helmet. “Me? No, I’m a stab you in the front kind of gal. And I’m not going to kill you unless you try to escape. The girl you had murdered, Sasha, wasn’t in my class. I barely knew her. You think I’m so cold-hearted that I would steal the chance for revenge from her classmates? A little credit here, Crispin, we’re not all monsters like you.”

The seven swords suddenly lifted from the ground, tips pointing at Crispin and steadily advancing. “I’ll only kill you if you make me. So run, you coward. No hiding out or staying on the sidelines for you this time. You want to survive? Then let’s see how you do on your own, in a real battle.”

The swords moved faster, and Crispin took the hint, sprinting away at top speed.

Less than a minute later, a young man in a gray mask identical to those the others were sporting jogged over to her. “Did you just let him go?”

“No. I made sure he fell into the proper hands.” Charon threw a metal-covered arm around the guy’s shoulder and pointed to a nearby cluster of guards trying to break through the wall of fire. “Now, to me it looks like Slow Burn could use some help. What do you say, little brother? Charon and Styx, working together for a change?”

“I haven’t earned that name yet,” he reminded her.

“Oh? This looks like a hell of a proving ground to me.” Charon slapped him on the back and raced over toward the flames, with Styx following only a few feet behind.

*             *             *

Titan sent a shower of dirt into the air as he landed, his mighty legs not even quivering from the force of the hit. While the kids were wearing the blank masks, he, like any good Hero, always kept that part of his costume with him, just in case. Granted, he hadn’t expected Angela DeSoto to suddenly turn up and whip the students into a frenzy, let alone convince Conrad to transport them after teleportation. But then again, going to Lander meant always preparing for some degree of the unpredictable.

His plan was to reach Graham as quickly as possible; thankfully comms still worked so Dispatch was able to relay a location, although strangely Graham wasn’t surprised when Titan relayed the message of his arrival. That concern was swept completely aside, however, when he discovered his son mid-healing, the terrible wounds on his body slowly vanishing.

“Who did this to him?” There was no doubt in anyone present’s mind that if they pointed to someone on the battlefield, Titan would tear apart everything between him and that person, and things would only get more violent from there.

“Some guard who is already dead,” Mary explained. “Roy took the hit to protect the team, and Vince electrocuted the guy before he got off another shot. The guard’s own attack fell on his body and others near him, and when the smoke cleared nothing discernable was left.”

“Always knew I liked that boy.” With Roy in good hands and the attacker dealt with, Titan put his mind back to the task at hand. “Mr. DeSoto, we’re going to need to do a lot of paperwork when this is over. I authorized the kids as temporary emergency Hero assets, but for this many you’ll need to sign off.”

Graham gave a thoughtful nod. “I’ll do that, because they’re impulsive children, but I’m surprised you brought them into a fight like this.”

“They found out Crispin was here, sir. They were coming no matter what I said, so I thought better to at least be here and protect them rather than make them sneak off. And, to be fair, they are all in the final phase of their senior year.”

The sigh Graham let out was that of an old man more than a legendary Hero. “I don’t love it, but we need the help. Still, I do wish we had a little more than HCP seniors to throw into this battle.”

Nearby, a line of guards suddenly exploded as a brilliant glowing path appeared through them. At the end of that line appeared Victor, wearing his Bullrush mask for the first time in years, and proving with his initial strike that he hadn’t lost a step in his downtime.

“Oh, I called in more than just students, sir. We couldn’t leave Lander unprotected, but Victor was kind enough to come along. And I might have cashed in some favors for more help as well. We’ll worry about that if they make it in time though. For now, where do you want me?”

“Us.” Roy was sitting now, the last of his burns faded completely. He hefted his slightly warped bat up and put it on his shoulder. “I’m not going down from just one near-death injury.”

Tempting as it was to protest, Titan couldn’t imagine that Roy would listen to any objections he offered, not with friends in the fray. So if he was going to fight no matter what, then the safest place for him was at Titan’s side.

“Correction, sir.” Titan put a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder. “Where do you want us?”

306.

It had all gone crazy. A girl with a gun and a stun baton was leaping through the madness, every bullet and blow finding its mark while she effortlessly sidestepped all attempts to hit her back. Some creepy insect creature was prowling the sidelines, dragging off any guard who got too close to the edge. A kid with a weird electronic staff and his friend, who was surging with orange energy, were flanking the guards who went after Heroes, splitting the grunts’ focus and making them easier to take down. Whole sections of the battlefield were dropping, seemingly without cause as a madly grinning, cocky young woman stood nearby. Guards tried to rush her, but between the golden blades and slithering shadows protecting her, no one made it closer than ten feet in before getting sliced to the ground. Even the soil itself seemed to be against them: pits were opening beneath the guards, burying them to their necks and then sealing back over.

A flying woman with a spiked chain, a gal who was snapping her fingers and causing explosions, a guy with bone armor leaping around, guards talking about hearing a song and then keeling over, a short woman dropping people with a mere touch… it was insane. They’d known new Heroes might show up, but no one had expected the DVA to get so many powerful ones here so quickly. The tide was turning, yet the guards kept fighting. Death meant rewards for those they loved, and at this point it was either that or life in prison when the dust settled. To the end they would fight – not for Charles Adair, but for the families and loved ones they left behind.

*             *             *

One good punch to the temple, and the guard who had been firing off explosive charges from his fingertips was down on the ground. Their body armor made Zero’s job more difficult, but this was hardly the first group he’d fought to use such tricks. Their gear was good stuff, although not nearly on par with the protection of his own armor. Pulling off the helmets was mercifully easy, thanks to the fact that so few Supers ever thought to protect against someone attempting to do so. Once those were off, putting down his enemies was simple, especially as they panicked about being unable to use their abilities. That fear, the sudden sense of uselessness from losing their powers, was one of the many things his students trained hard to overcome. Powers or no, a Hero should never be truly helpless. Too bad for these guards, Charles hadn’t provided the same level of education.

As Zero turned to see who was next, a figure caught his attention. It was a man lacking any armor, sprinting through the battlefield with escape clearly his key intent. Instantly, all interest in the other guards fled Zero’s mind. Crispin. Crispin was here, alive, out in the open, and was obviously the reason so many of these goons were able to give Heroes a real fight. Crispin, the man who’d attacked Zero’s campus and killed one of his students, had a shot at freedom, however slender.

Without pause, Zero gave chase, superior strength and fitness making up for the extra weight of his suit. He’d warned Crispin in no uncertain terms what would happen if he left that cell. And if nothing else, Zero considered himself a man of his word.

*             *             *

Globe was slowing down. He was easy to track, still floating around the battlefield taking fire – no, drawing fire to keep it off his friends and fellow Heroes. The movements were losing speed though, the momentum wearing out. It was incredible that he’d survived this long, a testament to his focus and endurance. But sooner or later, everyone wore out. Globe would be no different.

Vince didn’t have a plan for what to do when he got there. No sudden inspiration or helpful plan dawned on him as he ran, leapt, and dodged his way through the madness. Maybe he was trying to get there to fight alongside Globe, or maybe he just wanted to say goodbye. It was a bridge he’d cross when he got there; the one thing Vince knew without question or hesitation was that he had to reach his father. This might very well be the last chance he ever had to see the man in person, and it wasn’t one he would let slip through his fingers.

A guard stepped into Vince’s path. Blood on the knuckles, deep footsteps left in the grass – either a strongman taking heavy steps or someone with enhanced density, most likely. Vince played the odds, dodging the guard’s clumsy punch before landing one of his own, nestled against the sternum and pointed upward. The kinetic blast from Vince’s fist sent the guard sailing overhead until he landed in a heap out of sight. Vince didn’t bother to see if he was coming back; there were already more guards in the way, more obstacles trying to bar Vince from his father.

An unfocused electrical blast dropped two of them, but a third raced toward Vince. His attack was cut off quickly as a figure clad in bones slammed into the guard, slicing and punching too fast to track. In seconds, the guard was a bleeding heap on the ground and Vince was staring at a familiar face.

“Chad.”

He was standing between Vince and Globe. Perhaps a coincidence, although Vince wasn’t too sure. Normally, Chad was the most reasonable man in the world. It should have been a simple matter to explain things and get him on the right side. Unfortunately, Chad had lowered his emotional controls earlier in the day, a fact he’d been open about. So it was unnerving, but not surprising, when Vince made out the twisted expression of rage barely visible under Chad’s jutting bones.

“Chad, it’s not what you think.” Vince still had to try. It was the right thing to do. It was what his father would want. “There’s a lot you don’t know, stuff I just found out and we really don’t have time to go into on the battlefield. The important part is this: Globe isn’t the bad guy.”

“Did he still kill Intra?” There was fury burning in those eyes, deep and painful and far past the point of reason.

Lying was a real temptation, but lying was what had gotten them all here in the first place. “Technically yes, but he was being manipulated. They both were.”

“It doesn’t matter. He took my dad away from me. He’s the reason I grew up hearing my mom cry through the walls every year on the anniversary of Intra’s death. Globe killed the first Intra. It’s only fair that the new one pay him back for that.” Chad turned from Vince, his eyes on Globe, and started to move.

Vince blasted off the ground, doing a quick horizontal leap to get in front of Chad. “No. He’s fighting off too many people right now. He can’t deal with someone that might be immune to his power. I won’t let you do this, Chad. You’d be hurting an innocent man.”

Tension rippled between them, a small island of peace among the dropped bodies and fighting nearby. Finally, Chad took a step back – not to give ground, but to put himself in a proper fighting stance. “Then it seems we are at an impasse, Vince.”

“I don’t want to fight you.”

“That’s a wise decision, and will make getting past you much easier,” Chad replied.

Taking a step of his own, Vince raised his fists and locked eyes with his classmate, fellow dorm resident, and friend. “I don’t want to. Doesn’t mean I won’t, though. I’m truly sorry about what happened to your dad, but I can’t let you hurt mine.”

“Son of Globe versus the Son of Intra. Well, I can’t say I wasn’t curious. Come on, Vince. Let’s see who really wants this victory more.”

307.

The trouble with fighting Chad wasn’t that he was impossibly powerful; Roy was stronger, Sasha had been faster, and Nick possessed a keener tactical mind. The issue was that he was so damn adaptable. It made finding a good strategy difficult, especially since few options would work more than once. Vince could darken the area around them, but that would leave him vulnerable while barely inconveniencing Chad, thanks to his enhanced senses. Attacking with kinetic strikes would leave Vince both vulnerable and in melee range, a very dangerous place to be. Absorbing kinetic constantly would cut off most of Chad’s attack options, but it would leave Vince unable to return any damage. Even if Vince was willing to play his most dangerous card, absorbing all the kinetic energy in Chad’s body, it probably wouldn’t work. Chad could will his blood to move even without the force of his heart.

Worst of all was the fact that Chad clearly had no intention of giving Vince time to get his bearings. He raced in, sending a bone-spike kick that would have wrecked Vince’s legs if it connected. Thankfully, the bone-armor slowed Chad down. Not as much as Vince might have liked, but enough to let him dodge. Vince returned the favor by firing off a quick blast of lightning, managing to catch Chad in the shoulder. It was a smaller shock, meant to stun at the most, in hopes of bringing him to his senses.

To Vince’s surprise, the jolt may as well not have happened. Chad didn’t lose a step as it hit. He charged in, swinging hard as Vince did all he could to dodge. Blocking was possible only if Vince was absorbing kinetic, and right now he was focused on trying to do some damage. With a lucky dive to the left, Vince got clear momentarily and hit Chad with another bolt, this one packing substantially more juice. The hit caused Chad to pause for a moment, if that, before he stormed Vince again, no sign of pain or weakness from the shocks apparent.

“When did you become lightning proof?” Vince switched to absorbing. The onslaught was coming faster now as Chad found a rhythm. Blows smacked ineffectually against Vince’s skin, adding to his already impressive kinetic stockpile, until he saw an opening and managed to get a few feet clear from Chad.

“When one of our professors beat me with it,” Chad replied. “I am always learning, from victory and defeat, so it became obvious years ago that I needed a way to deal with electricity. Once it enters my body, it briefly becomes part of my nervous system, and with enough preparation that means I can control and discharge the energy before it hits anything vital.”

“I wasn’t actually expecting an answer.” Was he lying? Maybe it was a bluff to keep Vince from turning up the power and hitting him with enough force to bring Chad down.

“I know. But fighting you is wasting precious time, so I hope that if you see how pointless it is, you might give up.” Something like a chuckle bubbled from Chad’s throat. “What a silly notion. These emotions truly are clouding my thoughts if I entertained the idea that you could be convinced to stand down.”

Another rush, but this time Vince was ready. Summoning the last of Thomas’s energy, he created a giant orange hand between him and Chad, wrapping the latter in its clumsy fingers and hurling him upward, into the sky. The only time Chad was vulnerable, the only time he couldn’t completely dodge or counter, was when he was airborne. Militia had shown them all that, and Conrad had proven it. Even without the ground at his feet, Vince didn’t trust Chad not to counter more lightning. For his one shot, the best option Vince had was the oldest, truest one in his arsenal.

The air burned as Vince let loose a massive torrent of fire aimed directly for Chad. It should be enough to wound him, to slow him down and create more openings for attack. He could have done more, could have gone hotter, but Vince wouldn’t risk killing a friend. The world had senselessly lost one Intra already, there was no reason to let history repeat itself.

Searing flames found their target, slamming into Chad and coating him in fire. Vince held the shot for as long as he dared before finally letting the flames die away. As the last of the embers faded, Chad was revealed. Arms in front of his face, the minor burns on his skin were already healing. It wasn’t enough. Vince couldn’t seriously injure Chad without putting his life at risk, and they both knew it was a line he wouldn’t cross. Chad’s arms moved aside as he descended, revealing a grim smile – a smile that said it all. Chad knew that the momentum of the fight was swinging in his favor. But suddenly, the smile vanished, and a panicked look came into Chad’s eyes.

That alone was terrifying. Even in the few times Chad allowed emotion to poke through, it was usually something like anger, or joy, or sadness. Never panic. What was out there that even could make Chad afraid?

Landing with a roll, Chad sprang to his feet, running toward Vince. Only now, he didn’t have his fists up. “Throw me again!”

“What?” The sudden shift had left Vince uncertain. If it had been a tactic to lower his defenses, it would have been pure genius.

“Throw me again, jump up with me, and punch me to the northwest!” There was something new in Chad’s voice, an edge Vince had never heard there before. Desperation?

Vince opened his mouth to ask more questions, but Chad grabbed him by the collar before he could. “If you have ever trusted me, if there was ever any real friendship between us, then do this right now. Every second matters.”

There was nothing else to say to that. Vince did trust Chad, even with his current judgment. “I’m out of the orange stuff, so I’ll carry you up and punch from there. Northwest?”

“Northwest,” Chad confirmed.

Not wasting a moment, Vince grabbed Chad under the arms and then blasted them both off the ground, high into the air. When they reached the apex of the leap, Vince pressed a fist into the most bone-fortified part of Chad’s back and let off a burst of kinetic energy strong enough to send him shooting through the air like a spiny-bullet. Much as he wanted to see where Chad was off to, all the bodies-flying-through-the-air business was drawing attention, and Vince had to shift to absorbing bullets as he plummeted back toward the earth. He landed cleanly, taking in the force of the impact, and found that he’d managed to move about five feet closer to Globe than he’d been when Chad derailed him.

Whatever Chad was doing, Vince hoped it went well for him, so long as it wasn’t about hurting Globe. Head down, Vince began running once more, firing off a round of lightning at the nearest group of guards in his path. With Chad out of the way, crossing the rest of the battlefield didn’t seem nearly so daunting.

308.

In a sea of guards wearing body armor, the Hero in the black costume didn’t stand out. The trail of bodies he was leaving behind him, on the other hand, were a different matter. Every guard in his way was dropped as he raced after the fleeing form of the amplifier, quickly and without hesitation. Supers that should have been able to put up a real fight were easily knocked aside, their powers never entering the equation. Anyone with a little sense could put it together: the guy was a neutralizer. They were rare Supers, especially ones of that caliber, but rare and strong was what one expected to find among Heroes.

The upside to knowing his power, however, was that it opened options to counterattack. While the armor he was wearing was clearly of fine quality, a high-caliber bullet from a strong enough gun could likely get through. Situations like this were exactly why the guard on his trail carried such an item. As a Super with an ability of enhanced physique and nothing more, this was a man who was used to having to outthink his enemies. That was also why he didn’t take a needless shot, instead staying on the Hero’s trail, hunting him, waiting for the perfect opportunity to present itself.

There weren’t many windows: this was a Hero who was used to dealing with countless opponents and knew to stay mobile. But sometimes when guards got in his way, the Hero slowed down. Not for long, just enough to deal with the hurdles before him. One encounter at a time, the trailing guard was gradually getting the Hero’s timing down. As the black-armored figure came upon a larger cluster of enemies, the guard knew this was his chance.

Dropping to a knee, he lifted the scope of his gun, letting out a breath to steady his nerves. One shot. The neck would be the weakest point of the armor, and a bullet there would take down pretty much any Super out there who lacked enhanced endurance. All of the guard’s focus went into his aim, lining up what would have to be a perfect shot.

That dedication proved to be his undoing, in the end. He never saw the bone-covered young man being hurled across the battlefield, didn’t notice his heavy landing or sudden sprint. It wasn’t until the last second that he even heard a noise: a single footstep at his side. The sound was the last he ever heard, as a blade made of bone sliced neatly through his own neck, sending his head tumbling down into his lap. Perhaps as a final action, or simply because his body tightened in surprise as the pain hit, the gun did manage to fire a single shot. It went wide, missing the Hero completely and opening a gaping wound in the chest of another guard.

Zero whipped his head around to see the source of the attack to find Chad next to a headless guard holding a giant gun. There were few things in the world that could have pried him from Crispin’s trail, but his godson standing over a corpse turned out to be one of them. Knocking out the last guard in his path, Zero turned and sprinted back to Chad.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But you need to do a better job of watching your rear. If I hadn’t seen him shadowing you when Vince threw me up in the air…” Chad trailed off, his eyes darting to and from the man he’d just killed. “Sorry, my emotions are a little unbound at the moment.”

“Vince threw you?” Zero looked around once more. A timely blast of fire alerted him to Vince’s position; the boy was on a direct path for Globe, clobbering anything that got in his way. Just like that, it all made sense. Most of the kids probably came for Crispin, but Chad would have turned up the minute he heard Globe’s name. If he and Vince crossed paths, they would likely have a firm disagreement on how to handle Globe, one that could easily lead them to blows. “I think I see now. You two had a fight, he got you into the air for an attack, and you noticed this guard sneaking up on me. I’m impressed, Chad. I thought you would have kept going after Globe and assumed I could handle this.”

A sniff. That was the sole giveaway of how hard the day was hitting Chad: a single sniff as he tried to wipe the blood from his arm-blade onto his uniform. He only succeeded in staining his sleeve. “I have spent my life wishing I could get revenge for my father’s murder, and trying to live up to his image. Truthfully, I thought it was the thing I cared the most about in the world, especially once Globe reappeared. But it’s not worth obtaining if it means burying someone else I love. Someone who has always been there for me – and my mother – from the very beginning. I couldn’t do that to her. And I’m not sure I could bear it either. So please, Blaine, be more careful. Even if you’re just my godfather, you’ve been the only flesh-and-blood dad I’ve had.”

Silently, amidst the blood and madness of the battle, Blaine pulled Chad in and hugged him, the spikey bones pressing against his armor. “I’m sorry. I let anger cloud my judgment and put myself at risk. It’s a bad habit I’ve had even since back in my Hero days. Right now, I am still the dean of Lander’s HCP, and as such it should be my main concern to see all of you, all of us, out of this safely.”

“Emotions do not lend themselves to practical decisions,” Chad agreed. “But perhaps they do show us what we prize above all else.”

“Then tell me, what do you want to do now? I might be able to get us to Globe, or we could keep chasing Crispin.” Dean Blaine released Chad from the embrace, taking a step back and looking him square in the eye. “Where do you think we should go?”

“Wherever will end this fight faster, or help keep our friends safe. I’m not thinking as well as normal, so I’ll trust your judgment. You lead, I’ll follow. At least this way someone can watch your back.”

Choosing duty to those depending on him over the desire for revenge. Dean Blaine couldn’t have been prouder if Chad was his own; the boy was already making better decisions than he did. Good. Those were the kinds of calls a Hero was supposed to make. If this was what the next generation was like, it might not be so scary to put the future in their hands. And given the scene laid out before them, it was hard to believe any of them could fuck things up as badly as his generation had.

“Helping the Heroes and ending the fight,” Dean Blaine said, scanning for opportunities. “Shelby is gone, Globe is under fire, and the guards show no signs of backing down no matter how much we throw at them. They are protecting the remains of the bunker, as if there’s something in there worth saving; that’s got to be why they won’t relent. Let’s find out what. If nothing else, it will be a good chance to put a dent in their numbers.”

“Are the two of us alone enough for that?” Chad asked.

“No. Not without undue risk. But I see some familiar faces not far off, so maybe we can get ourselves a little help along the way.” Dean Blaine pointed toward another section of the battlefield, one with a wealth of guards prone on the ground, the few still standing visibly frightened.

Chad, now looking pointedly away from the corpse he’d created, allowed himself a grim smirk. “Yes, I suppose they might be quite useful indeed.”

309.

Every breath was a struggle to draw. His lungs burned for air yet the act of taking it in was hellish. His body ached, his head was swimming, and even his very bones seemed somehow exhausted. Yet Globe kept on, halting bullets and a sonic blast meant to knock him from his platform. He wasn’t fighting for his life; that was an asset he’d expected to lose in return for what he gained this day. No, Globe was still hanging on for the simple fact that every shot aimed at him was one not sent toward the Heroes or his team. They were all coming so fast there was no time to counterattack, and even if he could, Globe doubted he still had the strength. This was all he could still give them: the remains of his life spent as a giant target. Tracking his people was impossible – the chaos was thick and Globe’s attention was set on defense. All he could do was hope that they were smart enough to escape while they could. When the truth came out, when everything was laid bare, they might still have lives. Pardons could be issued, reputations redeemed. But if they died on the battlefield, then that was as far as their stories went.

At least Clarissa was gone. That was a comfort. Never had Globe dared imagine that she would be convinced to leave early, but Clarissa herself had continually reminded him that the mission came first. It would have been nice, in another life, to see where things between them could go without all the Hero work, betrayal, and secrecy. Globe tried to picture that world, a life he could have – maybe should have – lived. It was a lovely picture, but there was one glaring flaw. For as much as Globe loathed all the things that had happened to him, the series of events had led to one shining piece of goodness: his son. Had Charles never tricked Globe into killing Intra, the fallen Hero and starving child would never have met in that alley. Vince would likely be long dead, and Globe’s life would be poorer for the absence, even if he didn’t know it.

That was the other place where Globe could find comfort as his stamina dwindled and the attacks grew steadily closer to connecting: Vince was safe. Safe, back at Lander, and hopefully celebrating a successful Intramurals with his friends. It pained Globe that he couldn’t be there to cheer for him, but Vince would go on to great things, even without his adopted father in the wings. He was a good boy who had grown into a good man, and if Globe had one regret in these final moments, it was that he wouldn’t be around to see the kind of Hero Vince would become.

A nearby explosion drew Globe’s attention. He tensed, ready to knock back any debris sent his way. Instead, only dirt was tumbling through the air, the consequence of someone in the battle punching another person into the ground, hard. Globe started to turn away, but a flash of silver made his heart drop. It couldn’t be. Plenty of Supers had unusual hair or eye colors, and even more people faked it. Just because it was that particular shade didn’t mean it was Vince.

The self-delusion lasted briefly, only until the cloud of dirt settled. There, standing amidst the fight, surrounded by guards who clearly didn’t appreciate the recent attack, stood Vince. He’d grown a little taller and broader in the shoulders, but there was no mistaking that stubborn, willful expression.

How? How had this happened? Sean wouldn’t… no, it was silly to waste time wondering. That boy and his friends had an almost supernatural knack for getting into trouble. What mattered wasn’t how Vince arrived, only that he managed to escape safely. Even as Globe had the thought, he realized that the guards were surrounding Vince, preparing to attack with multiple methods simultaneously. Whether they knew he was an absorber or had just decided to be cautious was up for debate; the impact such a strike would have, however, wasn’t.

At the sight of his son in danger, Globe found he didn’t care so much about the pain in his lungs or the aches in his bones. For some causes, there was always more to give.

*             *             *

“Joan, you should go now.”

Nick was still calm as he watched the madness, still peaceful. People were dying, some of them good people, but that was inevitable. The paths of fortune were not infinite; there was no version of today’s events that ended without bloodshed. At most, Nick could nudge probability to protect the people he loved first, and the other Heroes second. It was a cold, calculated decision, but even once back in his proper mind he wouldn’t feel guilt for it. This was the burden he’d chosen to bear: watching from the shadows, doing the things Heroes never could. If the fight continued going the way it was, then Nick would have to fill that role again before the day was done, and he would do so without hesitation.

“Go north through the woods so you don’t give away our position, then start knocking out as many of the guards firing on Globe as you can. He’ll probably need room to maneuver soon.”

She was gone before his words died, racing through and then out of the trees, weaving between the fights as fast as she dared. Clarissa looked to Nick expectantly. “And me?”

“You don’t need a head start. You can teleport as soon as the anchors are down, and I don’t expect them to last much longer. A pair of friends found one another, and with their mentors guiding them, they are preparing to make a true assault on the bunker. Charles must still be keeping the anchors stashed inside, otherwise at least one would have fallen by now. As soon as they’re found, you’ll be able to use your gift again. Of course, so will every other teleporter waiting to join the fray.”

“I’ll have to move fast to get Globe out before he’s captured, that’s what you’re saying.”

“If that’s your goal, then yes, you would indeed need to be quite fast. But the harder task might be convincing him to go. Assuming his son is any indication, I’m guessing Globe can be tiringly hard-headed, especially when it comes to self-sacrifice.”

The sigh from Clarissa’s lips spoke volumes. “You have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I have a pretty damn good idea. But we won’t get to talk about it. You need to move. Head to where Joan made her exit, and then wait for my signal. I’ll let you know the instant your power will work again. As soon as it does… well, we’ll see how the situation at hand looks when that moment comes. I trust you’ll know what the best move is. It’s your life, your team. Make the choices that feel right to you.”

Clarissa crooked an eyebrow. “You said before that I didn’t need to move ahead of time.”

“And at the time, you didn’t. But one person’s fortune took a turn earlier than expected, so I need you to not be here. Something is going to happen, and it’s not for you.” Nick finally turned to look Clarissa in the eyes, or do as good of a job as possible through his sunglasses. “I’ve got my own people to take care of, after all.”

Although she briefly hesitated, Clarissa didn’t bother protesting. They’d already bet a tremendous amount on Nick and his amplified power; there was no point in not trusting him now. Besides, so far none of her people were dead. How much of that was due to Nick’s power was impossible to quantify, but given the degree of fighting going on it was downright miraculous. As long as his way kept resulting in their people staying alive, she’d go along with it. Once her friends started dying, on the other hand, all bets were off.

Clarissa jogged off through the trees, following the trail Joan had left behind. She was barely gone for three minutes when a figure stumbled out of the fray, one without armor or weapons, a tired man who was clearly fleeing for his life. Nick’s vicious grin was meant for no one to see. It was an expression he’d have never shown to an audience.

Yet he still clung to the shadows, waiting.

Twisting the fortune of so many had led to someone taking notice of Crispin’s escape, someone with a dangerous grudge. Not far behind Crispin, another figure emerged, trailing him carefully. Even through the gray mask, Nick could easily recognize Alex, although this was his first time seeing the supposed-Jedi with murder in his eyes.

310.

What little remained of the bunker’s top floor became even less stable as a meaty fist burst through one of the southern walls. The impact was shocking; however, the guards had been expecting some manner of attack for a while now. They didn’t hesitate, unloading bullets, energy, one guard with enhanced strength even threw bits of rubble as hard as he could at the invader. It was an impressive assault, enough to wound almost any Super on the planet at the very least, if not kill them outright. The trouble, though, was that “almost” meant exceptions, and in this case it was one of the world’s most famous examples.

The figure kept on coming, pausing only long enough to widen the wall’s hole. He loomed over them, huge, muscular, and utterly unbothered by their attempts to slow him down. One of the guards finally took notice of the mask, hands shaking as he realized who they were trying to stop with something as paltry as powers and bullets. “Shit, is that… Titan?”

Behind Titan’s imposing figure, they could now see the fallen bodies of the dozen guards who had been trying to hold the perimeter. They were all in one piece, probably unconscious, although it was impossible to say from a glance. One thing that did become clear was that Titan wasn’t alone. Not far away was another man, shirtless and swinging a heavy bat as he dropped the last guard in his range. That done, the stranger waltzed up to Titan’s side, eyes on his newest batch of targets.

“Well boys, Titan here’ll probably tell you to throw down your weapons and surrender. But me, I’ve got a lot of frustration built up over the course of today, and I’d welcome more outlets for it. Your call.”

Two of the guards locked eyes, trying to think things through. The new guy was clearly a strongman as well, so while this pair would be tough as hell, they wouldn’t be able to do much against environmental abilities. If the last guard could turn the dirt into quicksand, then they might have a shot at getting away. It was, to be fair, the correct strategy to use against such a threat. Unfortunately, the guards had failed to properly assess the extent of the danger they were in.

A swift blow to the head dropped the man nearest the exit, with a pair of strikes taking out two more guards in rapid succession. The others turned in time to see the bone-covered blond man who had somehow snuck up on them. They spun to flee and found themselves staring at a Hero in black armor with a white circle on the front.

“See, this is why you use your bulk to make a distraction rather than go for a frontal assault with the team,” Titan explained as Dean Blaine and Chad worked their way through the surprised guards. “If we’d all come charging in, we consolidate into one threat. Going from multiple angles, especially with people as silent and well-trained as these two, gives us the advantage of surprise multiple times.”

“I never said your way wasn’t smart, I just pointed out that mine was more fun,” Roy countered.

With the last guard tumbling to the ground, the room was officially clear. Dean Blaine did a quick sweep of the halls to make sure no one was coming before addressing the group. “Right now, our primary goal is to find and neutralize the anchors so that the DVA can send reinforcements. This whole building is in tatters, so presumably the anchors are hiding somewhere below. Chad, we’ll be counting on you and your senses to help us find them. In the meantime, let Titan and Roy take the lead. They can withstand more punishment than us, so they’ll be the hammer we use to smash through while you and I act as daggers to strike those trying to slip past.”

“Sound plan,” Titan agreed. “But if I can make one suggestion: even if the boys don’t have masks on, we are still in an active crime scene. It might make more sense to start using their code names, just to be as safe as possible.”

“I suppose that would be smarter, especially as we go deeper into this place. Very well then: from here on, you will be Ettin and Intra, respectively. Any objections to that?”

Chad solemnly shook his head while Roy let out a whoop of laughter. “Can’t say a single one hops to mind. My first day out as Ettin.” He paused, surveying the carnage around them. “Honestly, it’s about how I imagined it.”

*             *             *

The group was drawing close as Vince rapidly cycled through his options. A jump was no good: that just made him a floating target instead of a standing one. The orange energy was used up, and while he could try the kinetic defense he’d used against Conrad, that probably wouldn’t do much against energy, explosions, sonic… a lot of things. Making the whole area go dark was probably his best shot, but he’d be defenseless as he absorbed the light. One lucky shot is all it would take. If Vince was going to bet on anything, though, luck seemed a good choice. Maybe somewhere out there Nick was putting in a good word with Lady Fortune.

Just as Vince was about the draw in the light, he noticed something strange. All of the guards around him froze in place, not even breathing. Then, without a word or a gasp, they tumbled silently to the ground. Once they hit, their breathing resumed, which was both worrying and a relief. Vince swung his head around, trying to figure out what Hero had given him a hand. It was no one with a cape or mask. Instead, Vince found himself staring up at a floating platform overhead, into the familiar face of a man he thought he’d lost at the age of thirteen.

“Been a while,” Vince said.

“That’s the trouble with being famous. Everyone always wants a piece of you, and it gets hard to make time for the people who really matter.” Despite the flippant words, Globe’s teeth were gritted as he fended off more attacks coming at him from behind. Saving Vince had cost him in terms of focus and effort; his already weary body was showing signs of extreme fatigue. “Had to be there when it mattered at least once, though. And I wanted to say I’m sorry. For having to fake my death, for what being my son brought down upon your head, for having to stay away, all of it. I had to tell you that, face-to-face, while I still could. All of the horrible things that Chuck caused, the pain he created, the terrible direction he took my life in, you were the bright spot in that darkness. Whatever happens today, whatever comes out of this, with you as a Hero at least I know I’m leaving the world in good hands.”

Using a controlled jump, Vince leapt up onto the platform, landing only a few feet away from Globe’s shaking form. Carefully, Vince wrapped his arms around the hunched former Hero, shielding him with his body. “I’ll take everything kinetic. You handle the other stuff. There’s a healer over by the giant tree. If you can get us there, maybe we can get your stamina restored.”

“Hallow isn’t going to heal me. I’m a criminal. His job is to stop me, not lend a hand. Even if he believes I’m innocent, it’s his duty to take me into custody until that’s proven. Same for any Hero out here. They have to do what’s right by the law, and I won’t drag anyone else into my mess. It’s okay, Vince. This was always going to happen like this. Just jump down and get clear. I got to see you, to tell you how proud I am of the Hero you’ve become. That’s more than I deserved or ever dared hope for. Seeing you escape safely will be enough.”

More attacks were hitting the platform, Globe halting them before they drew close to either of them. He wasn’t going to bend on this, and Vince knew it. Globe was going to die on this platform. He’d probably planned it that way all along.

“Father, with all due respect, you’re trying to take the easy way out. And that’s not the kind of man you taught me to be. Heroes keep fighting, especially when it’s the hardest, because we have to. That’s what it means to take on that title, and the responsibility that comes with it.” Vince waited a few seconds longer until there was a lull in the attacks. Globe had just turned to look up at his son when Vince struck, a single surprise punch to the jaw. Hard as Globe was working to be aware of external threats, it never occurred to him to expect an attack from Vince. In his exhausted state, the hit knocked Globe out clean, sending him limply to the ground.

Wasting no time, Vince scooped him up and leapt away from the platform before the next volley of strikes hit.

If no Hero was going to help, then Vince would turn elsewhere. He knew she was here, knew as soon as he saw the wave of white uniforms washing over the battlefield that she’d be among them. She was always there, charging headlong into fights, one of the few people Vince had absolute faith and trust in. He just had to find her before everyone figured out where Globe had gone to.

All in all, though, it wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined introducing Camille to his father.

311.

The pain hit before Crispin ever saw his attacker. A pinch in his neck, and suddenly Crispin’s legs went out from under him. His body refused to cooperate. Slammed to the ground, he tried to force himself to stand, then to crawl, and finally to move at all. Nothing. It was like he’d been paralyzed with no warning or cause. Only when he saw the white boots and pants step into his field of view did Crispin put it together: one of the kids had found him, apparently one with the power to somehow steal control of someone’s body.

“I never thought it would be me. I had to come, had to, but in the back of my mind I never imagined I’d ever get the chance to lay a hand on you. Not with so many others who are so damn strong burning to bring you down.”

Movement, but not the boots. Crispin’s field of view was changing as he began to rise from the grass. This kid was lifting him up somehow; telekinesis seemed the likeliest explanation but didn’t account for the paralysis. From the look in this stranger’s eyes, the answer probably wouldn’t matter. Crispin had a feeling he very well might not live long enough to figure out the mystery.

“You don’t know me, I’m sure.” Pulling away the gray mask on his head, the student revealed a plain face and brown hair: no distinguishing Super features, or really anything remarkable. “I’m not someone who stands out very often, especially when I pal around with people who are inherently remarkable. It took me a while to get used to that – to go from being the lone Super in my town, the special one, to being just another person with abilities in a class full of those with better powers. I’m not the guy who stayed at the top of the class for years, or the woman with a mind for subtlety and a power that could bring even the mightiest to their knees, or even the son of a famed villain burdened with tremendous power. I’m just some kid who thinks he’s a Jedi. A background figure. A knockoff. But there is one thing that sets me apart.”

Crispin was fully upright now, looking directly into those burning eyes. Naked hatred stared back at him, untainted and uncompromising. Given his past, it wasn’t the first time Crispin had seen that expression, although this was the first time he’d been completely helpless for the experience.

“What makes me different is very simple: I hate you more than any of the others. They all lost Sasha thanks to your attack, but I failed her. My weakness, my hesitation, that is why she had to protect me. I’m the reason Sasha died. And I’ve made a certain amount of peace with that. I’ve stopped trying to summon her force ghost, at least. No amount of peace will let me forgive you, though. Or myself. One thought, and I can sever the nerves I’m pinching. Maybe even take out a more important cluster and get rid of silly little things like breathing. There are no witnesses. No one paying attention. When this ends, no one will dig too deeply upon finding your corpse. They’ll just say a prayer of thanks that you’re gone. I can kill you right here and now, with no consequences.”

The young man was only inches away from Crispin’s face, near enough that he could feel the breath of his harsh words. His body still refused to twitch below the neck; whatever nerves this guy was pinching, the grip wasn’t wavering. Crispin was well and truly helpless.

“I’ve got the means, the opportunity, and more motive than anyone could ask for.” Despite being so close, the student leaned in a few more inches, voice briefly morphing to a fierce whisper. “And I’m not going to do it. You understand that? We are better than you, Crispin. We only kill when we have to, and weak as I might be compared to the others, I still have more than enough strength to take you down alive. No matter what you’ve done, no matter how much I want it, I’m doing this the right way, because that’s what it means to be a Hero. To live up to the standard she set in front of me. You might be able to kill us when given a whole army to wield, but you can’t drag us down, make us worthless. Turn us into something like you.”

A wave of relief ran through Crispin’s veins. Another one of the noble sort, thank goodness. Back to jail then, under better guard no doubt. It would still only be a matter of time until someone needed him again. Perhaps it would be the very same government that held him, faced with a threat so dire they were willing to play ball to get an amplifier’s help. When one had such an asset, using it was inevitable. At conservative estimates, he could be free in as few as –

Crispin never heard the gunshot. The bullet had already torn through the side of his skull and let pieces of brain out to see the world. To Alex, it was almost like a magic trick. One minute he was staring at a defiant prisoner, the next he was levitating a corpse. Dropping the body, Alex spun around, ready to fight back against whoever was attacking. He’d been distracted, stupidly absorbed in his moment with Crispin, not paying enough attention to the thoughts and world around him. By the time Alex mentally located the source of the shot, the gunman was already stepping out from his hiding place among the trees.

“Nick? How the hell are you here?”

“A wonderful question, one that neither of us particularly has time to answer. I’m sure the others still need help. It’s a circus over there, and you’re more suited to Super combat than I.”

It was technically true, but not nearly enough to make Alex walk away from what had just happened. “Did you shoot him?”

“Expertly, if I do say so myself.” The gun was still in Nick’s hand, he wasn’t even trying to hide what he’d done.

“But… why? I had him. He was captured. Crispin was going back to jail, for good this time.”

One step at a time, being sure not to seem aggressive, Nick made his way over to look down at Crispin’s body. “I’m glad you believe that. And I’m proud of you for not killing him. Those are the sorts of things we should expect from Heroes: taking the high road, putting justice over revenge. Despite what you may think about yourself and your place in our class, Alex, I would wager you’re going to make an excellent Hero one day. You can trust me on that. I don’t gain anything by lying to you, so why would I waste the effort?”

“If you think all of that, then why did you just murder Crispin in cold blood?” Alex demanded.

At last, Nick turned from the cooling body, his sunglasses pointing directly at Alex. “Because unlike you, I am not a Hero. I’m not bound by the trust of society or the expectations of my peers. I’m the same thing I’ve always been: a bad man who looks after his own interests first and foremost. The thing is, my friends have become part of my interests, and this scum tried to take them away with that attack on Lander. Do you know what happens to people who try to steal from a child of Vegas?”

Nick didn’t wait for an answer. Instead he dropped to a squat and pressed the gun to the front of Crispin’s head. “Exactly what you just saw.” Another shot rang out, and then two more. “Just in case he’s got some amplified healer waiting in the wings. Never do things by half-measures, especially killing. A lesson from my aunt that I long ago took to heart.”

The strangest part of this was that despite probing as deep as he could, Alex couldn’t feel any of the emotions he was expecting in Nick. No anger, no hatred, not even worry or fear. This was entirely mundane to him, a simple task to be carried out, like throwing trash in a dumpster. For the first time, he really understood why the HCP had kicked Nick out so readily when all he’d done was help a friend. It wasn’t that action alone; it was the readiness and ease with which Nick had undertaken it. He was a man who could – and would – do anything to see his goals accomplished, and while that certainly made him effective and terrifying, no one with that mindset should be trusted to hold the mantle of a Hero.

“I have to tell people about this. You know that, right? I can’t just let you kill someone and walk away.” Alex was tense, ready to strike if Nick turned that gun toward him.

“By all means, tell whoever you like. I’ll tell them I saw him preparing to catch you off-guard and acted quickly to save your life. It’s unlikely anyone will believe me, but there’s even less of a chance they’ll care. At worst, I expect a slap on the wrist. It’s more likely I’ll get a party in my honor. So relax, Alex. I’m not going to hurt you. Go back and help the others.”

To prove his point, Nick tucked the gun in the waistband of his pants, holding up both hands to show he was now unarmed. Without turning, he began to back away, fading into the trees. “And if you need me, today, tomorrow, at any point down the line, I’ll be here. Waiting in the shadows.”

312.

The biggest fault of Heroes was that they were exceptional, and as consequence, they tended to look for exceptional tactics or solutions. To hide meant using illusions, or mind-control, or shifting form. Outside of those trained in Subtlety, few Heroes would think to consider a mere change of clothes as enough to hide from their amazing powers. And yet, it was a strategy that worked when employed properly. One more guard in an ocean of them. One more man in body armor that hid his form and a helmet that obscured his face. Another pointless drone in the swarm, nothing more than a target to be knocked down.

Charles Adair was not a man born to feel exceptional. Not with Phil in his life, Phil who could seemingly do anything, even before he got his incredible ability. Phil who was brave and bore their father’s wrath to spare his little brother. Phil who was determined and came out on top in a class so strong they would go on to be called legends. Phil who was kind and loyal, making it impossible to properly hate him for setting such an impossible bar. There were days Charles had resented his older brother, but they were long past. Now, Charles could see that living in such a shadow had been a gift. Without the illusion of being exceptional, Charles was forced to find other ways to succeed. He had to think like a human, leaning on strategy, forethought, and trickery. In the end, those were assets Charles prized more dearly than mere power.

After all, Phil might have been the one who protected them in the short term, but Charles was the one who found a way to keep the family safe for good. True, it had meant hiding his gift, not letting anyone, even his loving brother, know about his power for two entire years after the murder. But it was a sacrifice worth making. Even when he showed them, he never let on that if he got close enough, he didn’t actually need physical contact to transform something. It rarely mattered in the HCP or his life as a Hero. The sole time it had really been an issue was when he laid his hand on a sealed bottle of whiskey and turned a substantial amount of it into poison. Phil got adoration and respect, but Charles got results.

Today was different, though. Charles was not a madman or a megalomaniac. He fully understood that he was capable of losing, and that was exactly what had happened here today. Shelby was gone, the research was stolen, his entire enterprise was burning around him. The guards didn’t know it, but they were fighting for nothing at this point. They had no path to victory. All was lost, and had been for some time now. The only reason Charles kept them going was for the distraction. He needed the chaos, needed the identically clothed bodies to give him cover. If it was all over, then he still had one thing left to do. One more task for the unexceptional brother before he could rest.

Gun still carefully holstered, Charles raced across the battlefield, following the streak of silver hair bounding around. In his arms was Phillip Adair, knocked unconscious, betrayed by his own willingness to trust yet again. Charles had watched it happen from the sidelines, waiting patiently for his opportunity. Hopefully it would come soon.

Some matters could only be settled between siblings.

*             *             *

Many miles away, Alice finally came to a stop. She needed to rest, if only for a few seconds, and the empty stretch of land seemed a good place for it. Nowhere for anyone to hide or sneak up on her from, no tall structures where a sniper might be able to line up a clean shot at her or her mom. Even as she fled, the Subtlety training in her refused to stop whispering, reminding her of vulnerabilities and places for potential ambush. It didn’t matter that no one else knew where she was, or even that she had Shelby Adair in her possession. Alice was on guard, ready and waiting to deal with any poor stupid bastard that dared try and take her mother away again.

It was Alice’s awareness that let her react quickly when the new figures showed up, one vanishing as quickly as it appeared while the other remained behind. Alice was about to slam the intruder to the ground with enough gravity to break more than a few bones when she realized who it was. No, who it looked like. She could take nothing for granted, not now, not when she finally had Shelby in her grasp.

“Not one fucking step or I’ll shatter you.” Alice was glaring, only looking away for brief instants to make sure she wasn’t being surrounded.

“Whoa, calm the hell down.” Sean Pendleton put his arms up, trying to calm Alice. “Oh… right. You’re not sure I’m really me.” He was staring at Shelby, visibly restraining himself from moving closer. “Fine, I guess this is as good a teaching moment as any. How do you discern if I’m the real Professor Pendleton or not?”

Steadying herself, Alice thought it through. This wasn’t some unforeseen possibility; it was a situation she’d been trained for. “First, show me your power. Three seconds of it, no more.”

“Good start,” Sean said. He shifted in form, turning to a cloud of fog for precisely three seconds before reforming. “That all?”

“No. Powers can be duplicated as easily as faces when dealing with mimics, so next I want you to tell me something only the real Professor Pendleton would know.”

“Shit, take your pick. You went dream-diving to find out your mother’s situation, taking Nick and Mary with you twice this year. You aced last year’s Subtlety final by pairing with Will Murray and tricking the rest of the class. You spent near days on end in the Blonk after finding out what Charles did to Shelby. You cheated on your tailing exam by–”

“Fine, that’s enough.” Alice waited, thinking it through. “A powerful enough telepath might have been able to get all that, but the odds of a mimic stealing Professor Pendleton’s image and finding a telepath to scour his mind in the brief time since I left Lander are staggeringly low. It’s far more likely that you’re the real thing, although that still doesn’t explain how you’re here.”

Lowering his arms at last, Sean started forward, eyes on Shelby. “I called in some favors. As soon as I realized what Nick was doing, I knew it would be a shitshow. So I had a few friends with tracking and teleportation abilities lend a hand.”

“And you knew to track me how?”

“I didn’t. I was tracking Shelby. Once she was out of that bunker, my friend got a lock on her. After that, it was just a matter of hopscotch-teleporting behind and waiting for you to stop.” Finally reaching Alice’s side, Sean laid a gentle hand on Shelby’s forehead, pushing the blonde hair from her face as his eyes grew moist. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting, hoping to see her again. Once I found out about the attack, I knew my only job was going to be looking after her.”

The soft crunch of a lone footstep behind them was the only warning before the voice. “An excellent idea; unfortunately, you weren’t the only one to have it.” Professor Blake Hill was now standing near them, expression inscrutable as he stared at his lost sister, half-brother, and fearsome niece.

“I suppose it was to be expected. Family does tend to think alike.”

313.

In the utter bedlam, Vince had managed to slip into the crowd a few times. Tracking Globe as he was carried through chaos was a harder task than keeping watch on a big floating platform, but unfortunately without that platform to draw attention there were suddenly a lot more unoccupied eyes scanning to find him. There was no plan; Vince had long ago passed what little amount of forethought he’d put into the situation. He only knew two things at this point: Globe was the best chance he had of getting everyone out safely, and Camille might be the only person present with both the ability and willingness to put Globe back on his feet. Finding her was paramount.

Risking another jump, Vince went airborne briefly, searching the area for any telltale signs of Camille – a series of downed guards, a white uniform on a small body darting about, Thomas hunched near the ground while another student held his neck…

That last one wasn’t hypothetical: it was the exact scene Vince’s gaze fell upon just before his descent began. Wasting no time, he barreled forward, barely dodging a few fists and feeling some unseen attack slice his leg. The wound wasn’t crippling, thankfully, it only felt like it was. Bad as it hurt, it had nothing on living for days with body nearly consumed with burns, so Vince was easily able to push the discomfort to the side as he charged for all he was worth.

Finally, he broke through a pair of guards with a well-placed electrical blast and came to a staggering stop next to Camille and a newly-healed Thomas, who was already rubbing his neck where her hands had been. It wasn’t until this exact moment that Vince realized he was nearly out of breath; he’d been in a dead sprint since the moment he grabbed Globe off the platform.

“Camille… please… heal… him.” Not the elegant explanation detailing the complexities of the situation Vince might have wanted to provide, but to be fair, even with lungs full of air he probably wouldn’t have been able to spit everything out.

Her surprise at seeing him suddenly appear turned to stone-faced resolve as she noticed the man Vince was holding. “That’s Globe, isn’t it? Vince, I’m not sure that’s a smart idea. I know you still see him as a good man, but he is a criminal. All of this… his attack is the one that started it. And he is incredibly dangerous. What you’re asking might even be a crime itself.” Camille paused, looking over to Thomas with an unspoken question, receiving a brief nod as the only reply.

She leaned down, hand drawing near until it was only inches from Globe’s forehead. “But if being in actual battle last year taught us anything, it’s the importance of trusting and relying on our team – or our class in this case. So really make sure you know what you’re doing, be certain you’ve thought it through as a Hero, not a son, and then make a call. We trust you, I trust you, just like you trusted me to be open to the idea. Make sure this is the right choice for everyone.”

A shout went up from nearby, and a large cluster of body-armored clad people headed in their direction. Almost at the same time, Camille caught sight of some costumes shifting toward their direction as well. While Vince had done the best job he could in getting Globe away from attention, among this many Supers it had always been an impossible task.

Vince heard them too, but he tried to put the sounds out of mind for the moment. Instead, he focused on Camille’s question: was this really the best thing for all of them? The way Alice broke everything down, it seemed as though Graham DeSoto was open to the idea of Globe not being a villain. If Vince brought Globe to Graham right now, he could turn him over. Once arrested, Globe would no longer have to be afraid of the Heroes, and would only be under threat from guards. The Heroes might even be obligated to get him clear or keep him safe. But that scenario depended on a lot of guesswork, with countless factors that could go wrong. And taking Globe off the field would place the attention of the guards squarely on the Heroes, putting more of them at risk as the fight intensified. Bringing Globe back, however, only added one more Hero to the battlefield. Assuming all of it was true, that Vince hadn’t been duped again and his father really was the man Vince thought, would he be enough to make a difference? There was no telling. No matter what he did, Vince was guessing, betting on futures that may or may not come to pass.

With no way to think his way through this, Vince decided to take the advice of Jeremiah, the Hero he’d chosen to learn under: he got out of his own way and simply listened to his intuition. And on that front, there was no conflict or uncertainty.

“This is a rough situation. A lot of good people are in danger, and I’m not sure what’s going to get it settled short of massive death. I can’t promise you that this will fix everything. The most I can say is that I think if anyone, anywhere, can get us to a better solution, it’s Globe. I can’t make a case for it, I don’t have the facts to say why. All I can tell you is that whenever he was in my life, I always knew things would be okay. When he showed up, it was like the world worked the way it was supposed to, if only for a little while. I know that’s crazy, I know it’s personal affection getting mixed up with tactics. But if I have to bet on what gets us through this, I’d put all I had on this man every single time.”

“It isn’t crazy, Vince.” Thomas had moved position, he now had his back to them as he faced the people converging on their location. “That’s how people are supposed to feel when they see a Hero arrive on the scene. Camille, I’m not sure how long I can give you. Against this many, I may not last more than a few seconds. So make sure and use those seconds well.”

Clapping his hands together, Thomas summoned a dome of orange energy over them. He wasn’t Globe – he couldn’t fend off all those attacks for very long, if at all. But he was still fighting to claim the title of Hero, and that meant giving everything he had to what was right, even if all he had could do nothing more than steal a few extra moments for his friends.

Not wasting time, Camille put her hand on Globe’s forehead. “He’s got a hell of a concussion, but I’ll heal that last. No sense waking him before he’s ready. I can’t fix the arm, unfortunately. The most I could do would be to heal the wound where it was cut, and that’s if it was fresh. You need someone stronger than me for regeneration.”

“It’s fine. He’s had one arm for all the time I’ve known him and it’s never slowed him down.” Vince hadn’t even noticed the fake arm fall away when Globe was knocked unconscious; his entire mind had been set on the task of finding Camille.

The orange dome around them began to shake, and Thomas fell to a knee, hands still glowing and held aloft. When he spoke, it was with gritted teeth and unshakable determination. “They’re not… holding… back.”

No, they wouldn’t be. The guards didn’t care that Globe was in the care of students, and the Heroes might not even know. They were attacking full-force because for all they knew he was still a dangerous criminal, one with a staggering amount of power. More attacks came, cracks appearing in the orange dome. They healed quickly, but at a glance it was obvious that Thomas couldn’t keep the pace up much longer. Once that barrier went down, there would be nothing to protect them from the onslaught. Their only hope now was Globe. Since he’d gotten them into this, it only seemed fitting that Vince put his money, or rather his body, where his mouth was.

“Thomas, open a hole. Just long enough for me to slip through. I’m going to take some of the pressure off you.” Carefully setting Globe’s head down, making sure Camille’s hand never lost contact, Vince rose from the ground.

Before he could go, Camille grabbed his leg with her free hand. “I know you well enough to realize that nothing I say will stop you from doing something this stupid, so at least be careful out there. Those people aren’t students, and the Heroes might not even know you’re on their side. Healers can do a lot, but we can’t fix death.”

“I’ll be careful,” Vince assured her. “I’m not charging in blind or putting myself needlessly at risk. We have to hold the line here, otherwise we’re all in serious danger. I’m not trying to beat everyone; I just have to buy enough time for you to fix Globe. Keep everyone away from a single target.” He smiled, sudden and unexpected despite the dire situation. “At least I’ve gotten to practice it once before.”

“You aren’t brainwashed this time, though.”

“Don’t have to be. Last time, Nick showed me an illusion of someone I loved and wanted to protect, but I’ve already got more than one right here.” Taking a deep breath, Vince approached the edge of the orange barrier, giving a quick gesture to Thomas that he was ready.

“Sooner or later, the world is going to have to learn not to fuck with the people I love. Might as well be today.”

314.

“I want to be very clear about this up front, I will kill you if you try and take her from me.” Alice tightened her grip on Shelby, even as she turned slightly to keep her mother’s body out of Blake Hill’s line of sight.

For his part, Blake didn’t seem as intimidated as she hoped. “Will you? Those are big words, Alice, but killing isn’t as easy as the Sims make it seem. You think that the first life you take can be that of someone who helped train you, guide you, and is in fact family? I’m not so convinced. Whether you realize it or not, you take after Shelby. She was cursed with much too kind of a heart to do something like that, a curse she passed on to you.”

“What about me, Blake? Think I won’t see it through?” Sean Pendleton was moving too, situating himself between his half-brother and his niece. Turning into fog wouldn’t do much to protect Alice or Shelby from Blake’s power, but at the very least it would give him another target to focus on. That might prove to be enough, if it came to that.

“Oh no, I have no doubt you’ll kill me, with cause or without. I’m surprised you made it through this many years of teaching together without putting poison in my coffee.” Blake was relaxed, much too at ease for a situation like this.

“I owed Blaine a favor, and paying him back by killing another professor would have been a dick move. Self-defense, on the other hand, is a whole other matter.”

Things were rapidly building toward a fight, and while Alice was ready to throw down if needed, that would put her mother at risk. “Let’s try and talk about this for a second. The only thing we all agree on is we want Shelby to be safe, right? We’re all after the same goal for her, in which case we don’t need to go after one another’s throats. In fact, it would stupidly put her at risk for nothing more than the sake of old grudges and whose fault it is that we reached this point. I’ve got news for you both: I’ve seen what happened, I know the whole story, and I can say with total certainty that it doesn’t fucking matter who deserves the blame for her condition. It was a bad situation, and a hard call was made. Rather than waste more of her life pissing and bickering, why don’t we focus on getting her somewhere safe until she can be cured?”

“Noble a sentiment as that is, it’s not an option yet.” Blake was still standing in the same space, but his footing had changed, as though he were bracing for something. Whether he was getting ready to counter an attack he expected or send one himself was a mystery Alice couldn’t crack yet. “Bad news, I’m afraid. While your version of the procedure is the best we’ve seen, and certainly appears to be holding stable, there’s no guarantee it will last. Others have failed before you. Until we are truly sure the process will work, we can’t risk subjecting Shelby to it. There have been too many false starts over the years, and she’s too delicate to endure another failure.”

Information was currency. That was an idea Professor Pendleton had drilled into Alice’s head time and time again. Information was precious, vital, and could be spent in times when paper money had no value whatsoever. It should never be given away without purpose; one had to look at it the same way they viewed spending their limited funds. In this particular case, Alice was doing just that as she realized there might be a way to buy a peaceful resolution by spending some of her most precious information.

“It does work. We know for sure, and Shelby is the one who told us.” Alice adjusted her grip on her mother, making sure she was tucked away and secure. If Alice had to make a break for it, she couldn’t afford to be slowed in any way. “Mom is still having visions; I’m betting you already know that. What you might not realize is that she’s seeing how the world will be impacted by Powereds becoming Supers, all the different paths we might go down. Thing is, in none of them does the procedure stop working. She only sees the potential futures, right? The likeliest ones? Well, there is no future in which we go back to being Powereds. We have the cure. We can bring her back.”

“Charles had the cure, and I doubt even that’s true anymore.” Despite his words, Blake looked a bit surprised by the news. Whether he believed Alice or not was another matter, but she was certainly telling him a tempting tale.

“We’ve got all of his data,” Sean said. “Already loaded it into the HCP computers and sent it to the DVA. Maybe this was how it always happened: we found out the secret of turning Powereds to Supers, gave it to the government, and in doing so released the procedure to the world. She’s telling the truth, Blake. Shelby’s salvation is at hand. The only thing keeping her from it is you.”

The three of them stood quietly, the only sound aside from their breath was the wind blowing through the clearing. At long last, Blake took a lone, symbolic step backward. “That would all be lovely, if I could trust you. The trouble is, I’m dealing with professional liars telling me exactly what I want to hear. I’m sure you can appreciate how that leaves me with a healthy amount of skepticism. The reasonable course would be to turn her over to me until you can prove your story, but I can already tell from the looks in your eyes that you won’t agree to that. I will admit that Alice is right about one thing: none of us wants to see Shelby hurt. For that reason, I’m going to propose a compromise: Alice can take Shelby and fly away. Sean, you and I will settle things between us, and whoever is left standing will be free to track her down again.”

“Are you out of your mind? I’m not going to–”

“Alice, go.” Sean popped his knuckles, then his neck as he put a touch of distance between himself and Blake. “He doesn’t trust me, and now he thinks I’ve turned you against him. This is something I have to deal with – something I was always going to have to deal with. You two are more important than either of us. Get Shelby clear, and trust that I’ll be the one to find you again. Last I checked, you’re still my student, and that’s an order.”

“When I catch up, we can talk over our options,” Blake added. “Without this one whispering in your ear, I hope you’ll be more open to reason.”

She looked between them, mouth opening more than once to protest, but each time Alice looked down to Shelby instead. With her training, it was almost too easy to tell that this was going to be a fight one way or the other. Right now, the most she could do was get Shelby clear. All these years training, all that work and pain and effort, and here she was, having to run away yet again. It was galling, infuriating, and part of her wanted to rebel. To stay, no matter what it cost. That was ego talking, however, and she recognized wounded pride no matter the mask it tried to wear. Alice had a job to do, a person to protect, and she had to see it through regardless of what path it required.

“You’re both idiots. It didn’t have to be this way. We had a real chance at coming back together.” With that, she took to the air, zipping through the sky and vanishing quickly.

Now that Alice was finally gone, the two men could look only to each other, waiting to see who would make the first move.

“Do you think she’s right?” Sean asked, studying Blake’s stance, ready for the slightest twitch of movement. “Think there was a way to get past everything that’s happened?”

“Not unless you’re willing to let me take Shelby, to find an actual safe place to keep her. Where do you think Alice will go? Who will she trust? The DVA, of course, because that’s how she’s been trained. The DVA, who might get around to letting Shelby have the procedure she needs, one day, if it’s convenient for them. The DVA, who equally may decide to bury the secret as deep as they can rather than risk changing the world. I won’t trust her to the whims of others, not ever again. But I also won’t hurt Alice any more than necessary when I take Shelby away.”

The last words set Sean’s teeth on edge. “I guess you’re right. With a mindset like that, we were never going to reach a common ground. If it helps, I’ll tell Shelby you died bravely. It’s not a lie you deserve, but it will help her take the loss better.”

There was no more warning than that before Sean Pendleton exploded into a cloud of fog that streamed directly toward Blake.

315.

This wasn’t sophomore year. It couldn’t be. Vince wouldn’t allow it to be. Back then, he’d been confused, tricked by illusions, but the core emotions he’d felt were his all along. That was what made seeing that video of himself so terrifying: the knowledge that while Nick had conjured a scenario to create a specific reaction, he hadn’t actually been in control over Vince. Everything Vince had done, everything he’d felt, that had all come from within. It was the first time Vince truly had to face the monster living inside him, the scared child going feral with anger over the idea of losing yet another person from his life. Now, when the stakes were real, he didn’t have the luxury of such unchecked aggression. That wasn’t how Heroes fought, wasn’t the way they treated life. Vince had to be in control, had to know what he was doing each step of the way and be at peace with it. Otherwise, he was exactly the kind of person Ralph Chapman had always suspected.

However, being in control didn’t mean Vince couldn’t still crib a few moves from his mad self’s playbook.

He stepped out of the orange dome led by a massive blast of fire, concealing the momentary break in defenses and setting the nearby grass and shrubs alight. The flames would create smoke, which would hopefully make him harder to hit, as well as provide disincentive for anyone to try and make a physical approach. When the flames cleared, he got a look at what they were facing for the first time. A dozen guards, most covering their faces to avoid getting burned but a few already lining up shots. Near the rear of the group were four Heroes, one tussling with the guards while the others were getting in position, staring at the dome. After the massive plume of fire, though, all eyes were at least partially on Vince.

It seemed a shame to waste such an opportunity, so Vince didn’t. Lifting his arm straight into the air, an action which made sure everyone even partially aware of him turned their gaze in his direction, Vince let off the most powerful flash he could build up in the span of a few seconds. It wasn’t going to be as effective as his usual attack since he hadn’t darkened the area to dilate their eyes first, but the screams of pain and hands rubbing faces confirmed that it had absolutely had an impact. This was the best shot Vince was going to get, and there was only one energy for the job. Digging deep, Vince summoned as much lightning as he could, memories of Lander East flashing through his mind. Against one Super, even one with enhanced endurance, this was too much, but spread it out among a dozen guards it shouldn’t put them at lethal risk. There was still a chance of it, though; electricity attacks were hardly a precise science. Because of that risk, Vince angled his unfocused, splintering attack away from the Heroes. It meant he wouldn’t get every guard, but it also ensured he didn’t accidentally take down any allies, even if they didn’t know he was on their side.

The blast sent a couple guards to the ground, although fewer than Vince was hoping for. Already several had begun to recover from the flash. One, a bigger guard who had never rubbed his eyes at all, was leaping over his fallen comrades on a direct charge for Vince. Large, unbothered by light or electricity – probably some manner of strongman type. Much farther back, another guard shook off the eye pain and turned into a blur as he raced toward Vince. Not great: two at once could be problematic if they were smart and worked together.

The two were briefly neck and neck as they ran at Vince, and then, suddenly, they weren’t. From out of nowhere another streak zipped in, slamming into the running guard and sending him sprawling to the ground. Vince didn’t recognize the woman who appeared briefly from within the blur – she paused to watch the speedster guard hit the ground then followed when he tried to escape – but he didn’t need to. She’d helped, and in this fight, he’d take all the friends who wanted to pitch in, unknown or not.

There was no time to call for her as she gave chase. The big guard had leapt over the flames easily and was just about in swinging distance of Vince. From the stance and technique, this fellow obviously had some training. It was not, however, enough to bridge the divide against someone who had spent the last four years practicing endlessly for exactly this sort of situations. Vince didn’t even bat an eye, he merely ducked the first swing, put a fist against the guard’s sternum, and said a silent prayer that the guard was as durable as he seemed. Otherwise, this was about to get very messy.

Luckily, Vince’s guess was right, and the kinetic blast sent the guard flying up into the air rather than blowing his heart out through his back. With him out of the way, Vince could see that many of the other guards had recovered and were learning from their predecessors’ mistakes, opting instead for ranged weapons. That was an easy enough threat to deal with: he could handle pure kinetic attacks. The trouble was that not every guard was grabbing a gun. One had picked up a stone that began glowing in his hands, another had eyes crackling with some form of red electricity, and a third was now holding what sure looked like a cat made of living super-heated metal. Energy powers and a summoner: that was a dangerous combination, especially when paired with bullets. His best chance was to cut off their ability to fire or fight by putting them on the defensive.

Another massive blast of flames, but this time it didn’t reach the guards. One had held up a hand and created a shield of blue light around them; the fire glanced off it harmlessly. Shit. Vince had caught them by surprise before, that was the only reason his attacks got through. With a defender of their own, this was going to be a much tougher battle.

Vince shifted to absorbing kinetic only seconds before the first gunshot, which was almost instantly followed by screams. For a moment, Vince thought his attack had gotten through, as one of the guards was completely engulfed in flames. Then he saw the next one shoot, and it all made sense. As soon as the trigger was pulled a fireball bloomed around him, a small bubble of concentrated inferno.

Casting his eyes about, Vince could just make out Lucinda near the edge of the clearing. She gave him a tired wave. Blood was on her uniform and she was leaning against a tree, visibly wounded. Even in her injured state, she was still trying to help as best she could. Many questions sprang to mind, such as how on earth she’d gotten here, but they would have to wait. Vince had a fight to deal with.

Unfortunately, just as the guards were getting scared, the Heroes began to move. They made it all of ten steps closer before a golden blade slammed into the ground in front of them, a figure in matching armor leaping out of the trees and stabbing a guard who had been trying to sneak up on the Heroes from the rear.

“Hey there.” Charon tossed aside the bloody dagger, which vanished back into light instantly. “The name is Charon, fellow Hero, you’ve probably heard of me. All the kids in white uniforms are on our side. That one included.”

“He’s protecting Globe,” said a woman in a bright yellow and red costume.

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do with a prisoner?” Charon countered. “Or did you forget that the head of the DVA ordered us to capture him? Can’t very well let these assholes kill someone in our custody, now can we? Especially not someone that the DVA would want to get answers and secrets from.”

The guard with the stone reared back to throw, but his legs went out suddenly and he fell to the ground, dropping the stone with him. It exploded a second later, sending dirt and several guards tumbling through the air. Vince just had time to see two blades of shadow slither away before he heard Shane’s voice.

“Quit trying to do all this yourself, Vince.” Shane was near, staying out of sight to attack without warning but close enough to speak to Vince. “Come on now, what is the first advantage that separates Heroes from criminals?”

“Heroes work together.” Vince did a short kinetic leap forward, slamming his elbow into the nose of the guard with crackling red eyes and sending him down hard before scuttling back in front of the dome. “Heroes trust each other.” The metal-cat was racing toward Vince, so he held out a hand and began to absorb the heat coming from it. He’d never tried to steal energy from a summon before, but if it was real enough to torch the grass as it moved, it was real enough to lose that same inner fire. The cat began to twitch as its body cooled, cracks forming along its flesh before the whole thing vanished in a puff. Nearby, the summoner who had called it staggered back like he’d been hit. Vince didn’t give him a chance to call any more friends, putting him down with a targeted shot of lightning.

Shadow blades were flying, more guards were slowly dropping from lack of oxygen or burning up when they shot a gun, and the gal in the golden armor was putting down any idiot who got near her. This was why the Vince from sophomore year could never have been a Hero. Indiscriminate destruction not only put people needlessly at risk, it circumvented the ability to work with others. It had been a good tool for showing everyone watching what Vince could do at the time, but in the field there was no technique, no power more valuable than having people he trusted to fight at his side.

One Hero could make a difference, but a coalition of Heroes could keep the country safe, protect the weak from the powerful, and inspire Supers to use their gifts for good. That was why Captain Starlight formed an organization: he understood better than anyone else had the importance of working together.

Unfortunately, he was not the only one to grasp that lesson. All the fighting had stirred up a commotion, and more guards were coming. Near the front of the charge, one of them raised a hand in the direction of Vince and the dome. He was still some distance away, with the remains of the first group of guards between them, so Vince wasn’t expecting the shot to go off yet. When it did, however, there was no mistaking it for anything else.

A wave of rippling force, like heat from pavement on a summer day, cascaded out from the guard’s hand. As it moved, it hit the other guards, and the moment it did they started to… peel. Their bodies came apart one after the other, skin followed by muscles and bones, a hideous sight to watch as the cause of the horror drew closer to Vince and the dome. The guard with the blue shield tried to block it, but his power was useless as his body tore to pieces. Even Charon dove aside after she watched it rip through a spear that she’d left planted in another guard’s knee. Whatever this power was, it was pure destruction, nothing like Vince had ever encountered before. Still, he couldn’t move. There was no guarantee Thomas’s energy would stop it, especially knowing that another shield had already failed. The best chance they had was Vince.

With no idea what the wave was, blasting through it was probably out. The odds of him having the right energy to stop it and using his one chance to choose that precise energy were just too slender. No, absorbing was the only way this might work, but that had its risks too. Vince didn’t know what the energy was: he’d have to feel it, touch it, to be able to draw it in, assuming he even could. The problem was that the instant it touched him, he’d likely be dead. That was… unless it took something he could live without first.

Bracing himself for what would no doubt be an indescribable amount of pain, Vince set his jaw, locked his feet and thrust out his left arm as far as it would go. Seconds later, the wave struck. The skin on his fingers began to peel before the pain arrived, although it wasn’t far behind. Blocking it out as best he could, Vince focused only on the wave, the energy, the feeling of what it was. Every cell it hit felt like it was tearing apart, or maybe the energy was making his body tear itself apart. There was a frequency to it, an oscillation, kinetically-based yet not quite the same thing – a crafted energy, distinct to the Super creating it.

But Vince had absorbed such powers before.

He ignored the flesh falling from his forearm, refusing to emit the screams that were trying to tear from his throat. It didn’t matter. One arm. One limb to save his friend, the woman he loved, and his father. He should be grateful for such a bargain.

It passed his elbow, the pain growing worse, but Vince was getting a feel for it. He could sense the movement of the energy, the effect it had on the things it hit. Vince would have dearly liked more time, but the arm had only bought him a few seconds before the wave would hit his whole body. The limb was almost gone. Hoping against hope, Vince closed his eyes, focused with all his might on the energy wave, and pulled like his life depended on it. Which it, and several others, very much did.

There was an instant where the wave kept going, nearing the shoulder, and Vince thought it was over. Then he felt the warmth of energy flowing into him. Eyes snapping open, he could see the wave vanish as he pulled it in, absorbing the deadly threat completely. Blood was spilling from what little remained of his left arm at a dangerous rate. Finally allowing a horrendous scream of pain to pass his lips, Vince summoned a burst of fire in his remaining hand and slammed it into the stump, cauterizing the wound.

All eyes, Hero and guard alike were on him. Giving himself a few seconds to catch his breath, Vince finally looked at them, then lifted his right arm and made a beckoning motion with his hand.

“Give me everything you’ve got. Fight me with all you have. It doesn’t matter. No one is getting through this dome. Because I am standing here, against everything you can bring, and I will stop you.”

316.

In many ways, Sean was the perfect opponent for Blake. While the latter could summon destructive spheres known as black holes, drawing in mist was still a difficult task. They weren’t true black holes, of course, merely a Super-version of them. Still, they were dangerous, especially given the level of control Blake had over their strength. He could make them powerful enough to hold fog, certainly, but a black hole capable of drawing in mist was also going to destroy terrain and anyone standing even remotely nearby. That had been their dance since childhood: Sean would turn into fog, and Blake would be unable to create a black hole capable of hurting him without wrecking the environment and putting himself in danger. But they were no longer children, and Blake had been given plenty of years to prepare for a rematch.

“You know, it took me a while to figure out how to defeat you, and even then the solution wasn’t easy. I had to train up an aspect of my power to levels I never imagined I would be able to reach. Funny, the amazing things we can accomplish given enough time and motivation.” Blake seemed unworried by the advancing fog, his hand extended and finger pressed together, ready to snap.

“Oh?” Sean’s fog voice was wavy, yet still easily discernable. “Finally find a way to selectively target living clouds?”

“No. That would be impossible. Instead, I worked on speed.” The snap came on the heels of Blake’s words. Almost instantly, a dark orb appeared in the center of Sean’s cloud, manifesting so quickly there was no time to spread out away from it. Some of the cloud was sucked in. Sean quickly shifted most of himself away as fast as he could, but the bits where the hole had appeared were still stuck inside.

Blake laughed quietly, peacefully, as he watched the show. “Since each bit of fog can only turn back into whatever it was before, I wonder what you just lost. An arm? A leg? Maybe a heart, not that you get much use of yours. If there is a kind god in the universe, then I got your mouth or vocal cords.”

“No such luck, asshole.” The fog surged forward, washing over Blake. Instantly the assault began, fists to the neck and kicks to the back of his knees. It was an effective rush, knocking Blake to the ground and quickly silencing his laughter. Sadly, the advantage didn’t last for long.

All around Blake more black holes began to manifest. They weren’t especially strong, barely potent enough to pull in a passing butterfly, but conjuring them in the middle of Sean’s cloud meant that each one grabbed the fog where it formed and anything that passed through. Worse, they didn’t appear and vanish; they stayed in place, keeping the bits of cloud they’d stolen sealed away inside them. Fog couldn’t be properly crushed, at least by Blake’s kind of black hole, but it could be contained.

Retreat was the tempting call, but it wasn’t an option. If Sean moved away, Blake would keep on creating these black holes, and there was no good counter. Bunching up tightly made a smaller target, and unfortunately that could allow a single good shot to end the fight. Spreading out meant there was more to catch but turned him into an easy target, essentially dooming Sean to death by a thousand cuts – or black holes in this case. The lone potential path to victory lay in keeping up the attack. Knocking Blake out got rid of any black holes he was maintaining. That was the only way Sean would make it through this.

“You’re selling yourself short, you know. You’ve clearly been working on the number you can maintain on top of your speed.” Sean punched Blake in the neck, causing him to choke, and took the opportunity to manifest a foot that delivered a sound kick to Blake’s temple. It might have knocked out a lesser man; unfortunately, the trouble with fighting other Heroes was that they tended to be tough sons of bitches.

“And how well I can move them,” Blake coughed out. That was the only warning Sean got before one of the black holes flew toward him. It wasn’t exactly a zippy pace, but an orb that crushed all it touched didn’t need to be fast to be scary. The black holes gathered around Blake, creating a fine deterrent against Sean approaching. “I planned for this day. I knew it would end up like this. You’ve never been able to accept that we were trying to do what she wanted. Yes, it went awry, and I feel guilty every day for that, but is this really so much worse than what she was living through?”

“That’s not why I’m going to stop you.” Sean’s voice was weaker; he’d lost more of his fog than he cared to think about. Reforming now would probably kill him – there were more than a few internal organs missing. “I hate that you were on Charles’ side in that fight, but I didn’t hate you for it. What I can’t abide is all the terrible things you’ve done in Shelby’s name. Before Blaine caught me breaking into that genetics lab, I saw early scraps of what you were experimenting with, and now I finally know the whole story. Killing Intra, framing Globe, experimenting on children, do you really think she’d want all this? To live on knowing what the price of her salvation was?”

“Easy words from your position. The work is done, the sins already committed. Shelby has a path to resurrection, and it was laid by me.” Blake slapped his chest, the veneer of calm peeling away. “Me and Charles. We did the things you all wouldn’t. We made the hard choices. And now, now that we’re on the verge of getting her back, you want to come in and claim the high ground? Without me, there was never any hope of saving her. No, you don’t get to reap the rewards and scorn the methods.” Putting both hands together, Blake conjured more black holes. A dozen of the orbs appeared all around Sean’s fog. “I’m the one who helped save her while you rotted in prison. I’m the one who deserves to be thanked, not cast aside. I’m the one who will bring her all the way back.”

The orbs were growing, pinning Sean in, when they suddenly stopped. One near the edge wobbled, shimmered, and then collapsed in on itself. Another two followed, then another, and the black holes began to fall apart. A shocked expression ran across Blake’s face and he looked around, focused on something other than Sean for the first time since the fight began.

“Thank you.” Alice was floating nearby, Shelby no longer in her arms, which were extended out in front of Alice’s body. “Sincerely. Circumstances aside, thank you for giving me a chance to see my mother again. I am genuinely grateful for that. But it has to stop. It has to be enough. You aren’t fighting for her anymore. If you were, you’d have taken me up on my offer to deal with this peacefully.”

Blake’s eyes narrowed as he stared up at his niece. “You were supposed to run.”

“You should really know better than to trust a Subtlety student.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Flexing his hands, Blake called more orbs into existence. “Really think you’ve got enough control to go against an experienced Hero?”

To his surprise, Alice immediately shook her head. “Hell no. I’m proud, not dumb. But I’m strong enough to open a path.”

Too late, Blake understood and looked back to Sean. Sure enough, Alice hadn’t been popping black holes at random; she was picking her targets carefully, opening up a path for someone shapeless to slip through. Blake turned just in time to catch a knee directly to his face, the blow smashing his nose, teeth, and cheekbones and sending him tumbling into unconsciousness.

All around them, the black holes dissipated, releasing the pieces of fog they’d sealed away. That was one of Sean’s favorite aspects to his power: clouds were almost impossible to fully destroy. He’d still need some serious healing when he reformed, but enough was recovered that he wouldn’t die immediately. Unfortunately, he was stuck in fog form until then.

“Go get Shelby and keep moving,” Sean ordered. “I’ll keep Blake handled until backup arrives.”

“And you’re welcome.” Alice started to float away, then stopped. “Make sure he survives. I meant what I said. This has to stop. Let him answer for his crimes in court. I’m sure we’ll have questions for him. Besides, when this is over and Mom finally wakes up, she’s going to be dealing with a lot. Don’t make her mourn someone else, especially not her twin.”

Sean floated over Blake as Alice sped off, thinking of how easy it would be to end this once and for all. His niece was right, though. There had been enough killing and secrets already. Shelby wasn’t coming back to much of a family as it was; Sean didn’t have it in him to take one more member of it from her.

317.

He sat on the hood of the old sedan, both of them worn down yet still chugging along. As soon as his eyes fell on Phil, they lit up. “Glad to see you made it, kid.”

*             *             *

“Hey kid, you in there? I asked if you need anything.”

Phil glanced up to find a hard face looking back at him, the expression framed by a stiffly starched white-collared shirt held down by a pair of suspenders. It took him a second to notice the badge on the man’s belt, and the instant he did Phil drew in on himself. He’d had enough talking for the day.

The act didn’t deter this man. He hunkered down to meet Phil’s eyes. “Come on. I know you’ve got to be hungry, they’ve been running you through interrogation all day and you keep refusing to eat. CPS is going to be up our ass if you turn this into a hunger strike, and that’ll just drag things out. Tell me what you want to eat and I’ll get you something close to it, at the very least. Don’t make your mom run out and deal with it.”

Phil’s sullen stare wavered at the idea of putting anything more on his mother. It had already been a hard enough day. First Dad fell over dead, and that had felt like a miracle, but then the police came and started staring at Phil suspiciously. They kept whispering the word “Super” like they thought he couldn’t hear them. Even now, with the autopsy confirming it was poison, they kept grilling the whole family, asking if this wasn’t all planned. At least Chuck was too young for them to really interrogate; it was a small comfort that he didn’t have to cope with all of this.

“Anything. Sandwich, crackers, whatever you have.” Phil straightened a bit in his chair, lifting his gaze above this strange man’s. “And my name is Phil, not kid.”

To his surprise, the man chuckled at that. “Well, my name is Detective Reynolds, but you can call me Jack. And if you want me to stop calling you kid, then I’d have to see you stop acting like one. Don’t let these other guys scare you, they’re just trying to get the truth. As long as you keep telling it, you’ll be okay. So chin up, eyes forward, and speak clearly. You’ve got nothing to hide.”

“How do you know that?” Phil asked.

Detective Reynolds hesitated for only a second before deciding to answer. “Because you’re not the only one to ever come out of a bad family situation, and I’ve seen plenty in my time on this job. I know what murder looks like when it’s in someone’s eyes – justified or otherwise – and you don’t have it. Whether you like the word or not, I’m a fair judge of character, and you seem like a good kid.”

*             *             *

“He’s a good kid.”

It was strange to talk with someone in a dreamscape, but it was also the only time Globe still had both of his arms, so he tried to savor the experience. Abridail was visibly relieved to get the news; even in this unreal space the report had visibly taken a burden from his shoulders. “You know how it is, young Super gets pulled in the wrong direction, starts letting the bad voices in. Thank you for helping.”

“Don’t thank me, I don’t deserve it. There was a time I could help people without asking for favors in return, but sadly those days are gone. I agree, though: your nephew is a solid young man. A flat tire, a quick fight, and one anonymous call to the cops made sure the whole gang is busted with none of it tying back to him. We never let him see us, but we ensured he knows this wasn’t happenstance. He got a second chance, I hope he uses it well.”

Abridail gave a small, solemn nod. “I never had kids of my own; my power kicked in before I had a chance. Watching over the nieces and nephews is the most I can do from inside people’s dreams.”

“Trust me, I get it. Watching from afar is painful in ways I never would have imagined.” Phil studied Abridail’s face carefully, scanning for any signs of falsehood as he posed the next question. “That does leave one matter I’ve been wondering about. Why approach me? Even in my dreams, letting someone with my reputation know you existed was dangerous. Surely there were other people or Heroes out there you could appeal to.”

The smile on Abridail’s was soft, genuine, and plainly unpracticed. “I came to you because I’ve seen much in walking through dreams. Many hidden truths and untold stories. I know you are still a good man, despite what the world believes, and I trusted you wouldn’t be able to turn down a call from someone in need. Beyond that, though, there was another reason. I think you and I needed to meet. There are things I know that you’ll need to be aware of as well. Things about a woman named Shelby.”

*             *             *

“I still can’t believe Shelby said yes.” Chuck was staring in the mirror, tuxedo-clad, looking more nervous than he’d been during any test or fight in the field. “Is that weird? Should I not be shocked she’d be willing to marry me this close to the actual event?”

Phil suppressed a chuckle and brushed some lint off his brother’s shoulder. “I think it’s a good sign that you’re still so grateful and surprised to have her in your life. She’s a damn fine person, and I’m proud to see her joining the family. Mom would have been, too.”

It had been over a year since their mother passed, yet Chuck still winced slightly at the mention of her. “First Detective Jack, then Mom. We’re running short on family these days.”

“Good thing you’re about to expand it,” Phil reminded him. “And don’t think I’ll be happy with just Shelby. I expect the two of you to give me some nieces and nephews to play with soon.”

“You could always expand the family yourself. I have a feeling Clarissa wouldn’t say no to a dance. Actually, everyone has that feeling, because the two of you have obviously been in to each other for years now. Weddings are romantic, make a move already. I officially give you permission to use my wedding as a platform for ending your bachelorhood.”

Phil tried to laugh it off as usual, but the chuckles wouldn’t quite come. “I think Clarissa can do much better than me. Besides, my role in the team is dangerous; I’ve got the highest chance of getting taken out. I don’t want to abandon people counting on me if my end comes unexpectedly.”

“People die, Phil. Not always in the field. We lost Jack to a heart attack and Mom to a stroke. Nobody is promised another day on this planet, so it’s a bad excuse to use for not living your life. It is, however, an excellent excuse for making each day count.” Chuck straightened his tie once more in the mirror before finally turning away. “Now let’s go make this one matter like hell. Maybe when we’re drunk later we can come back to all this self-doubt. Because you deserve to be more than a Hero, Phil. You’re the best man I know, that’s why you’re literally my best man. I know what you’re really scared of, and you shouldn’t be. Having a family isn’t going to turn you into Dad.”

*             *             *

“Dad?”

“It’s fine, Vince. Go back to sleep.” Phil didn’t wait for nature to take its course; instead he willed his son unconscious as the black-clad figures strode into view. He and the boy were tucked away, down an alley and out of sight, but somehow they’d still been found. Whether this was a group of people who hated Supers, hated transients, or were sent by Charles was irrelevant. They had come to do harm to him, and by the sin of association, Vince.

“This is the one chance you get. Run. Run away, right now. I don’t enjoy violence. I don’t like hurting people. But you will find my distaste for seeing anyone trying to harm my son vastly outweighs those sentiments. So please, I beg of you, run away. If you don’t… we all know there’s only one way this can end. For all of us, don’t force my hand.”

Ignoring him, they came in closer, foolishly putting themselves in his sphere of influence. They were hanging back, thinking themselves safe, but it had been a long time since the Hero named Globe was in public, and like all Supers his power had continued to grow. Not by a huge amount, but enough to make those extra steps they’d taken a serious mistake.

“So be it. Choice made.” With one snap of his fingers, Phil ripped all of them inside out. They didn’t even have the chance to scream, not that he’d have let their noise travel far. It was bloody and horrific, but soon the bodies began to burn, smoke vanishing as it started to rise. Come morning, there would be no sign that these people ever existed.

The bigger issue was that he’d been found at all. It wasn’t the first time; however, it seemed to be happening more frequently. Charles was stepping up his efforts. Slowly, Phil walked back over and set a hand on Vince’s sleeping head.

“I’m starting to become afraid, son. Afraid I can’t stay with you much longer. I won’t let this thing between Charles and me spill onto you. You deserve a bright future, but the longer you’re with me, the harder your whole life will become. I love you, Vince, and that’s why I have to…” Phil choked back a sob that tried to bubble up, forcing it down. “I have to keep you safe.”

*             *             *

“There is no ‘safe’. No job out there promises I’ll live to old age. It’s a big world, with lots of dangerous people out there in it. A world that needs Heroes, Mom.”

Finally she looked up from the frying pan where she’d been staring at the now over-cooked eggs since Phil announced he’d gotten into Lander’s HCP and the fight began. “Yes, honey, I know the world needs Heroes. But why does it have to be you?”

“Because…” Phil balled up his fists. It was the question he’d known was coming. She didn’t want this for him, didn’t want to see her son put himself in harm’s way. Maybe if it was just him, but they both knew Chuck would follow his big brother. The poor woman had endured so much, it was hard to deny that the idea of losing her children might be more than she could still bear. “Because I’m powerful. Because I can make a difference. I know what it is to feel helpless, trapped, like there’s no hope or way out. Somewhere in the country there are more people, more kids, who are going to feel like that. People who will be hoping, praying, for someone to swoop in and save the day. I can be that person, that Hero. If I have the potential to do that, and I turn away from it, what kind of man would that make me?” Phil didn’t wait for a reply, instead he walked out of the house and onto the street. Not far off, his eyes fell upon the familiar form of Detective Jack’s car.

He sat on the hood of the old sedan, both of them worn down yet still chugging along. As soon as his eyes fell on Phil, they lit up. “Glad to see you made it, kid.”

“Did we have something scheduled? And don’t call me kid.”

“Damn right we’ve got something scheduled.” Digging into the small cooler at his side, Jack produced a pair of beers, handing one over to Phil. “I heard you made it into Lander, that seemed like something worth celebrating. Figured you should taste one of these before college.”

Slowly, Phil accepted, making his way onto the hood next to Jack as the old cop kept talking. “As for calling you kid, that’s what you get for fighting with Carol.”

The first sip of the beer was rough. Jack had chosen a sour blend with a tart aftertaste that really made sure the drinker knew what they were putting down. “She doesn’t want me to be a Hero.”

“Mine said the same when I got into the police academy,” Jack replied. “But fighting won’t make her feel better. Instead, you march back in there when this is done and tell her you’re going to be safe. You’ll make the smart calls, keep yourself alive for the sake of all the people still counting on you. Then, and this is the really key part, you have to actually do all that. False promises ring hollow, and Carol is a smart cookie. She’ll be able to tell the difference. Especially coming from you.”

Neither man said much as they sat on the hood of the car, watching the sun go down. Phil muscled through his beer, more for the experience itself than the taste. It was supposed to be a celebration, after all.

Only when the drink was done did Phil speak again. “What do you think about me being a Hero?”

“I’d rather have you on the force, but given all the restrictions they put on Supers, I don’t blame you for going that route.” Jack drained his own beer as well and tossed it into the cooler. “Heroes are… complicated. We need them, or something like them, given all the Supers popping up. Yet I can’t help feeling wary of handing anyone that much power and responsibility. However, if someone has to be trusted, it does take some of the worry off my mind to know they’re picking people like you.”

“Yeah, well, I had some good role models.” At eighteen, it was the best Phil could do to try and tell the man who’d looked after him and his brother for so long how much he meant to them. Thankfully, Jack Reynolds was a man who understood subtext.

“You had a great role model, and me, who probably cursed too much and let you see gory action movies before you were ready.” Jack let out a long sigh as he slid off the hood. “But even that little bit… don’t ever forget to pass it on. Remember: kindness and decency are like an energy all their own. They never vanish, only change their shape. The only difference is that humans, Super or otherwise, have the ability to create kindness. We can put more goodness into the world with what we do to, and for, others. If you want to be a Hero, then I know you’ll be a damn great one. Probably known worldwide. So never forget how many people are looking to you, what your words and actions can do for them. You’ll have the opportunity to put a lot of good into the world, Phil. That’s a chance almost no one else gets. To be honest, I can hardly wait to see how it ripples out from you and affects others. Whatever you do, whatever impact you have, I tell you one thing right now with absolute certainty: if you keep thinking about all the people counting on you, then you’re going to grow into damn fine Hero. Maybe the best one our planet has ever seen.”

*             *             *

As Globe’s eyes opened, he was surprised to find himself looking into a stranger’s face. Then, with a few blinks, he recognized her from photographs. Camille Belden – Vince’s friend, maybe more by this point. Seeing her was an unexpected shock, but that was nothing compared to the sudden headache that slammed like an icepick between the eyes.

“You’re going to feel a lot of mental fatigue right now,” she said. “I healed your body and got rid of the physical exhaustion symptoms, but healing still takes a toll. I’m sorry, I wish I could give you more time to rest, but Vince is out there fighting to protect us. He needs you now, Globe. He thinks you can save us all.”

Sitting up slowly, Globe admired the orange dome he was surrounded by, noticing the near-collapsed Super who was struggling to hold it in place. These kids, these damn kids. They couldn’t just let him go, could they? No, they had to get themselves right in the thick of things. With a grunt of effort and willfully ignoring of the pain in his head, Globe got to his feet.

“Well, if my son needs me then I shouldn’t keep him waiting. After all, I’m a Hero. Saving people is what we do.”

318.

There was a fizzling sound from behind Vince, a noise like freshly poured soda. That was the only cue he got that Thomas’s dome was finally down. Seconds later, a familiar hand came down gently on top of his head, ruffling his silver hair slightly.

“I know you’ve always looked up to me, but this might be taking things a bit far.” Globe was staring at the charred stump of Vince’s left arm, a wide array of emotions twitching through his face. From the ground, rocks and soil began floating upward, forming into a false arm to take the place of Globe’s own missing appendage. “Don’t worry. Hallow owes me more than a few favors from our time together. He’ll put you right, even if he wouldn’t have saved me.”

“We’ve got bigger concerns.” Vince nodded to the still-approaching stretch of guards. Nearby, the Heroes were getting twitchy as well. Angela might have sold them on the idea that Globe was in custody momentarily, but they weren’t going to be fooled for long. Globe was up and moving around, which made him dangerous, and they did have a duty to fulfill.

More attacks were coming, blasts and bolts, a few guards even risked firing their weapons. They regretted it instantly, as more contained infernos broke out, but the point was clear: they wanted Globe. Scariest of all, the guard who had created the destruction wave was rearing back, preparing to send out another.

Before his hand could open, a golden sword slammed into his chest at the same time his legs were sliced neatly in half by blades of shadow. Letting out a short gurgle, he limply fell to the ground where his ample blood joined that of the fellow guards he’d killed. It was a hard thing to watch, yet strangely heartening. Angela and Shane were still with them; this wasn’t a fight they had to handle alone. Glancing back, Vince saw Camille healing Thomas before he could keel over from exhaustion. Together, all of them could do something.

And then, without warning, Globe held up a hand and snapped his fingers. Just like that, every single guard near them dropped to the ground. For a moment, they seemed dead, but as Vince looked closely he could see their chests still rising and falling. They were only unconscious.

“Do you know why everyone, guard and Hero alike, attacked me with all the strength they had earlier? Because they knew if I had enough time to focus and think, this is what would happen. Especially with my range currently amped up. Thanks for the distraction, Charon and our hidden shadow-wielder. Made my job a lot easier. Now, as for the Heroes…”

Globe turned to them, the few who had gathered near the fringes, away from backup, and were standing their ground against a foe who had defeated countless powerful Supers in his day. Not a one ran or even seemed as though they would consider the idea of giving ground. Good. For all the bad in the Hero world, it was clear that the HCPs were still handing the burden of graduation to the right kind of people.

“Heroes, I hereby surrender to you. I will follow in your care to a jail, a DVA representative, or whatever location you deem appropriate given the circumstances. I will not use my power to attack or attempt an escape. I have only one condition, and it is not negotiable. If the need arises, I will use my power to keep these students safe. Given how badly the DVA wants me, I’m going to assume that part won’t be an issue.”

Vince grabbed Globe’s sleeve as he tried to step forward. “What are you doing?”

“You were right, Vince. I was tired. I was hoping to take the easy way out. Tearing things down, ripping the truth into the light – those feats are nothing compared to what comes next. Rebuilding. Living with the truth, the fallout, and the consequences. Dying in battle would have been much simpler. But Heroes don’t take the easy path, and occasionally I need reminding that – if only in the eyes of one person – I’m still a Hero. So I’m doing what’s right.”

“No.”

The voice came from a guard who had been approaching from near the back of the group. It was a voice Vince recognized, even if he wasn’t immediately sure from where. He didn’t have to wonder long, as the guard peeled off his helmet to reveal the face of Charles Adair. For a moment, they were all stunned, and Charles didn’t waste the opportunity. With lightning speed, he pulled a gun from under his body armor, held it aloft, and then pressed the muzzle to his own temple.

“For anyone wondering, no, my threat here is not mere suicide. Buried beneath this site are four nuclear bombs. There are monitoring devices on several of my vital organs, and before I came here I gave orders to my tech people to engage our final failsafe system, not that they realized what they were doing. As of now, my life is all that keeps those bombs from going off. I die, and they explode. How many of the Heroes or students out there do you think could survive that kind of blast?”

Globe started to move, and Charles instantly tightened his finger on the trigger. “None of that. I know very well what it feels like when you put someone to sleep, and I’ll have just enough time to fire in response. Now: you could freeze me, although that wouldn’t do much to stop the cyanide pill in my mouth since you allow people to keep breathing. You could go for that too, but only if you’re absolutely certain I don’t have any other backup methods, which you shouldn’t be. Even if my mundane tools failed, I still have the option of using transmutation on my blood or heart. Maybe you’ll be tempted to take a swing at messing with the devices, if you’re confident you won’t trip the safeguards. But even if you could pull any of that off normally, judging from the way your eyes are having trouble focusing, it looks like you’re downright gassed. I’m not sure you want to risk the lives of everyone here on the chance that you’re faster than me.”

There was no mistaking the fury in Globe’s eyes, yet he stayed his hand anyway. “What do you want?”

“The devices on my organs have a proximity system. Once I’m far enough away, the link between the bombs and my body will safely deactivate. It’s an incentive for everyone to let me walk out of here safely, and you’re coming with me, Phil. Thanks to you and yours, it appears that I have to go into hiding, and I can’t think of anyone better to guide me than my very own big brother who stayed safely on the run for years. Don’t worry; all you have to do is get me to a non-extradition country where I’ve got some assets and safeguards in place.”

“If you have an escape plan, then why didn’t you use it instead of coming here?” Globe asked.

For the first time, Vince thought he saw a glimmer of sadness in Charles Adair’s expression. “My wife is gone, my daughter rightfully will never forgive me, Jack and Mom are both dead. You’re all I have left. If I’m running away for the rest of my life, I want you to be there. The things I’ve done are beyond redemption, but you’ve never cared about limits like that. Perhaps, one day, we can find peace between us.”

That was not at all the answer Vince had been expecting, and from the confusion on their faces, neither had the other Heroes. Globe, however, was the only one unmoved.

“It’s a nice story, the kind I want to believe. That Chuck is still in there, under all the betrayal, compromise, and lies. That’s the problem; it’s too pleasant a story. There’s no hope in your eyes to go with it, no gaze toward the future. I know that look, because I’ve worn it too. You want out. You can’t bear to face Shelby or Alice or the world now that everything is exposed, and you’re hoping I’ll kill you once it’s safe.”

“Doesn’t really matter either way, does it?” Charles asked. “I’m still holding the entire battlefield hostage. Revenge, release, reconciliation, any or none of them could be true and it wouldn’t change the fact that you’re coming with me. There are people who need protecting, so fulfill your duty, Hero.”

Slowly, painfully, Globe took a step toward Charles. “Vince, I’m sorry. Whatever happens from here on, look after each other. At the end of the day, that’s what makes–”

“Now!”

The scream came from the trees, just before the first person ran into view.

319.

“Veer left.” Mr. Numbers didn’t need to give Mary any more than that. She followed his words without a moment’s hesitation, swinging wide to keep them – and the Hero lying in Mr. Transport’s arms – safe as a huge chunk of rock sailed past.

At first, it had taken more than a mere smattering of words, but the two hadn’t spent every Saturday playing chess over four years without building trust. They knew each other, had faith in one another’s skills, and together they could navigate the battlefield like no one else. Mary was in top form, using her incredible telepathy range to hunt down the Heroes most in need of healing, those who could still be saved, and then plucking them from the chaos with her telekinesis. In another age, she might have made an incredible Valkyrie, save for the fact that she was taking the fallen warriors to a healer, which was essentially the opposite of leading them into an afterlife.

Mr. Numbers had been wondering for some time where his talents would make the most difference in this battle, assuming he would have to torture someone for information or calculate an attack with the fewest number of casualties. In all his predictions, he hadn’t imagined himself sitting on a tree trunk, zipping around with Mary, moving Heroes to Hallow as fast as possible. Yet it was impossible to deny that they were making a difference. The renewed Heroes came back with something to prove, and seeing their friends revived was giving heart to the others in costume stuck in this fiasco.

Still, Mr. Numbers knew what he was and where his talents lay. There would be more work after this, more situations where his skills were called for. Just this once, however, it was a pleasant change of pace to make things better by helping people, even if that only meant keeping Mary from getting picked out of the sky.

*             *             *

Titan peeled away the reinforced wall with no visible effort, nicely getting around the fact that none of them could find a door into or out of the space. No wonder Globe’s team hadn’t noticed it on their run through here; if not for Chad’s hearing, they would have walked right by as well. Not wasting a moment, the hero formerly known as Zero leapt forward, right into the middle of the room where a half-dozen people’s surprise was quickly turning into fear.

“Your powers are no longer functional,” he announced. “Anyone who would like to go peacefully may lay down on the floor. If you want to express your displeasure physically, I will be happy to put you down. For our more daring contestants, feel free to try and run away through that opening in the wall. Titan, Ettin, and Intra will gladly be your opponents.”

From the gap, Titan, Roy, and Chad all waved, some more enthusiastically than others. There was blood on Roy’s bat, Chad was still covered in spikey bones, and Titan was… Titan. It was no great surprise when every non-costumed person in the hidden room dropped to the ground, hands clasped neatly behind their backs.

With a sigh of relief, Dean Blaine made the report through his communicator. “Dispatch, put the word out. We’ve found and neutralized the anchors. Teleportation is once more possible, so get us some damn backup.”

“I will alert the Heroes,” Dispatch replied, always ready at an instant. “There are few who have been anywhere near that location, so it may still take some time for them to reach you.”

“What about my backup?” Titan asked, touching his own ear so the others knew he wasn’t speaking to them.

“Reports indicate they should arrive shortly.”

Titan chuckled, nodding to their new prisoners. “Let’s get these wrapped up fast. I think you’re all going to want to watch this.”

*             *             *

Seeing the lines of probability wasn’t omnipotence. For one thing, there were too many factors for anyone to keep track of, even an amplified Nick. Another issue was that he could only see how likely certain events were, and then push them toward a desired outcome. Those pushes made ripples, though, and changing one event could make other, seemingly unrelated things worse down the line. It was a power that required a gentle touch and a cunning mind to wield, a perfect fit for someone trained as a conman and a gambler.

Nick didn’t have a communicator; he had no way of monitoring when the anchors were taken out. What he could see, however, was the probability of Shimmerpath being able to open a portal. Since they’d arrived, that chance had been locked at zero percent. There was no way for her to do it against all those anchors. And then, with little warning, suddenly the odds were different; her chances of success were in the high nineties, barring only sudden death or interruption. Teleportation was back on the table, and for a brief moment he was the only one who knew it.

“Now!” Nick’s voice rang out from the trees where he’d been hiding, and Shimmerpath didn’t waste a single moment. She bolted forward, hand already extended. They’d been close enough to hear Charles’s spiel about the bomb, and while Nick wasn’t quite sure he bought it given the probabilities he was looking at, Shimmerpath would obviously prioritize getting Charles out of range. Much as she might love Globe, she was a Hero first and foremost. That made her noble and decent, true, but it also made her predictable.

The portal opened under Charles in less than a second, sending him tumbling out of view. Although Nick didn’t know where she’d moved him, it didn’t matter. He was running as fast as he could, on a direct course for Shimmerpath. She wouldn’t let a villain get away, and sure enough, moments later another portal opened in front of her. This time he could make out the terrain: it was sparse and rocky, maybe up on a mountain somewhere.

Nick never slowed down, never gave anyone the chance to react. Instead, he slammed into Shimmerpath as soon as her portal was up, driving them both through. For a heartbeat, his face turned toward Vince and the others. They were probably wondering what the hell was going on. Maybe one day they’d understand. Dire situations called for hard choices. Kindness, goodness, justice, all of these were wonderful things in the right circumstances. Sometimes, though, they were liabilities. Crispin had proven that point nicely. Heroes even understood that saving one life at the cost of a hundred others wasn’t acceptable; this reality was so accepted it was built into their response system. The bit they failed to realize was that someone didn’t need a dangerous power to be capable of starting Armageddon. He hoped, eventually, they’d understand why he did this, but there was no time to explain today. So Nick spared just enough time to give a huge theatrical wink, the sort of gesture only his friends would be able to perceive thanks to the sunglasses obscuring part of his face.

Together, Nick and Shimmerpath tumbled through the portal. Before they even landed, Nick attacked, landing a punch to her temple that just so happened to send her head backward to crash against a rock. One-on-one, he could have never stood up to a Hero, but that was the advantage of a surprise attack, especially one with amplified luck backing it up.

As soon as she was out, the portal collapsed, just like he’d been hoping it would.

Staggering to his feet, Nick brushed some dust from his pants as he made his way over to the struggling figure of Charles Adair. Apparently Shimmerpath had dropped him from a way’s up, as Charles was currently crawling along the rocky terrain with a pair of slightly askew legs dragging behind him. The moment he heard Nick’s approach, Charles whirled around, gun aimed right at him.

“Cute. You sure you don’t want to use something a little more Super as a threat? Turn the ground to pudding so I sink in, or shifting debris into containers of nitroglycerin you can lob my way? I’ve read up on The Alchemist – you were a pretty scary guy in your day. Yet now all you seem to use your power for is business. Come on, if you’re going to threaten me, at least do it like a Super. Assuming those legs aren’t hindering your concentration, I mean.”

“Powers are useful in their own place, but there is much to be said for the reliability of a bullet. Especially for one with your gifts. The less luck plays a part, the safer I think I’ll be, and I’m more than well-trained enough to hit you without the aid of fortune.” Charles kept the gun steady, though his eyes darted about. They both knew regardless what Charles said, his focus was compromised with that kind of injury, his powers riskier to use. “Where are the others?”

“Left them behind. They’ve never had the stomach for this kind of work.” Nick, still keenly aware of the gun, took a seat on the nearest boulder and checked his watch. “Teleportation is back, so the DVA will know it soon. Assuming they track one of us to this spot and send their fastest people, I’d bet we have around five minutes, at most, to see this through.”

The darting eyes stopped as Charles leveled his gaze squarely at Nick. “And what, pray tell, is it we’re seeing through?”

“Your death, Charles. This is the place where you die.”

320.

“What in the hell did he just do!” Globe was yelling now, distraught at the sight of Shimmerpath being tackled and her portal vanishing.

“Welcome to dealing with Nick,” Vince muttered. “He won’t hurt… okay, he won’t seriously hurt a Hero. I’ve got no idea what he’s planning, but I doubt it’s something we’d approve of. We should get to him as fast as we–”

Thud.

Everyone felt it, the jolt like a mini-earthquake rippling across the land. The Heroes, students, and Globe all exchanged brief glances. They didn’t know what it was, but they knew it was coming their direction. Wordlessly, they started to run, tearing across the battlefield as fast as they could, hurrying to get past the trees and glimpse what was approaching.

Thud.

Bigger this time, louder too. They could feel the wave of noise wash over them as they bolted. The guards across the battlefield were noticing as well, as were the still-fighting Heroes. Confusion spread as no one knew who, or what, was coming. Vince caught sight of Roy, Chad, Titan, and Dean Blaine all coming out of a building and tried to sprint in their direction, only for his head to swim as the injury and pain made themselves known. He waved to them, getting their attention. They waved back at first, before expressions of horror and surprise overtook them.

“Vince, what the fuck happened to your arm?” Roy said.

“Is that… Globe?” Chad was already stepping forward, but the mighty hand of Titan grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Trust me, you want to hear everything before making any rash choices. And you aren’t the one who needs to deal with him.” Titan nodded to Dean Blaine, who leapt forward as soon as Globe drew near, grabbing him by the wrist.

“Globe, on behalf of the Department of Variant Human Affairs I am officially powering you down and taking you into custody.”

For his part, Globe didn’t struggle, though he did keep looking in the direction of the noise. “You’re a little behind, Zero. I already turned myself in. That was before one of your kids, Nick Campbell, attacked Shimmerpath as she was moving Charles somewhere he couldn’t hurt us. I would very much like to make sure she’s okay, once we deal with whatever this next threat is.”

Thud.

Their teeth clicked from the force of the landing, and just over the hill they caught a glance of something for a brief moment. To everyone’s surprise, Titan smiled as the noise drew closer. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Given how hard this place was to reach, plus the potential need for crowd control, I spoke to some old colleagues at Sizemore, ran it through Dean Jackson via Dispatch, and reactivated an old Temporarily Authorized Hero Asset I’ve worked with before. Someone who could cover a lot of ground while hauling in reinforcements. She might even be able to help cow our enemies into submission, or make the job easier if they still refuse to quit.”

This time, they saw it moving as it leapt – no, hopped over the hill – and finally allowed them a proper view. Even those who had seen the footage of Titan’s fight in Brewster weren’t fully prepared for the giant rabbit that landed heavily on the edge of the battlefield. It was shorter this time, yet still massive, and it had traded its spiked armor for something silver and shiny, complete with a helmet that allowed the ears to poke through. Riding atop it were figures clad in the familiar costumes of The Gentle Hammers alongside several other Brewster Heroes, as well as a woman wearing a gray mask and a dark ensemble.

“What’s up, fuckers?” Her scream carried down from the shoulder of the rabbit, a terrible and vulgar Bugs Bunny impression that really didn’t feel appropriate for the situation. That was the benefit of commanding a giant rabbit, though; there was always an audience whether they liked it or not.

“Hot holy damn, that bunny looks way cooler in person.” Roy glanced over to his father. “You make some weird friends. Awesome, but weird.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet.” Titan touched his earpiece quickly, not wasting any more time. “Dispatch, put me through to all the Hero comms in the area. I’ve got a message to pass along.” He paused, waiting for confirmation, then continued. “Attention Heroes, this is Titan. First off, the rabbit and the people on it are with us, so make sure to treat them accordingly. Secondly, we have captured and neutralized the criminal known as Globe; he is no longer a priority. Our new goal is to end this fighting as quickly and safely as possible, while securing the bunker and all the remaining information inside. Repeat, you no longer need to worry about Globe. Put your full force into dealing with the remaining guards as required. Hexcellent, that goes for you and Hopcules as well. Also, make sure to avoid anyone in a white uniform or a costume.”

From atop her rabbit, Hexcellent yelled her reply – this on top of the temporary comm she’d been given made for a delirious, echoing swell of sound. “I’ll do my best, but stay out of the damn way. It’s a big fucking bunny, I can’t always control where I swing it.”

“Well, with that matter settled, our next priority should be to recover Charles Adair, Shimmerpath, and Nick Campbell,” Dean Blaine said. His helmet tilted slightly down, looking at Vince’s injury once more. “All of which we can do after meeting with Graham, turning over Globe, and getting Hallow to fix Vince’s arm.”

“Don’t worry about me, our friends come first.” Vince tried to tuck the stump behind his back, wincing from the pain of movement, but there wasn’t enough left to shove out of sight. Even if it had worked, the way Vince was swaying on his feet betrayed how hard the injury was hitting him, much as he tried to hide it.

A quick finger flicked him on the back of the ear, so fast that by the time Vince turned around Globe’s hand was almost back at his side. “Staying healthy is part of being a Hero too. Injuries slow you down, and the people counting on you might pay for those extra seconds.”

“So you’ll be getting healed too?” Vince countered.

“Big difference. I’m a criminal, remember? And besides, you lost your arm in a fight to keep us all safe. My best friend took mine, because I was too stupid to realize what was happening.” For the first time, Globe turned to Chad, who was glaring at him yet had resisted making a move. “When this is over, come see me in prison. I’ll answer any questions you have about your dad, what happened that day, any of it. I owe you so much more than that, but I’m afraid the truth is the best I have to offer.”

“It would be a nice change of pace,” Chad replied. “I am beginning to suspect that I haven’t dealt with the truth for a very long time.”

An explosion came from nearby, the cause impossible to track but a good reminder that they weren’t safe just yet. Titan grabbed Globe in one hand and Vince in the other, tucking both under his arms. “I’ll get these two to Graham and Casper. The rest of you meet us there.” With a powerful leap, Titan soared into the air, passing Hexcellent and the dismounting Heroes, many of whom paused to give quick waves before Hopcules unceremoniously squashed a guard that foolishly opened fire on the towering rabbit.

Roy let out a sharp whistle as he watched the massive foot come down hard. “Now that’s what I call a good pet.”

321.

“What makes you think I’m dying here?” The gun didn’t twitch in the slightest, broken legs and sudden change of environment be damned. Charles Adair, whatever moral issues he might have, clearly hadn’t skimped on his Hero training. He was a man who knew how to keep focus.

In response, Nick leaned back and crossed his legs, affecting the most casual posture he could muster. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You got busted, so you must’ve wanted to die. That’s what Globe was thinking, anyway. Me, I have my own suspicions. Like maybe having a Super who can warp reality to his will would open up some interesting excuses. After all, the data we got came from one of Globe’s people, and the guards were hunting Globe as their top priority. Someone with enough money and lawyers, someone really clever, might be able to twist the story into Globe being the one behind it all. Say he put the bunker under shell companies you own, controlled you into doing what he wanted to explain away any in-person issues. The only ones who could testify against you would be Globe and his cronies, and of those, only the top man is a real threat. All of the others, you can say, had their memories altered. It’s a power he used on Crispin, so the DVA knows it’s real. Even if there’s no proof he can do more than blank memories, the suggestion alone opens up that possibility. Maybe you’ve even got someone with mental abilities on retainer, a Super who can make you think the story is true, thwarting any telepaths.”

Nick paused, briefly, waiting to see if Charles would offer up some lukewarm excuse. When none came, he continued his theory. “Globe is your biggest threat. He would give a first-person account. Neutralize his ability, stick him with a telepath, and poof: he can prove he had no hand in this. That’s why you were going to kill him. Use threats to get him alone, emotion and exhaustion to lower his guard, and the moment he gave you a chance he gets a bullet in the skull. No more threats, no more person to disprove your story. He made a good scapegoat once, so why not use him again? Especially after the DVA finds out there were no nukes under the base – I imagine you could reframe it as capturing a wanted killer before he could betray those innocent Heroes he was fooling. Would it be a hard sell? Of course. But compared to where you are now, why not at least try? If you ask me, it seems possible, but that’s because unlike most of your enemies I know better than to underestimate you.”

Part of Nick wondered if Charles would deny it all, pretend he’d been sincere about wanting to escape and reconcile. Charles Adair was a practical man, however. He didn’t waste words spinning tales unless someone was going to believe them. It wasn’t the same as admitting Nick was right, but it also wasn’t a direct rebuttal.

“Whether you’re right or not, you’re a little too clever for your own good. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Annually, at the very least,” Nick replied.

“They should up the frequency.” Charles adjusted his grip slightly, never letting the gun’s muzzle drift away from Nick’s body. “So, even if you’re right, what’s your play here? I’ve read up on you, at length. I know you wouldn’t be doing this if you didn’t want something.”

“Hurtful. Fair, but hurtful.” Nick gave a mock swoon before righting himself, pausing only to adjust his sunglasses. “And I already told you why I came here: this is the day you die. The others would have gotten in the way, but luck was in my favor since I managed to get you alone.” Confident as he felt, Nick knew better than to let on just how powerful he was at that precise moment. Games like this weren’t over until the final move.

Another adjustment on the grip. Charles was picking his shot. “Or I could kill you now.”

“Great idea – then when the Heroes arrive, you only have a dead Super and a knocked-out Hero to answer for. That should really help build your case of innocence.”

“Doesn’t make things worse for me than they already are.” Charles, to Nick’s surprise, lowered the gun slightly. “But it doesn’t help me either. How about instead, we make a deal? That’s more your speed, I believe. You know I have money, yet with your connections and power you don’t prize it like most do. So what about something you do value? I have information.”

Nick scoffed, a response he’d been working to perfect. It wasn’t quite there yet, but he elected not to try and attempt a second one. “If you’re going to try selling me on the procedure’s secrets, we already know the root of it and we have your data. Probably your bunker too, if I know my friends.”

“Oh no, I know so much more than that. I am the man at the center of a billion-dollar spider web. There’s virtually no question you could ask I couldn’t get the answer to. For example: would you like to know about Vince’s real parents?”

“Vince’s real parent is the one-armed badass who took care of him, raised him, and just went to bat for him yet again,” Nick snapped, a tad more harshly than he intended. “If you mean his biological parents, which one are you talking about? The small-time robber or the junkie sex worker he knocked up? They’re both long dead either way; his father was gunned down and his mother overdosed only a few weeks after she put Vince into the adoption system. Kept clean for the pregnancy, decided to celebrate afterward, truly sad stuff. See, you’re not the only one with resources and dedication, Charles. I cracked that mystery freshman year, but Vince has never shown the slightest interest in learning about the people who gave him away. He’s more focused on the ones who stuck around.”

The gun wasn’t sinking anymore, although it also hadn’t lifted back into position either. Charles was staring at Nick, something new in his face. It wasn’t an expression Nick had seen the man wear before, but there was no mistaking it: respect. Begrudging respect, true, yet respect all the same.

“We are very similar people, Nicholas Campbell. In another few decades, you could be in my position. What would you do if something happened to your friends, or to Alice? What would you sacrifice to save them?”

“You’re right. We’re very similar, and I know it. The others hate you, fear you, despise you, but I’m the only one of the lot who gets it. I understand you, Charles Adair. I know what it is to feel that drive, to be smart and capable without the same restraints of morality as most others. In your position, I very well might have made the exact choices you did. I know who I am, and I can admit that. But that understanding won’t buy you mercy; in fact, it’s the very reason I came here to make sure you die. Because you are the threat to the people I love. You are the one who could put them in jeopardy yet again. I’m not better than you, I’m not more noble than you. Hell, in a few decades I might be even worse than you. I’m just the one who is set against you in this particular combat, and I plan to win.”

In a flash, the gun was back up, not that Nick showed visible concern. He was still sitting on the rock, relaxing peacefully. “For someone without a weapon, you’re making a lot of threats,” Charles pointed out. “But if you’re so sure this is the end, why not kill me already? Why waste time having this conversation?”

“Simple. I’ve seen your past. Some of it in dreams, but you get the idea. There is – was – good in you once. I thought you might want to make this easy on everyone. If I kill you, it’s going to cause an investigation, but if you finish yourself off, then the matter is settled. Just this once, as your last action in this world, I thought you might want to make things easier on the people you care about. Alice doesn’t want to see me hauled into court.”

“A good move,” Charles said. “But you should have sweetened the pot by promising that you’d look after my daughter, and offering to make sure Shelby gets the procedure.”

“Why? Alice can look after herself, and we both know I’m going to help both of them regardless of what you choose. I’m not an amateur. Let’s not waste each other’s time by pretending that I am.”

In Charles’ hand, the gun twitched ever so slightly, a lone sign of what was to come. “Fair enough. You deserve the same as any worthy opponent.”

The gunshot rang out through the empty space and rocks around them, followed by the muffled thud of a body slumping to the ground.

From his rock, Nick watched carefully, waiting for any signs of life.

“I told you to use your power, Alchemist. That’s the thing about guns: they have the potential, no matter how small, to catastrophically misfire. Especially when they’ve taken damage from a sudden high drop to hard ground. So much shrapnel, all it takes is one piece at the right speed and angle. Through the eye, into the brain – well, you’d get the idea if you could still hear. Any percentage, no matter how tiny, is enough for me to work with right now.” Nick checked his watch once more. “Although you did cut it a lot closer than I was hoping. Wondered how much goading it would take to make you shoot. A couple more minutes and I’d be out of juice. Then again, it’s not really fun to gamble unless there’s something on the line, so thanks for keeping it interesting to the finish.”

Lying back on the rock, Nick peeled his sunglasses off and set them to the side, looking up to the sky. Already the golden lines were starting to fade. Soon he’d be back to normal Nick, facing the future without a nigh-insurmountable control of probability.

Good. This bit was getting tedious. Nick still had so much work to do for the years ahead, so many tasks that remained. In the game of life, all this amounted to little more than a single move on the board. Still, Nick smiled as he stared bare-eyed at the sky and waited.

It had taken him four years, an expulsion, new friends, a few people’s deaths, and untold hours of hard work to reach this point. If there was ever a time to stop and savor a moment, this was surely it. Because as soon as the Heroes arrived, everything started anew. There were new moves to be made, ones he couldn’t spend four years on. That would come later, though. For just the next few minutes, Nick enjoyed his lazy bask in the sun, the corpse of Charles Adair already cooling nearby.

322.

As soon as the bunny appeared, Globe’s team scattered. They knew the end of a fight when they saw one, and while none was sure what had happened to their leader, they were aware that getting caught or killed wouldn’t help in the slightest. Most ran off on their own, heading to hideouts where they could plot their next move. There was one pair who found themselves together, though, standing in the woods.

Adam was still wearing Raze’s body, the raw power of destruction crackling through his hands. George, conversely, had shifted down to human form. There was no point in making the job any harder on the kid than it would already be.

“Looks like it’s done.” Although Adam could see the fighting from their position, they were too far away to make out details. All he could really see was the guards beginning to break their formations and scatter.

“One way or another. I hope we did enough, but I don’t think we’re going to be the ones to determine that. Whatever comes next is in hands higher up than ours.” Carefully, George lowered himself to the grass, getting into a kneeling position. “You did your job. More than we had any right to ask, and damn sure more than we could ever expect. You’ve earned this.” He tilted his head downward, facing the ground.

Seconds later, George felt the gentle touch of Adam’s hand against the base of his neck. With Raze’s body and power, all it would take was a quick jolt of destructive energy to kill. One shot, and that would be the end of George.

“Part of me thought you’d try to weasel out of this.” There was an edge in Adam’s voice, but he was still holding it together pretty well. Oddly, George felt a touch proud of that. Even if the circumstances were beyond fucked up, at least he’d been a decent teacher. Maybe there was time for one last lesson.

“It was tempting. I like my life, shitty as it is right now, and I’m not keen on dying. But when you make a mistake, you should own it: take responsibility, and be prepared to do the best you can to make things right. I can’t bring your family back. This is the best I can offer instead.”

“Still trying to teach me how to be a Hero?”

George suppressed a laugh; this wasn’t the time for any sort of frivolity. “No, we both know you’re never going down that road. I’m trying to teach you how to be a decent person. If we don’t own up to our mistakes, we’re no better than the criminals we fight.”

“I hate you so much for what you took from me. So much. But at the same time, I think I’m going to miss you. Is that strange?”

“No, Adam. That’s just part of what it means to be human.” George took one last breath, closed his eyes, and waited for the end to come.

*             *             *

The giant armored rabbit had occupied the attention of more than a few guards, which, when paired with reinforcements and the fact that the Heroes no longer had to worry about finding or fighting off Globe, turned the momentum of the fight from a slow brawl into a rapid assault. With split attention and renewed foes, the guards fell faster and faster. Even the lingering effects of Crispin’s amplification couldn’t stand against well-trained, determined Heroes.

While the fight had swung in their favor, there was still the matter of getting across an active battlefield. Dean Blaine took the lead, suppressing the abilities of everyone who drew near them while Shane and Angela cleared a path with the ranged aspects of their powers. Chad and Roy were defending the rear, making any dumb son of a bitch who tried to sneak up on them instantly regret it. Thomas and Camille were with them, the latter still healing the former, who himself was creating quick orange shields to deflect anything ranged that came at them. Overhead, they could still see Mary zipping about, pulling the occasional wounded Hero up from the ground and speeding off, Mr. Numbers shouting calculated movements in her ear. When she did a low sweep, Dean Blaine motioned for her to fly near.

“Mary, did Amber come along with the group of students?”

“I guess you didn’t see those sound bombs go off earlier. Yeah, she’s here. Here and still hunting for Crispin, in fact. I haven’t had the heart to tell her he’s dead yet.”

That was news to Dean Blaine as well, and for a moment he almost asked Mary what had happened. Short of finding the killer themselves, she was the likeliest place to get the whole story. But if Crispin had died in crossfire or at a guard’s hand, it was nothing, whereas if one of the students killed him things might get messy. It was an issue Blaine would have to deal with, just not at this precise moment.

“Have her amplify her voice and signal all the other students to meet us at the giant tree Overgrowth brought the deans in on. Since none of you have comms, that will have to suffice as a communication method.”

“Aren’t you worried that the guards will try to intercept them?” Mary asked.

Dean Blaine glanced over the battlefield. Some ways off, a sinkhole opened, swallowing four guards up to their necks. There was a figure in a white uniform all but dancing through gunfire, dropping a guard with every shot of her own. A huge shifter made of what seemed like diamond suddenly tumbled to the ground as a lone student with a sword sliced neatly through one of its legs. Terrified screams of a guard suddenly hauled up into a tree by an unseen monster rang through the air. A team of students – one with a staff, one seemingly hurling people about telekinetically – was standing victorious over a swollen guard with obvious enhanced strength. The sudden thump and shower of dirt signaled the landing of someone super-dense, and from the cloud of debris came a spiked chain wrapping around a guard who’d had the misfortune of not being thrown further away as he menaced an injured Hero. Energy was pouring up and out from a half-dozen firefights, bodies hurled through the air by various means of force, for a split-second it almost looked like there was a tear in the very sky above them. Heroes and students, working together, were proving exactly what the HCP was made of.

“No, I can sincerely say I am not worried about that in the slightest. These guards are brave, or at least well motivated, but I daresay running toward all these students would be akin to hurling themselves into a meat grinder, and they know it.”

Mary floated a little higher and looked over the scene. “Class of Nightmares, huh?”

“Seeing the talent the other schools have, I feel like Generation of Nightmares might have been more fitting, but no one asks me when they come up with these stupid nicknames.” Dean Blaine watched Mary laugh as she flew off, presumably toward Amber, before they resumed their trek.

The longer they ran, the easier moving became as more and more guards were brought down or captured. By the time they reached Graham DeSoto, it felt like the battle was nearly over. There were only a few stray people in body armor still running about or firing. Some of the students were already there; they’d seen that the end was coming and grouped up on the most logical landmark to await new orders, even without Dean Blaine’s message. One more bit of proof that these kids were going to do fine in the field.

Vince was laying on the back of the giant tree, his uniform jacket removed and draped across his left side while Casper stood over him, his hands on Vince’s forehead. Globe was only a few feet away, Graham DeSoto at his side, watching the process with unnecessary worry. As a man who’d been nearly blown apart and then put back together, Dean Blaine could more than vouch for Casper’s healing power.

“Why are they covering him?” Camille asked.

“Watching limbs regrow can be… unnerving, for those not used to it,” Dean Blaine explained. “It became Hallow’s standard tactic to cover the process when he had to do it in the field. I suppose some habits linger, even after they are no longer in use.”

Finally, Casper stood up, cracking his back and pulling off the jacket. There, pale but otherwise normal, was a new arm. Vince started to stir, lifting his head slightly before dropping it right back down onto the bark.

“He’s not doing anything for a while. Regrowing a limb takes enough out of someone, plus he’d already worn himself down and had other injuries on top of it. If the kid wakes up before tomorrow morning it will only be to use the bathroom.”

“Don’t be… so sure…” Although he didn’t lift his head this time, Vince’s eyes did manage to pull themselves halfway open. “Not missing… my father…”

In a moment, Globe was there, resting a hand on his son’s chest. “Stubborn boy. Always have been. Too stubborn and decent for your own good. I don’t have my power right now, so you’ll have to sleep on your own. Just this once, do as you’re told.”

Despite his clear struggle, Vince’s eyes eventually fell shut, and Globe breathed a sigh of relief. “Hey Graham, when this is done, I’d appreciate it if you let Vince come visit me in whatever hole you put me down. At least once, he deserves a proper goodbye.”

“That is a discussion we should have once we know the actual charges to level at you.” While his voice was gentle, the posture of Graham DeSoto remained firm and unrelenting. “We healed Vince, just like you requested. Now it’s time to uphold your end of the bargain.”

It was odd to see a look of surprise on Globe’s face; he tended to act like someone who saw it all coming, at least in public. “Here? Wouldn’t you prefer something a little more private? Or at least not on an active battlefield?”

“Active is a strong word for what remains of Adair’s forces. And yes, I want you to tell me here, not in some secret room or hidden chamber.” Graham thrust a finger toward the near-toppled ruins of the bunker. “I think we have seen too well today where doing business in secret gets the world. Whatever happened, whatever the truth is, the world deserves to know it. No more dark deals done in shadows. No more secrets.”

A flash of movement illuminated Globe’s eyes as they darted over to Chad, who was slowly shedding his bone armor. “You’re right. There have been more than enough secrets. Time to tell the truth.” Taking a deep breath, Globe turned back to Graham DeSoto.

“To the best of my knowledge, it happened like this…”

323.

Some hours later, they were still stuck in the clearing. There was no more fighting, thankfully. Instead, the entire area was filled with Heroes and DVA agents as they worked tirelessly to excavate the remains of Charles’ bunker. Vince had roused himself from the unexpected nap largely through sheer will, but he was still firmly ordered to undertake nothing strenuous until he’d had time to properly recover. That was easier said than done, however, as he watched the Heroes hurrying about to the countless tasks before them. There were arrests to make, Heroes to debrief, students to talk with, and all manner of other issues that would likely take long into the evening. Globe was gone already, spirited away by some DVA officials once his story was told, no doubt to say the same things dozens of times more under the scrutiny of telepaths and other Supers. He was safe though, and that was all Vince could ask for.

In fact, Vince was shocked at how well the people he knew had come out of this. Despite the corpses of Heroes being hauled from the battlefield – not many, thanks to Mary, yet still more than enough – none of the students had been killed. Some were calling it a miracle, and Vince was inclined to agree to the extent that much of what Nick did often seemed miraculous. He was still waiting for his friend, patiently, while the rest of the world moved around him.

Alice was in the hands of the DVA; they’d gotten word an hour or so ago that she and her mom were safe. While Vince wasn’t sure if they’d told Alice about her father, though he hoped they would wait until her friends could be there. Much as she denied the connection between them, the loss of Charles Adair would be a loss all the same. Roy was helping Titan dig through the bunker since they were among the least likely to get hurt by any lingering traps, and Mary was helping the DVA hunt down the few guards who had broken ranks and run. Camille was healing those in need, of course, because that was what she did. Everyone had a task, and Vince, in spite of his weakened state, was no exception.

He was waiting.

Finally, after too long, Vince’s vigil came to an end. From across the clearing, he could see DVA agents walking next to a sandy-haired man wearing sunglasses. Off like a shot, Vince bolted across the grass and nearly tackled his best friend in a hug.

“I wasn’t sure you were coming back through that portal.”

“I caught a lucky break, who would have guessed?”

It might have been Vince’s imagination, but he thought he saw the DVA agents wince slightly. Knowing Nick, he’d probably spent the last few hours running them around, giving them just enough information to put the basics of what happened together without truly answering any of their questions. The luck puns were part of that experience.

“Are you in trouble?” Vince finally released his embrace, though he didn’t move too far from Nick’s side.

“I’m a person of interest, which means I would be in trouble if they could find a way to spin it. The only provable things I’ve done today are tackle a teleporter, follow a man threatening to nuke everyone through a portal, and kill one of the most wanted criminals in the world, ostensibly before he could trick and murder my friend. That’s a murky situation even if they liked the guy; for someone like Crispin I think they’re afraid the other Heroes will throw me a parade if they find out. But enough about me and my antics, how did everything shake out here?”

Nick began pointedly walking them away from the DVA agents. Out here, among so many, it was folly to assume any words wouldn’t go overheard, but that was no reason to make it easy on them.

“Everyone we know is alive,” Vince replied, tackling what he considered to be the biggest issue first. “Most were injured to some extent, but between Camille and Hallow we’re all mended. There was one issue, though: Amber is getting a judicial review by the DVA. Apparently during the fight she got fast and loose with her explosions, hitting some Heroes in the process. Dean Blaine assured us that no one expects a temporarily authorized Hero asset to be perfect, so she won’t be charged with anything for hurting people.”

“But it doesn’t bode well for her chances at graduation.” Nick was hardly surprised, he’d clocked Amber as the type to skate by on raw power years ago. No doubt the HCP had hoped to educate her on discipline and control, but not every Super wanted to learn those lessons.

There was a sadness in Vince’s eyes as he nodded agreement. “Probably not. Anyway, everyone who came to the fight is alive, and that’s what matters. Globe is off getting interrogated, Shelby is safely in DVA custody, and the rest of Globe’s team have been showing up one by one to turn themselves in, except George. No one has seen him since the battle ended.”

Nick had almost forgotten that Vince didn’t know about Adam. It would come out in time, he was certain. As for George, assuming Adam kept his word, they’d likely find the body soon enough. Part of Nick held out hope that the guy had found a better way. Obviously Nick was no stranger to killing, yet he believed it should always happen with a purpose. That kind of death would do neither of George nor Adam any favors.

“So, everyone, or at least everyone we know, is safe. Globe and Shelby are no longer lost. Charles Adair and Crispin are off the game board. Hell of a day. Tell me, what comes next for the mighty Shuffle, champion of Intramurals from a generation that I guarantee goes down in the history books?”

Vince’s nose wrinkled slightly. “Shuffle?”

“I just assumed that was the name you’d take after what you said in Intramurals.” With a single glance, Nick realized the idea had never entered Vince’s mind. “You’re a great guy, but not always the most creative.”

“Yeah, but give me a little credit. Geez.” The footsteps halted as Vince stopped to look over at the bunker where so much of the truth had been buried. “I was actually thinking of something a little longer… something to remind me of what I realized in that fight with Conrad, of where I started this journey. Jack of All. Because, you know, I was a Jack when we started, and I kind of have some control over a bunch of energies instead of a single mastery of one…” Vince trailed off, his confidence wavering as he tried to read Nick’s inscrutable expression.

“Jack of All, huh? Bit of a mouthful, and you’re going to get a lot crude jokes from criminals. But it’s very… you. Earnest, comes from a humble place yet still manages to remind people what you can do. I like it.”

“Thanks. Let’s just hope nobody claimed it yet. Been kind of a busy day and I haven’t had time to check the databases.”

Under his breath, Nick suppressed a chuckle. “I think you’ll be okay.”

They stood in silence for a moment after that, and although neither knew it, they were both thinking back to that first day on Lander when they’d met, when it was just the two of them, looking out onto four years of untold possibility. It was Vince who spoke at last; he would never be as comfortable with silence as Nick was.

“What now? I feel like we’ve been on this trail for so long, trying to find our parents and set right what they destroyed. I’m not totally sure where to go from here. What comes next?”

Nick threw an arm around Vince’s shoulders and tilted both their heads to the setting sun on the horizon. “Now? Now comes graduation, internships, field work, families, secret identities, and so much more. School is over, Vince. You’re about to become a true-blue certified Hero.” Slowly, Nick’s hand rose, turning into a finger pointing out to that burning horizon.

“Now, Vince, starts the true adventure called life. And I don’t know about you, but I can barely wait.”

Epilogue

Ten Years Later

“Run!”

“Where the fuck do you suggest we run to?”

Tensions were short as the bank-robbers paused to grab a quick breath. Shit, it had all gone so wrong. It was supposed to be simple. They had the right power set to get in and out of the bank before the Heroes would ever be able to respond, with an extra guy for muscle just in case one did show up. Of course, that extra strength hadn’t meant shit when he arrived. This wasn’t even his town, what were the odds that the Hero to face them would be–

“Howdy.”

The group’s blood collectively froze as they turned down the alley to find him standing there: a Hero made of muscle, with a simple red and black costume and a thick, extra-dense bat slung casually over his shoulder. Their strongman hadn’t even managed to get off a single punch before being knocked out, hard. The Hero took a single step forward, and all of the robbers instantly broke, sprinting off in every direction as fast as they could.

Prepared as they’d been for a heist, they were in no way ready to deal with Ettin. And who could blame them? Last year he’d single-handedly put down an entire gang that tried to attack the Gentle Hammers’ base before backup could arrive. When the other Heroes came, they found him standing on shattered concrete and a dozen broken but living bodies, complaining about the lack of challenge.

Breath already short, the robbers didn’t have much left in the way of stamina. One of them did have an idea, however. A single Hero could only chase in a lone direction, so the thief went intangible and turned left, racing through a wall. His job had been getting into the vault, but this was a great application of power as well. While Ettin went after the others, he’d slip away to freedom, able to go back to robbing shops with shitty security.

That thought lasted until he let his power go to take a breath; lack of oxygen was the one drawback of his ability. Before he’d finished inhaling, a fist slammed into the back of his head, sending him sprawling to the ground. Just before he passed out, the crook recognized the familiar costume of Intra.

Oh hell. There was more than one of them here after all.

Back in the alley, the remaining pair of robbers raced on while silently cursing their turncoat partner. In truth, they would have made the same move if they had the option, but such was not their fortune. Near them, the sound of street traffic could be heard. If they got out of the alley, maybe there was a crowd they could blend into.

Before they could make it through, the shadows near them began to move. A sudden flurry of them formed into blades, striking at their legs with unerring precision. In seconds, they’d dropped to the ground, skidding to a stop just before lurching to a halt before the dark boots of Styx, who had stepped into view to block their way. He looked terrifying as always, dark costume accented with a hood, a cloak adding to the unnatural way the shadows around him seemed to always twitch.

“Oh come on,” mumbled one of the robbers. “You aren’t even on the Gentle Hammers.”

“Nah, but the Honed Blades have a history of working closely with us.” The voice came from Ettin, who had effortlessly closed the gap and was now standing over them. “Word of warning, we’ve got some shit to do this afternoon, so don’t waste any more of our time.” He leaned down, that powerful frame blocking out their view of the sky.

“Now do you surrender, or are you going to try and make this interesting?”

Both men had their hands up before the word “surrender” was finished being spoken.

*             *             *

The board was displeased. Alice had expected that. What she was proposing was unheard of, practically unimaginable. For them, anyway. To her, it was a challenge roughly on par with finding comfortable yet fashionable heels for a gala. Tough, to be certain, but more than manageable with a little forethought and determination.

Edmonton was the one to speak, of course. It was always Edmonton; he was the weaselly voice they all hid behind. “Mrs. Adair, what you’re proposing is outside the bounds of charity. It falls into mismanagement of the company. After your father’s passing, this cure was the one good thing he’d created. Losing the overall patent due to the circumstance of its creation was bad enough, but now that we’ve finally refined the procedure into a safe, quick, virtually non-invasive version that we were able to patent, you want us to sell it to Powereds at cost?”

“Below cost, actually,” Alice corrected. “There’s a bill going onto the floor of the Senate this week that will subsidize the procedure for companies willing to offer it at lower prices. We’ll make back our investment, as well as a small profit to appease you all, but this will keep it affordable enough for nearly any Powered out there to have access.”

Edmonton’s face was flushing, the telltale sign that he was frustrated over her dismissive tone. “Even if this bill passes–”

“It’s being spearheaded by Senator Campbell. There is no ‘if’ when it comes to that man.”

“I am well aware of your husband’s track record,” Edmonton snapped. “That’s not the issue! We could earn billions from this process. After the Charles Adair scandal, we’ve barely been able to hang on. This is our chance to finally make real money again.”

Alice rose from her seat, pushing back a wave of nausea. Villains and criminals she could handle, but morning sickness was a beast that wouldn’t be slain. Only a few more months and she would be past it, back out there as Legacy with a new face to come home to – a face that, given the heritage of both parents, might very well be born Powered like so many others out there. Others that she was in a position to help. No one stood in the way of a Hero where there were lives to save, especially not men like Edmonton.

“This company only survived because I took on the role of being its face, reassuring the public that I was going to use my father’s wealth to make a difference. You’re right, we’ve barely made it through the past decade, but what’s kept us afloat is staying true to that promise: funding more facilities for Powereds, taking on the onus of refining the cure process, doing every bit of good we could at every turn. But it’s all been treading water. This, right here, this moment is when we show the world whether we meant it or not. If you try to make this into a profit machine, the public will turn on us and you will destroy everything. I met you halfway; we are making money on the deal. Overreach, and it all comes tumbling down.”

Pouring herself a glass of water, Alice carefully read the room. They were a greedy lot, which at least made them fiscally responsible, but they were also cowards. They all lived their lives in offices and board rooms, content to see the world through luxury and glass. The collapse of a company, laid right at their feet, would be anchors thrust upon them. No one wanted to hire a failure, especially with as high-profile as this would all be. As bad as they wanted that money, they wanted to protect their status quo more. Whatever doubts they might have had, no one could dispute Alice’s track record. She’d kept the wheels from falling off all this time, so they would trust her on this move like they had on all the other, lesser ones that laid the foundation for this moment.

“Has it occurred to you that perhaps the world doesn’t want Powereds turned into Supers?” Edmonton was still going, not willing to give this up yet. “People are scared. There are groups trying to have the process banned.”

“Let them try.” Alice’s voice came out a bit too strong, some of Legacy bleeding over. “There will always be people afraid of change, but it comes regardless. Intra’s murder was a true tragedy, yet from his death came a miracle. It took my father and his staff years to figure out how to replicate a single chemical from Intra’s brain, and years more before they succeeded in safely augmenting other bodies to produce it. Even then, he probably got lucky given how crude his tactics were. Things have changed, though. The information has spread. Our method is safe and will be affordable, but we won’t be the only ones out there. Turning from Powered to Super is a life-changing experience, and one way or another, Powereds will find a way to get the procedure done. It can be something they steal in the night, or something we offer as a gift to those in need. But once they are Supers, I think you’ll very much wish you’d gone with my version. Personally, I’d prefer a nation of new Supers to be grateful to me rather than resentful of my greed.”

Alice took a single sip of the water, then set the glass down. “You can keep squabbling over this. The vote is in two days. Give it a lot of thought. The future is coming, all you get to choose is which side of it you’re on. As for me, I have a pressing event that I can’t miss.”

Without waiting for reply, she strode out of the room. She wasn’t needed here. The outcome was painted on their faces. Being a Subtlety Hero had a lot of drawbacks when building relations with other Heroes, but it sure as hell came in handy in the business side of her life.

*             *             *

“Dr. Daniels, I was wondering if you had a moment?”

Mary glanced up from her desk to find the wide smile of her father-in-law illuminating the doorway. “There are no students around, Owen, I think we can drop the formalities.”

Her office was tucked away in a more private area of Sizemore’s HCP, placed where students could come without being seen by their peers in case they wanted to have a session in secret. It was a convenience largely for the younger students; generally, around the time they made it to junior year, most of them realized that there was no shame in needing mental help with the burdens they were facing. She worked hard to instill that in them, ensuring that those who made it to graduation would be comfortable seeking help when they needed it.

“You’re probably right, I’m just still getting used to going by Professor Daniels,” he admitted. “It’s been three years, you’d think I’d adjust.”

“If it’s any consolation, virtually all of the students still call you Titan behind your back. The downside of being an active Hero as well as an HCP teacher.”

“Only in dire emergencies,” Owen reminded her. “Thankfully, those aren’t coming much these days. Ettin has become the strongman people call first when shit goes sideways, and it’s rare he can’t get the job done.”

Mary glanced over to the framed photo on her desk, showing her and Hershel dressed up nicely at one of Alice’s charity fundraisers. “Those two have turned into quite the team. Brute force and a cunning tactical mind. It certainly didn’t hurt that they learned under an excellent mentor, either.”

With a wave, Owen dismissed the idea. “Let’s not put undeserved credit on me. They were always going to be great; at most I sped things up a little. But I actually came to see you about teaching – or teachers, really. You know Jeanine is retiring next year, so we’ve been looking for a new Control professor. Well, the DVA sent us someone qualified, however he comes with extra conditions. There would need to be security and safety protocols, seeing as he is technically a criminal serving time through community service.”

The pencil in her hands nearly snapped. “No way. Pitching in on cleanup and helping with really tough fights is one thing, but teaching? You seriously got them to sign off on it?”

“There’s precedent, established when Sean Pendleton proved to be an excellent instructor as he served his sentence teaching students at Lander and stayed on even after he was free. The big condition was having a dean willing to take on that responsibility, and Dean Jackson agreed after we had a long conversation.”

Understanding set in at the last bit of information. “He finally made you do it, huh?”

“Not for a couple more years… I still need lots of training. But yes, I agreed to take over for him. It was going to happen anyway; he’s steadfastly refused any more anti-aging sessions with Hallow; just getting him to go down a few years was enough of a fight. This way, at least I got something out of the bargain.”

“You may have to give up being Titan for good when that day finally comes.”

“Maybe. But I don’t think I have it in me to turn down the world if it needs me. Spent too long doing that, and I didn’t care for it.” Owen paused, his eyes going distant for a moment before snapping back to reality. “Anyway, I was thinking since they’re already prepping for his campus tour tomorrow that means there are teleporters on hand, so we could head out together. No sense in getting two teleporters for a one-person job.”

Checking the clock, Mary realized the time was indeed drawing near. “Good thinking. Come get me when you’re both ready, I have a little more work I’d like to do before we go.”

“Same work ethic as always, I see. Wrap things up, we won’t be too long.”

Owen’s sizable shadow vanished from the doorway, leaving Mary alone once again. Part of her was still reeling from the news. Mary had supported the proposal, but not even she’d expected it to go through. It was crazy to think that next year’s freshman would not only be learning from Titan, but also the man once known as Globe. Sizemore was already becoming a powerhouse, and this would only throw fuel on the fire.

As a Lander alumna, albeit not an HCP graduate, Mary hoped they were keeping up their standards as well. Otherwise, the next few Intramurals might turn out to be extremely one-sided.

*             *             *

The Heroes were coming, trying to stop her. All the better. They could burn with the rest of the lot, these evil humans who expected her to abide by their rules even as they did whatever they pleased. How dare they try to cage her, as if they had the right. As though it were just to punish her for the sin of simply existing.

Overhead, barely contained in the palm of her hand, a massive ball of crackling explosive energy swelled, desperately wishing to be freed. She would let it, soon. Once it reached critical mass, she would let go and destroy and entire section of the city. From this height, with no building to support her, she would die too. That was fine. Better to die like this than keep living like she had.

“It’s Doreen, isn’t it?”

The voice came from the other side of the roof, and as Doreen whipped around, she found herself staring at a Hero in a blue and silver costume. The mask covered the majority of his head, concealing his face and hair, allowing only those bright blue eyes and some of his mouth to be seen. “That’s your name?”

“Cute trick, but I know yours as well. Tell me, Jack of All, do you think you can absorb this before I set it off? This isn’t some bit of fire or electricity like you favor, it’s my own special energy, the sort absorbers can rarely ingest.” Despite her tough demeanor, Doreen had to resist taking an accidental step backward. Although his official name was so inoffensive it might as well have been a kitten, she knew there were other names criminals called this Hero. Nightmare Jack was a popular one, which wasn’t especially creative since he already came from the Class of Nightmares. Jack the Unstoppable came around when he strode out of the trap a gang set for him, building burning behind and with nary a wound to be seen. Some rumors, from accounts of people who’d seen him called in to deal with lethal threats, even named him the Jack of Carnage. It was hard to imagine such a reputation belonging to a man like this, though. Perhaps the rumors were just that, falsehoods spun to make a mid-level Hero seem more terrifying.

He held up his hands, palms spread wide. “I didn’t come here to make threats. Ideally, I don’t even want to fight. Why don’t we talk this over? I’ve read your file, Doreen. Or had it read to me on the way over, at least. You’re not a monster. You’re just someone who caught a few bad breaks. Yes, attacking your old boss was a bad move, but you had some grounds given what he tried to pull by framing you for that plant explosion. I believe your side of events from that, I really do. Right now, there’s still a way back from all this. Assault, destruction of property… they are crimes and you’ll have to answer for them, but juries are made of people, people who can show mercy or empathize with your plight. Even if you do a few years in jail, there is life afterward. This, on the other hand, is the sort of thing no one can come back from.”

Moving slowly, as non-threatening as possible, he pointed to the bloated energy ball, still rippling and growing in her hands. “That first one wasn’t your fault. But this? This is all on you, Doreen. Every mom down there who won’t come home, every husband who said his last goodbye, every child whose absence will leave an unhealable scar. You’re mad, and you’re scared, and you think it’s all over, but it’s not. It doesn’t have to be. You’ve still got a choice. Stop this, right now, and I’ll make sure the courts know you’re the one who decided not to hurt people today. No one stopped you except your own sense of decency.”

This… this wasn’t what she was prepared for. Fighting, dying, a last blaze of something to put a mark on the world, Doreen was ready for that. Kindness, however, was a blade she’d never thought to defend against. Where was he when she was being thrown under the bus, blamed for something she’d had no hand in just because she possessed powers? Where was he when it had counted? Doreen looked up at the trembling blast in her hand, ready to level a whole block when she dropped it from this roof, ready to become an even worse monster than they’d accused her of being. Maybe Heroes only showed up when they were truly needed.

With a shaking breath, Doreen nodded. “I don’t… I didn’t… I was just so angry.”

“I understand. I really, truly do. Let’s sit here and talk for a while, okay? I’ve got some time to kill anyway, so why don’t we spend it looking at your options going forward.”

Doreen wanted that, more than she’d realized. She stepped forward, already beginning to dispel her orb. Unfortunately, her foot snared a loose brick that sent her tumbling to the ground. There was barely time to scream as she watched the ball of energy sail from her hand directly toward Jack of All. He was already moving though, arms outstretched as he slammed his palms into the ball, drawing the energy into himself. It all happened in a split-second; in no time the orb had vanished like it was never even there.

Pulling herself up, Doreen realized that at some point she’d started crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay, I saw you trip.” The unassuming Hero showed her his hands again, hands that were unscarred, unblemished in any way despite the raw power they’d just brushed. “I know you were trying to do the right thing.”

Without meaning too, Doreen sniffed loudly. “I guess that explains why you were so calm up here. You knew you could absorb my energy the whole time as a backup plan, huh?”

“Oh definitely not. I had no idea if I’d be able to pull it off. I’ve gotten pretty good with crafted energy, but each one is unique, so it’s still a gamble.” He nodded behind Doreen. “She was my backup plan. Or maybe I was hers… it tends to switch depending on the situation.”

There, climbing up from the side of the building, was the blood red costume of Adrestia. Rumor said that she could bring down anyone with a single touch, no matter how powerful. From that position, she would have been able to reach Doreen in a flash.

“I never had a chance, did I?” Doreen asked.

“I’d say you had a very real chance, a choice, and you made the most of it.” From a pouch on his belt, Jack of All produced a handkerchief and offered it to Doreen. “How about we sit for a little while before we go to the police? Adrestia will make sure no one bothers us.”

Laughing despite herself, Doreen accepted the swatch of fabric. “Keep a lot of these on you?”

“Always. If I’m called to a scene that ends in tears instead of blood, that’s a good day,” Jack of All told her. “So thanks, for making this day better than it already was.”

With a pause to wipe her face, Doreen looked up into the eyes of the unusual man. “You’re kind of strange, for a Hero, aren’t you?”

“Probably. Wish you’d gotten someone different?”

Doreen was shaking her head before she even realized it. “No. Not one bit. I think you were exactly the Hero I needed.”

*             *             *

Senator Campbell rounded a corner, nimbly sidestepping a reporter whose mouth opened to ask a question or try and elicit a sound bite. Before she could utter a syllable, he was through a door and into a private section of the building, leaving her with nothing save for a sense of wonder at how gracefully he could slip away. Playing with the media was all well and good when he had time, but today’s schedule was tight. On top of dealing with a few holdouts on the Powered-subsidization bill, he’d also had to field calls, do two public appearances, and now was heading into the last of his meetings. All of that before his actual important event this afternoon, and that was one he couldn’t move around. Even if he’d been inclined, which he wasn’t, there was no way he would incur that level of Alice’s wrath. This last meeting had a firm time limit. Luckily, it was at least with someone he could trust to cut to the heart of things.

“Eliza!” He opened his arms as he slid through the door, embracing the curly-haired woman who still looked out of place in suits rather than faded jeans. “So good of you to make the trip. I trust Ms. Pips sends her love along with a few thinly-veiled threats?”

“More or less,” Eliza confirmed. She hugged Nick back, then settled into one of the overstuffed chairs set in this private, windowless room. Their meetings weren’t technically illegal; as a representative for a business owner in Nick’s state, it was perfectly acceptable for her to speak with her senator. That said, it did make everyone’s lives run more smoothly when they didn’t have to deal with photographs popping up on the news.

Nick doubled checked the room before sitting down, making sure nothing had been moved or disturbed to indicate a bug was present. He’d never found one before in here, yet some habits refused to die. “How’s Jerome doing? Last I heard he was being groomed for the new head of casino security.” The job actually came with far more responsibilities than tossing out drunks and card cheats on their ears, but publicly this was the title Ms. Pips had given her top enforcer.

“He’s well, training is coming along nicely. In truth, I suspect he’s already at the point where he could take on the job, but Ms. Pips is holding him back for now. It wouldn’t surprise me if Jerome gets his promotion on the same day I get mine, that way she can take some of our current staff for her retirement security.”

With Gerry passed and Nick in politics, there had been a short list of people to take over for Ms. Pips when the time came. Gerry was a man who loved a backup plan, though, and it was no coincidence that he’d taken in and helped train another exceptional candidate – someone who could make the tough choices, but still had decency in them to temper their actions. Nick liked to think that this was exactly how Gerry had hoped things would go all along: him free, and Eliza taking over Ms. Pips office. Of course, Ms. Pips wasn’t out yet, and Eliza still had a way left to go before she would be trusted with that kind of inheritance.

“She likes to do that, start people off with underlings they know and trust. Says keeping the old guard can create fractured loyalty. If you’d like my advice – and I know you don’t but listen anyway – you may want to start getting proactive with finding future department heads. The sooner she knows you’ve got a good staff to lean on, the sooner she’ll think it’s time to hand over the reins.”

“I’ll keep it under advisement,” Eliza replied, her tone cool. The woman had grown by leaps and bounds under Ms. Pips’ direct tutelage; soon she was going to be dangerous on a level even Nick would have to fear. He could hardly wait to have their first meeting after that: it would prove to be all kinds of entertaining. “In the meantime, I’m here with some concerns from Ms. Pips about proposed laws and how they might impact the Las Vegas gambling industry.”

“Had a feeling you might be.” Nick checked his watch, which was calibrated precisely. “You’ve got exactly one hour and two minutes before I need to be out of here. Make it count.”

*             *             *

The secure room was quiet save for the sound of pages turning. One by one, the accounts were reread, double checked for any inconsistencies or issues. No one wanted to find such a thing, but the far worse option would be missing a problem and having someone else discover it. Thoroughness and transparency were paramount in the new DVA, an organization which had voluntarily subjected itself to much greater levels of oversight and investigation after the Charles Adair scandal. Finally, the last page was turned, and the three men on one end of the table looked to the lone fellow on the other side.

“By all accounts, Phillip Adair has completed another community service project with no attempts at escape, efforts to rebel against his overseers, or violations of the conduct code he was given,” Graham DeSoto announced. “Gentlemen, did you see anything I missed?”

“No, sir. Another fine effort from our model prisoner.” Blaine tried to keep his voice neutral, but after all these years it was hard not to let a little snark through. Still, having these sessions was important; he was among those who pushed for them. The records and tapes from them were going to be made public, with only specific details about the work redacted. It was only fair to let the country know the results of these assessments if they were asking the public to put their trust in a criminal.

The last holdout skimmed through the pages one last time. He was the most thorough of the lot, always digging as deep as possible. It could be annoying at times, but his dedication to finding the smallest of mistakes also helped solidify the public’s trust in this process. After all, if not even Ralph Chapman could find an issue, then there was almost certainly nothing there to uncover.

“There are no problems that I can see,” Ralph said, at last looking up from the file. “He was able to help reconstruct the neighborhood clinic in exceptional time, and adhered to every rule upon him while doing so. It is my judgment that Phillip Adair has continued to honor his sentence and proves that he is an asset to the country and the DVA.”

Graham nodded. “Very well then. As another operation has concluded without issue, Phillip Adair is dismissed back to his monitored living facility with his family.” The community had been Graham’s idea. In the wake of the scandal, when they discovered that corruption had wormed its way into the minds and pockets of both the DVA and the Lamont Corporation, countless supposed facts had been overturned. Many perceived guilty of crimes were proven to be patsies, yet some had evaded arrest and committed actual crimes in their attempts to prove their innocence or stay free. It was a convoluted mess. The DVA couldn’t send the message that Heroes were above the law, but at the same time, it wasn’t right to throw people who’d been framed into prison.

Instead, they had created a community of former Heroes, tightly monitored and guarded, far from any other town or populace. There, former Heroes could have a semblance of a normal life while serving their time by helping the DVA whenever a particular power proved useful. It wasn’t a perfect system, and already a few of its participants had been booted to regular prison, but it was a compromise people could live with. In a few months, when he made the move to Sizemore, Phil would be one of the first of those former Heroes to be allowed to leave the community. True, he’d still be monitored and watched by Heroes, but it was proof that there was a path forward, for those willing to do the work.

“Mr. Adair, do you have any questions before we adjourn?” Graham wasn’t expecting anything, so he was surprised to see Phil slowly raise his hand.

“I just wanted to make sure my afternoon trip is still approved. I put in the paperwork a few weeks ago, but since I had to work a job today, I’m hoping it didn’t muddle things up.”

Graham knit his brow. What trip was Phil talking about? Opening his phone, Graham scanned through emails until he found the right one. A gruff laugh escaped the old man’s lips as he set it back down. “Oh, that trip. Yes, Mr. Adair, you are still approved. If nothing else, we can’t say there wouldn’t be enough Heroes there to keep an eye on you.”

*             *             *

From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a high-end pizza parlor and arcade. That was predominantly because it was, in fact, a high-end pizza parlor and arcade.

Normally, the building would be teeming with children, however today a sign hung on the front door cordially informing potential customers that the building had been rented out for a private event. This would ultimately inconvenience very few people, as there was both a competing chain down the block and limited demand to come here on a weekday afternoon. If someone had managed to make it inside, they wouldn’t have been surprised by all the decorations: Hero-themed with pictures of many famous Heroes past and present dotting the landscape. That said, if the intruder were keenly observant, they might have been somewhat taken aback by how many of the arriving guests matched the exact height and build of the Heroes on the decorations.

Nick and Alice had arrived first, going over everything to make sure it was both ready and secure. Only once they were sure the site hadn’t been compromised did they give the signal for the others to arrive.

Some came via teleportation, some by the mundane method of driving an actual car, but they quickly began to congregate inside. The most important person to show up wasn’t any of the Heroes, though. It was a five-year-old with sandy brown hair and blazing green eyes who barreled into Nick and Alice’s legs with a hug the moment he was through the door. They were standing there, waiting for him under the oversized banner that simply read “Happy Birthday Chance Gerry Campbell.”

“It’s so cool! Thank you Mom, thank you Dad.” Decorum and politeness were lessons both Nick and Alice saw the value in, and their son had taken to it with the kind of ease one would expect, given his bloodline.

“You’re welcome,” Alice told him. “It’s a big day. You only turn five once.”

“She’s right,” Nick agreed. “So why don’t you take Leia and start winning some prize tickets while we wait for the others? No time to spare!”

Chance looked over his shoulder to another child, this one clad in sneakers, a miniature brown trench coat, and a small red tie. “Come on Leia, let’s go beat some skeeball!”

“Aw man, Dad wouldn’t let me bring my screwdriver. We could have made this easy.” Nevertheless, Leia was off like a shot on Chance’s heels as her father walked over to greet Nick and Alice.

“Thanks again for babysitting, Alex.” Nick shook his friend’s hand firmly. The guy had been a lifesaver today.

Alex waved it off. “Please, you two watch Leia all the time, and she’s always happy to have Chance over.”

Turning, Alice watched the tails of the coat vanish around a corner. “Still in her Doctor Who phase, I see.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” The pinched expression in Alex’s face said more than the tired tone of his voice. “I’ve shown that girl every film in the catalogue – even the prequels on the off chance she connected with the childish humor – but she refuses to believe that it’s the better sci-fi series. Hopefully when she’s older, it will click.”

“The mighty Hero known as Knockoff can stop dangerous criminals and save countless people, but he can’t get his daughter into Star Wars. I’m not sure if that says more about you or Star Wars.” Nick patted him gently on the shoulder. “Look at it this way, at least you don’t have to worry about Leia taking after you and getting time lord powers. No Super has time travel.”

There was a laugh from Alex, but they both noticed a worried expression in his eyes. “Yeah, that’s true. The most we’ve got is a few limited time manipulation abilities like Shutterbug. Not going to be an issue either way, because she will eventually turn to the light side, I’m sure of it.” He started to walk off, following the kids, although not before they heard him mumbling under his breath, “Still I wish I could figure out how she made her toybox bigger on… never mind, not going to worry about it today.”

Before either of the couple think about that too hard, more guests began piling in. Angela and Chad were next, bringing a long present that Angela swore wasn’t any sort of weapon, this time. Will and Jill weren’t far behind, both clearly coming from work. Will still had pieces of his Technomancer outfit poking out from under his clothes, and Jill hadn’t even bothered to change out of her suit. It was all Alice could do not to accidentally call the woman Miss Tech, as she was used to addressing her when they were on the job. In the wake of the Charles Adair fallout, there had been talk of dissolving the Lamont Company that Jill now worked for; however, it was decided that Heroes did still need support. Only now, it was monitored and overseen, to make sure no off-the-books schemes took hold again. As the twins made their way into the pizza parlor, Will paused by the skeeball machine to slip Alex’s daughter a small cylindrical silver device with a blue tip, an item she quickly squirreled away inside her miniature trench coat.

Hershel and Mary arrived soon after, the former hauling a hefty present that both Nick and Alice immediately deduced had some kind of workout equipment in it. He apologized as soon as he set it down. “Sorry, it was Roy’s turn to pick, and he keeps insisting on giving Chance an early start. Says he wants to see the little guy show up to freshman year and smoke the… um, poop, out of the first day fights.”

“Chance hasn’t shown any powers yet,” Nick reminded him. “And even if he does, there’s no guarantee he’ll go Hero.”

In reply, Hershel looked around the room at the Hero-themed decorations, as well as the array of actual Heroes munching on pizza and helping themselves to a beer in their downtime. “Oh yeah, clearly he has no interest in our line of work.”

“Hush, you two; save it for when he’s older. Right now I want to hear all about the next one.” Mary hugged Alice tightly, but made sure not to put too much pressure on her stomach. “Have you found out the sex yet?”

“Nope, decided to wait this time. Make it a surprise. Also, this way Nick can’t start campaigning for a pun of a name before the baby is even born,” Alice replied. She knew why he’d done it, Nick was the kind of man who hid his sentimentality at all times, even in a middle name rather than a first one.

Nick didn’t even bother looking ashamed. “Hey, you’re the one that lost the bet. And we both know it’s grown on you.”

“I love our son. The name is loved by consequence of being attached to him. But don’t expect to get your way again, mister. I’m the one birthing this baby, I’m not betting away the naming rights… again.”

Hershel wrapped an arm around Mary, who hugged him right back as they looked at each other. “We should probably get on top of having one of our own, otherwise all of our friends’ kids will be too old and ours won’t have a playmate.”

In reply, Mary only smiled. It was still a little too early to tell him; there had been false positives before and this certainly wasn’t the time or place for such an announcement. Tomorrow, though, she’d be able to see a doctor and get real confirmation. For today, she would simply refrain from the bar as usual.

The couple headed off to greet their friends. Soon more came in behind them. Thomas showed up with Violet, to the surprise of no one, despite their insistence that they were only rooming together for convenience. Of course, it didn’t take training in Subtlety to notice that Citrine and Plummet always worked alongside one another in costume as well. Neither Nick nor Alice tried to understand the dynamics of that relationship, the two seemed happy and that was all they wanted for their friends.

Lucinda and her wife weren’t far behind. Despite the way they’d initially met, Lucinda had become a good friend over the years, as had most of the competitors from Intramurals. There was nothing like fighting an army before graduation to bond people together; even Conrad had eventually become tolerable after some time in the field. More fellow Heroes piled in, men and women they’d met on the job who had wormed their way into Nick and Alice’s life.

Mr. Numbers and Mr. Transport – or Luke and Henry as the group now called them – popped into the room a few feet away from a pinball game. With them was Sally Daniels, who was holding Henry’s hand despite the fact that physical contact wasn’t necessary for teleporting. The two were still going strong, and while they’d never married, they had clearly found happiness in one another’s company.

There was no mistaking the next fellow to come through the doors, his size was a dead giveaway even if they hadn’t known his face. “About time, Owen,” Alice chided. “Mary was here forever ago, I thought you two were coming together.”

“That was the plan, but Hexcellent needed a hand with some tough crooks. Didn’t want Hershel to have to change to and from Roy, so I just handled it. Funny thing, I feel like she probably could have dealt with it on her own… and she seemed a little disappointed that I’m the one who showed up.”

“Has Roy still not figured out that she’s into him? She and Spyda broke up years ago, back during her internship,” Nick said. “Given that man’s ego, it seems like he would walk around with the baseline assumption that every woman was instantly in love with him.”

Owen shrugged. “I don’t think he’s ever made the jump from platonic to romantic before. He always starts and stays as one or the other. We Daniels men are not always the best at expressing ourselves emotionally.”

“Speaking of romance, where’s Jeremiah? I heard he was back from that undercover mission.” Alice prided herself at keeping up to date on everyone; it was the very least she should be capable of, given her training.

“He’s good, but someone has to hold the fort down. No rest for the Heroes. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d better make sure Hershel and Mary know I wasn’t that late before I catch an earful.” Owen headed off into the parlor.

The entrance stayed moving as even more Heroes arrived, their own kids in tow, and the pizza parlor filled with cheerful conversation, childish laughter, and shrieks of excitement. Britney and Selena came with some of the other Heroes who graduated the year after the Class of Nightmares. While they hadn’t made the final ten, both had been re-accepted for another senior year and eventually walked across the stage of graduation as Fade and Songstress. Their time held back had led to new friendships as well, including an exploding woman on their team who went by Detonate but the others all knew as Ashley. The parlor continued to fill, until at last, the final family arrived. While they were unquestionably late, they certainly had a good reason for it.

Around the entrance, air crackled as a hole appeared, a window to an entirely different location. Through it came Phil, carrying a nine-year-old girl on his shoulders, with Clarissa at his side. They were followed by Vince and Camille, the former pushing an older gentleman’s wheelchair while the latter held the hand of a girl not far from Chance’s age. Last came Sean Pendleton, pushing another wheelchair, this one holding a woman who looked strikingly like Alice.

“Sorry, so sorry we’re late,” Vince said the moment they came through. “We got hung up on a job, and then we had to sort out turning her over to the police, and really, I’m sorry, it’s all my fault.”

“Relax, we saw the news and figured you might run behind.” Nick hugged his best friend before looking at the older man in Vince’s care. “Besides, you were nice enough to portal with our guests here, which made things a lot easier on us. Abraham, how have you been? Or do you still prefer Abridail?”

“Only if you catch me in the dreamworld,” Abraham replied, shaking Nick’s hand. Like Shelby, he was one of the first recipients of the Powered-cure when it was finally deemed to be safe. Decades in bed had left their muscles severely atrophied, so they were both at a facility receiving top notch physical rehabilitation in addition to healing from Supers.

Alice was hugging Shelby already, a little too tightly in honesty, but her mother didn’t complain. “Good to see you too, dear.” Shelby’s words were a touch slow, as though she had to think about and choose each one. Spending so long in a permanent coma of visions had left mental scars as well as physical ones, but she was strong-willed and slowly inching her way back into real life. The therapy, both kinds, helped, as did having Abraham nearby. In her time trapped within her own power, he’d been the only friend she had, and his presence seemed to help anchor her to reality.

“Carol, why don’t you take Hope and go find your friends.” Phil set his daughter down and turned her loose, watching as she all but sprinted away from the adults with Vince and Camille’s girl close behind. “Thanks again for inviting us, Alice. Hard to get out of the house unless it’s for a job or I’m around a bunch of Heroes.”

“We wouldn’t dream of not having Carol along.” Alice, like most people, had been surprised when Clarissa revealed she was pregnant nearly a decade ago. Apparently she and Phil had spent the night together before the assault on the bunker, and since both expected to die, neither had worried much about protection. “Speaking of, is she showing any abilities yet?”

“Still human, as far as we can tell, but not everyone manifests early,” Clarissa reminded them. “My powers didn’t kick in until puberty. Personally, I’m hoping that they never show up. After everything we’ve been through, I wouldn’t mind seeing my little girl get a normal life.”

Camille chuckled and shook her head. “With words like that, you definitely just jinxed her to get an incredible ability, you know that, right?”

“Hush, let me live in my delusion a little longer.” The smile on Clarissa’s face betrayed the good nature of her words, even if there was a sliver of truth to them.

While the conversation kept going, Shelby’s attention wandered, as it was wont to do. She watched the kids running about, playing on the various arcade games, downing pizza at breakneck speeds, and generally being carefree in a way they’d never recapture once they lost it. Near the edge of the group, she spotted the birthday boy at a soda fountain, his cup filled to a precarious level. It didn’t take future-seeing powers to know what was coming next, as Chance took one, two, three steps with the overfilled cup before tripping and sending it sprawling to the ground.

On instinct, Chance reached out to grab it, even though the liquid was already on the carpet. To his shock, the soda flowed back into the cup, which shot up from the floor and planted itself directly in Chance’s extended hand. His eyes went wide and he looked around hurriedly to see if anyone had noticed, quickly making eye contact with his grandma. Shelby smiled at him, then carefully placed one finger to her lips and winked. Chance, already a smart boy, took the cue and headed off, pausing only to dump out the potentially contaminated soda into a trash can.

Her time in the coma was spotty, hard to remember or fully make sense of, but some of the more recurring elements stuck out. She knew the conflict was still coming; when she dared peek ahead that remained true. And there were so many ways it could happen, so many paths that could send the world into destruction. Still, she felt optimistic about the odds for humanity, Supers, and the soon-to-be changed Powereds. Although Abridail hadn’t correctly understood what she told him back in the dream world, Shelby could recall what she’d meant. A small choice, two wounded and broken people trusting each other enough to build a foundation of love, was enough to alter the course of history. Nothing was certain, and a war was still very much a real possibility, but there was cause to hope for the best.

After all, this was the version of the future that had a Chance. And thanks to that, one day, when they needed him most, their world would also have a champion.

End of Super Powereds

Afterword

Yes, you read that correctly. This truly is the end of Super Powereds. Honestly, after nine years and over a million words, I have trouble believing it too. It’s crazy to think how far this story has come from my first web-serial site all those years ago, and none of that would have been possible without you amazing readers. I wanted to thank you for that, for taking a gamble on a smalltime indie author and reading this series all the way to the end. Without you amazing folks, we never would have been able to reach this point.

Now, I’m sure many of you might be wondering about Chance and the future. Well, that’s a story for another day. Super Powereds was about this group at one particular point in their lives, and when that time ended so did the series. That doesn’t mean I’m done with the world, though, only that new tales in it will need new titles. It won’t be coming anytime soon, but I’m looking forward to eventually exploring the next major events in this world.

In closing, I want to say a special thanks to all the people who helped me along the way to getting here. Meilin Miranda and Digital Novelists, where I first found a home for my stories. Erin and Kisa, for putting up with fixing my endless typos. The Webfictionguide.com community, who have been a constant source of information and encouragement to many. My beta readers, who add a level of polish that measurably improved every book. The talented Kyle McCarley, for breathing life into the characters with his excellent narration, and the amazing people at Tantor who take such care with their audiobooks. And, of course, you, dear reader. Without you, I’m just a madman spinning stories for himself.

Other Novels by Drew Hayes

About the Author

Drew Hayes is an author from Texas who has now found time and gumption to publish a few books. He graduated from Texas Tech with a B.A. in English, because evidently he's not familiar with what the term "employable" means. Drew has been called one of the most profound, prolific, and talented authors of his generation, but a table full of drunks will say almost anything when offered a round of free shots. Drew feels kind of like a D-bag writing about himself in the third person like this. He does appreciate that you're still reading, though.

Drew would like to sit down and have a beer with you. Or a cocktail. He's not here to judge your preferences. Drew is terrible at being serious, and has no real idea what a snippet biography is meant to convey anyway. Drew thinks you are awesome just the way you are. That part, he meant. You can reach Drew with questions or movie offers at NovelistDrew@gmail.com Drew is off to go high-five random people, because who doesn't love a good high-five? No one, that's who.

Read or purchase more of his work at his site: DrewHayesNovels.com